#kit x ty fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amchara · 2 years

Text

Not the distance that scares me (1/2)

Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn (Kit/Ty)

Wordcount: 1,542

Post-TWP, Kit finds he has a choice in what he does next.

It makes me sad to think of it. Kit is a good kid who deserves a good, ordinary life. I know that’s what Jem and Tessa want for him, more than anything, after the chaos that was his growing up. But I am not sure he will have a choice in the matter. Fae may not let him choose. - Magnus to Alec (Secrets of Blackthorn Hall)

(This is me, defying Magnus and Cassie's whole arc for Kit, or at least twisting it, so he gets his happy ending. Er- so there's still angst but look, part two will be happier- happiness through angst, mmkay? 😅

This story fits into my London Files 'verse but no need to have knowledge of them to read this story. But if you're wondering where Ellie comes from)

---

When he woke up, Ty was beside him. Time must’ve passed from the battle because his face was no longer a blood-stained, desperate ricus; the last image Kit had seen before he passed out.

There was a softness in Ty’s sharp angles, despite purple shadows highlighting his left cheek; there was a release in his jaw, which had been constantly tense since Livvy had passed on in Thule. A lightness in his storm-grey eyes that told Kit it was all going to be okay.

“We won.” It wasn’t a question.

Ty nodded. “But…”

Kit had already known what was missing. The power that had thrummed in his chest, the heaviness of pure energy that he had worn like a mantle for the past few years, the electricity in his veins. It was all gone.

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

Ash let out a sigh- and Dru tightened her hold on his hand, providing moral support.

“I am forever indebte-”

“Shut up,” Kit said amiably. “You would’ve done the same thing for me.”

There was silence between the three of them. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Didn’t matter.

“Plus- I never wanted any of this-” Kit waved his hand around the Seelie Court, decorated to the brim with riotously-coloured flowers and filled with partying Fae. “Have fun playing King of the Castle. You’re much better suited to it.”

Ash rolled his eyes. “The prophecy never mentioned which one of us had to take the actual responsibility for ruling. It’s not too late- you sure you don’t want to rock-paper-scissor for it?”

Dru snorted lightly as Kit grinned and held up his hands, declining. “King Kit would’ve been too on the nose,” she said.

“Exactly - plus kinda think you need magic to be a faerie king,” He sketched a full bow he had learned from Kieran, appropriate for a Queen Consort, wondering if she would pick up on it.

She narrowed her eyes and Kit was delighted at her suspicious look.

Then he turned serious for a moment. “But- I do have a few loose ends that I might need to tie up.” The folk in the forest, and Juno and the others who had helped him during his brief reign. To be exiled forever from Faerie– Ash was within his right to do so. Or at least, heavily restrict Kit’s access, given his Nephilim blood. But he was banking on some good will being carried over from his First Heir heritage.

Ash held out his hand. “You are always welcome here, my brother.” A pendant flashed in his hand- a similar trinket to Cristina and Jaime’s eternidads.

Kit accepted it with quiet thanks, beating down a brief pang of jealousy at Ash’s ease and fluidity of summoning it.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t normally work like this, Kit.” But his face wasn’t unsympathetic, and Kit was fairly sure he was going to get his way.

“You would’ve lost me to the Faerie Courts, if things hadn’t turned out differently,” Kit said, trying to keep from crossing his arms, remain relaxed. “Also consider - it works for the Amish. They have like- an 80% return rate for their rumspringa. Consider it something like that for me.” He didn’t want to be adversarial with Alec. He wasn’t sure what the future held but he didn’t want this door closed forever.

“Are you coming back?” Alec asked, his blue eyes grave below dark eyebrows.

Kit shrugged. “I might not. That’s the risk you have to take. But if you say no, it’s not exactly endearing me to Shadowhunter life, is it?” he countered.

Alec sighed. “No, not at all. But you have to understand- usually when people leave, it’s permanent. They can’t return. It’s the law.”

“So change it,” Kit countered. “It’s a bad law. You’re the Consul- that’s within your power.”

A hint of a smile crossed Alec’s face. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Blackthorns.”

Despite Kit’s attempt to keep a steady countenance, something must’ve slipped through, as Alec sighed. “All right- I’ll see what I can do.”

“And don’t make it an exception just because it’s me,” Kit pressed. “Really- you should let all Shadowhunter kids have that choice.”

“I know.” Alec’s voice was firm. “Now, get out of my office and stop telling me how to do my job.” But he smiled too. “Enjoy your mundane year.”

Kit left the Gard feeling like a second invisible burden had lifted like wings off his shoulders.

“Not fair! You’re abandoning me just when I’m about to get my training wheels taken off,” Ellie complained, her voice sharp on the phone. “I haven’t shown you my wicked demon-slaying prowess yet.”

“Not sure that you’re gonna get to do that much demon-slaying in upstate New York,” Kit said. “Apparently the second last stop before Boringtown. Or that’s what Magnus keeps insisting is the case.”

“Hey! We’ve definitely seen a couple of raveners around. But more importantly, second years get more privileges to visit the local town, which is very Hogsmeade of them,” Ellie admitted. “Okay… but you’ll be back for my Ascension ceremony, right?”

Kit smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” But he suddenly shivered, as if a cold wind had blown through the room.

“Am I the last one?”

“To say good-bye to?” Kit felt rooted to the spot. He hated this. He wanted to go to Ty, who was standing behind his chair, as if to shield himself from Kit. His eyes kept sliding past Kit’s to the gold and green paneling behind.

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Kit said. “I said good-bye to Tessa and Jem and Mina, and then asked Tessa to make me Portal to Blackthorn Hall.”

“Hmmm.” Ty put down his tools, letting one of his long, elegant hands smooth over what looked like one of his Sensors. It was calm and deliberate, and if Kit hadn’t spent months with Ty, relearning every little tic, studying every small movement as if he could etch it on his heart, he would’ve thought Ty didn’t care.

“Ty- you understand why I have to go, right?” Some of the misery must have bled through in his voice, given how sharply Ty had looked up, his hands fluttering briefly before calming.

Their eyes met across the room, and Kit clenched his fists, willing himself not to move. He wished. Slowly, Ty walked towards him. Kit could feel his heart beating wildly and he didn’t stop his traitorous hands from reaching out, wrapping Ty in a tight embrace.

“Kit. I need you,” Ty’s voice was barely above a whisper, said into Kit’s ear. He took a deep breath. And then another. And another. Kit breathed in sync with him. “I know,” Kit said. “I do too,” he admitted.

They held one another, as close as they had in the caves of faerie. As they had in the safehouses of Thule. As they had in the ruins of Edom.

Kit wondered why this was the hardest embrace to break. Perhaps it was because this time, they had a choice what they did next, rather than a destiny to fulfil. Perhaps it was because he was still choosing to walk away from it all.

But it’s different this time, he tried to remind himself.

Ty pulled back. “But you need to go,” he said. “I also need you to go.”

“Hey,” Kit tried to keep it light, despite the fierce ache in his chest. “I thought we stopped saying that kind of stuff to one another after Thule.”

Ty smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re the one going away again. I thought this time I could at least have a say.”

Kit winced and Ty’s face crumpled. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant to say,” Ty said. He muttered something under his breath that Kit couldn’t quite hear.

He looked directly at Kit. “You’re going because you want to figure out who you are, outside of your lineage,” he said softly. He reached up to trace Kit's jawline, sending a shiver down Kit’s spine. “And you can’t do that here in the Shadow World.”

Kit nodded.

Ty dropped his hand. “The glamour is very subtle but you do look different. I expect that’s part of it.”

Kit sighed. “Yeah, I asked Tessa and Catarina to put on their strongest spells, so that I’m disguised completely as a mundane.”

“That’s smart,” Ty’s gaze was looking at his neck, wrists, forearms- all now completely devoid of Marks, including his very first rune, the voyance one given to him by Ty.

“Will you be okay here?” Kit hated how wistful his voice sounded.

“I will be,” Ty said, and he was already looking back at his sensor.

Kit wasn’t offended. He knew that Ty had his work as a Centurion, Anush, Irene… he had his family- who were all helping him heal from Livvy’s passing. Kit wasn’t his whole world. And that was a good thing.

But just as quickly, Ty was back watching him. He looked steadily at Kit. Unlike others, he didn’t ask if Kit would come back.

Instead he said: “I’ll be here.”

And Kit, with his eyes starting to blur with tears, leaned forward. He kissed Ty and then left.

(part two will hopefully be up tomorrow/Friday)

Taglist: @dontmindmyshadowhunting @of-same-steel-and-temper @thomastaircompassrose @sandersgrey @thechangeling @mferraz @kestrafagnor @gabtapia @alldagayships @blindbandit1515 @silvermagnolias @chaotic-halfblood-kit @fighting-god-69 @lifeofbrybooks @all-this-panic-still-no-disco @heloisacosta23 @kitheronthorn @idk-i-just-really-like-tsc @t0wergirl @immortal-enemies

let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag-list.

#tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #secrets of blackthorn hall #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #sobh #the wicked powers #post canon #angst with a happy ending #kit herondale x ty blackthorn #alicantenet #my fanfic #tsc: london files

62 notes · View notes

staticzz · 4 months

Text

I just posted the second chapter of spearmint gum!!!! And definitely not after 6 months to the day.

If you do read it, please mind the tags!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47692804/chapters/133621504#chapter_2_endnotes

#ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #kit herondale #kit x ty #ty blackthorn #the wicked powers #twp #the dark artifices #sillyyyyy

6 notes · View notes

chewriting · 2 years

Text

the closet can be a freeing as it is restricting

Relationship: Kit Herondale x Ty Blackthorn; Kit Herondale & Livvy Blackthorn

Word Count: 7.3k+

Read on Ao3

Content Warnings: references to past bullying with homophobic language, a brief panic attack, and vague references to an adult concert goer flirting with Dru even though she's fifteen

Summary: You know how there are things you know about yourself in the present day and you look back at your past and think: shit I was always this way, wasn't I? Passing through forests of clothes while shopping with his mom, subtly brushing his fingers along the array of fabrics, he feels that all too familiar tug deep within his chest that's had years of practice trying to suppress. He knows its name but never dares utter it unless he's the only one awake in a darkened house, or else it might come alive and swallow him whole.

Longing.

Kit stares at the open maw of Livvy’s closet, his angle stretching the sides to look like it’s raring to swallow him whole.

It matches the fear that wrapped a cold, iron vice around his stomach. Her clothes hang as needle-like teeth; used outfits droop out of the hamper like a wagging tongue; the swirling night sky backdrop Julian painted many years ago acting as the tunnel to the beast’s stomach. Kit’s heart hammers in his chest, palms sweat against the warm, shag rug, but he doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t make a sound. Any sign of his fear could cause the animal to pounce or draw Livvy’s attention to his situation

He doesn’t know which would be worse.

Livvy is applying a second coat to her nails– pistachio–and humming along to whatever song scratches through the shitty speakers she refuses to replace. The beat is nice: pulsing through the floor and up into Kit’s skin like it’s trying to manually slow down his heart.

They lapsed into silence almost as soon as Ty and Dru left for their concert, but Kit didn’t overthink it as Livvy’s closet took over all empty space in his mind. It’s been almost two hours. Kit’s been staring at Livvy’s clothes, not speaking, for almost two hours. She probably thinks Kit’s just zoned out again, drifting somewhere of his own invention while she pads around the room to attempt the daily crossword that she and Ty make an unusual competition of, work through another line of code for her summer project, and eventually settle down to do her nails.

Kit’s blood echoes in his ears. The beast can definitely smell his distress. He’s easy prey.

“Hey Kit, do you want me to do your nails?”

His eyes slide away from the sweaters shoved against the furthest wall–because the September air is still clinging to the heat of July like a petulant child–to look at Livvy. What can Kit say that won’t give everything away? He’s said yes to her painting his nails before. They’d been decked in black, maroon, forest green, and once a sparkly purple that made Mina giggle when he wiggled his fingers in the light. There’s nothing conspicuous about Livvy painting his nails; it’s normal.

But Kit knows that she’ll take his hand and feel his rocketing pulse. She’ll listen to the way his blood sings in his veins, ecstasy at the acquisition but begging Kit to just finally take the plunge. She’ll take one, long look at him–like she always does because her blue-green eyes somehow always see straight through Kit like he’s nothing more than tissue paper–and just know.

Kit doesn’t even know what it all means quite yet; how will he react when Livvy connects all the dots before he does?

“Sure,” Kit replies. Because if Kit is good at anything, it’s ignoring the panic signals flashing red and blaring loud in his own body.

Putting his back to the closet makes his skin crawl, but he takes a deep breath and tries to reel back the line of dread he’s been unspooling for the past few hours back into something he can brush off as his stupid, sensitive response system after hearing a door slam from two houses down.

“I just got this shade that I think with match you perfectly.” She holds up the bottle. It’s the color of peach ice cream Ty always orders whenever they inevitably walk far enough down the beach to hit the pier. “And it’s just soft enough that it won’t draw a lot of attention.”

Kit’s grateful because they do have classes on Monday and the last thing he needs is everyone seeing him starting to paint his nails after the entire debacle of Kit’s coming out. Though Livvy’s been painting his nails long before the entire school found out about Kit’s huge, gay crush on Ty, it’s not like anyone would ask about it before shoving him into the lockers and calling him a fairy.

“Whatever you say,” Kit pushes out, pressing his hands against the cool wood of Livvy’s desk to mask their shaking. She doesn’t blink, just slides a tissue beneath his fingers and gets to work.

Whenever Livvy does Kit’s nails, she doesn’t stop at just applying a color. She always pushes back his cuticles and cuts away the excess, dead skin, puts two layers of the agreed-upon shade so it’s even and vibrant before applying a clear top coat, and dabs a drop of oil on each cuticle to keep it moisturized. Nothing about it makes Kit’s insides squirm as it’s the exact process she does for herself, Dru, and even Ty every so often–though Ty prefers to get just clear polish and it never lasts long with how often he thrusts his hands into dark, rocky crevices or the ocean.

But, even if Livvy didn’t do it exactly the same for everyone, Kit knows he wouldn’t shy away from the treatment because there’s a small part of his chest that rolls over giddily at being pampered. He glances back at Livvy’s closet, looking more foreboding without a clear line of sight.

The clothes call to him. They beckon with silky smooth fingers and croon with cotton soft voices. All Kit wants to do is block them out; think about anything else than how wonderful they must feel against the skin. He’s done it for years, why is it so much harder now?

Maybe it’s because he’s not under the same pressure to act and look a certain way. Maybe it’s because he now has a little sister who begs to braid his hair and clip childish butterfly and flower barrettes without structural intention. Maybe it’s because he saw Julian painting his own nails in hopes of preventing him from biting them to irritated nubs and could only think, wait boys are allowed to do that?

A sudden resolve settles over his shoulders, though he has no idea where it came from. It drapes across his skin, soothing its rapid-fire buzzing and settling his heart until it thumps harshly but evenly. The words fly out without giving Kit a chance to even think of snagging them back inside.

“Livvy, do you remember that dress you wore to school last week?” He asks, “the green one with puffed sleeves?

Because there is one thing in there that’s acting as Kit’s siren song. He saw it the moment they retreated to the twins’ room to wait out the concert of bands neither of them listen to but hear coming through Ty’s headphones or behind Dru’s bedroom door. It was like everything else in the room has been drained of color, the only object keeping its saturation was the beautiful sage green dress hanging just to the right of the center.

Kit walked into school, spotted her and Ty against the section of wall they claim each and every morning, and actually stopped in his tracks. It reached about mid-thigh, gathered around her waist, and showed off a large expanse of her chest. He couldn’t look away, too mesmerized by the way the fabric bounced animatedly as she talked with her hands.

There was no doubt he looked like a creep, stopping the flow of student traffic to just watch his best friend from several feet away. Eventually, she spotted him and waved, forcing Kit to snap back into himself and pretend like he didn’t just have an entire crisis soundtracked by sneakers squeaking against linoleum and students lamenting about calculus homework.

It’s not like Kit was the victim of a flood of attraction, that ship got its hull smashed when they shared a tight-lipped kiss at fifteen and Livvy fully grimaced afterward. No, Kit was jealous. He wanted that dress. He wanted to wear that dress.

“I do remember it, yes,” she replies; Kit pretends to not hear the snark in her tone, she doesn’t know why Kit is asking.

“Is there any way,” Kit swallows heavily, all his internal organs shoving their way into his throat, “I could try it on?”

He doesn’t immediately see Livvy’s reaction as he’s closed his eyes as tightly as they could go, bracing for her reaction. When she doesn’t say anything at all, he cracks one open slowly. She’s staring at him, hand frozen where it was rubbing in the last bits of oil around his thumb’s nail, not an ounce of judgment on her face. Actually, she’s beaming.

“Absolutely!” She cries, jumping up from her chair to rifle through the rainbow of fabrics to find the dress. Kit doesn’t point out that she passed over it twice because that would mean he was hyper-aware of its position and he doesn’t know if he can admit to that just yet.

He flaps his hands as he comes up behind her, taking the hanger when she thrusts it in his direction. She smiles again, makes a quick get-to-it gesture, and plops down onto her bed, criss-cross and facing away.

For a moment, all Kit can do is stare. He can’t even touch it yet, instead keeping his grip firmly on the plastic hanger so its rough edges dig into his palms. All the years of longing narrow down into Kit’s chest, pinpoint accuracy straight through his diaphragm that he struggles to breathe. He’s seven again, watching a pair of young girls skip by his father’s stall with matching floral skirts and Hello Kitty band-aids on their knees. He’s ten, trying to not seem like he’s following a woman just so he can get a prolonged view of the way her cropped tanktop hugs her ribs and stretches as she walks. He’s sixteen, with his comforter over his head like a force field as he watches fashion week runways on his phone in the middle of the night.

He’s wanted this for so long, aching for a chance to even entertain the thought of dressing like them. And Livvy just enthusiastically thrusted it into his arms because all Kit did was ask.

His fingers drag down the line of the hanger to tease against the tops of the sleeves. Despite it being nothing but a polyester and cotton mix, it feels electric. Alive. Only for a beat does he entertain the thought of just throwing it over his t-shirt and jeans; make it all for a quick joke to save his dignity at the expense of shoving it all down so far it’ll never see the light of say again. He was just outed to the entire school in one of the most violating and cruel ways, why is setting himself up for another beating? Will his heart be able to handle it?

That train of thought doesn’t last long in the presence of finding how exactly how the skirt will feel against the apex of his thighs.

It pulls around his chest but droops at his hips. The dress is clearly not made for his frame. But Kit has it on his body, adjusting the neckline so it sits centered on his chest and smoothing out any wrinkles he sees in the waist. Elation roars in his veins. He holds off from looking at himself for as long as he can–equally too afraid of hating how it looks and loving it so much he’ll never be able to take it off–but he takes a deep breath and rips off the ban-aid by stepping back and getting a full view in the mirror Livvy tacked to the inside of the door.

Oh, he looks nice. He looks really nice. The sleeves come down to just above his elbows, minimizing his biceps in a way he didn’t even know he craved. Where the bodice would normally have cleavage, it just holds the flat plane of Kit’s chest, but can’t bring himself to care. A soft laugh bubbles up his throat as she swings the hemline around his legs; it feels even better than he dreamed.

Livvy turns around at Kit’s joy and she just stares. Her hands come up to cover her mouth like she’s praying, doing nothing to block the giant smile that forms. She takes in everything, eyes darting along Kit’s body in a way that has him flushing but doesn’t diminish the pure joy acting as a barrier against everything.

Then she shrieks.

Compliments gush out of her like a waterfall, soaking Kit in warmth. “Oh my god, Kit you look so good! This color does amazing things with your skin. I know it’s a little longer due to our height difference but oh, just imagine how you’d look if I had something in your size!”

She pauses, her hands gripping Kit’s exposed clavicle. “How do you feel?”

Kit has no idea if he can put it into words. Like finally listening to a voice that’s been echoing in the back of his mind for ages. Like scratching an itch that he’s housed beneath his skin since before he could remember. It feels like freedom.

“Good,” is what he settles on, everything else feeling too big to make it up his throat, “I feel good.”

Livvy’s face falls into something more serious, gentle, but serious. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Talk about?” Somehow Kit feels like they aren’t thinking the same thing.

“Like, do you still want to be called Kit?”

All the warmth gets sucked out of Kit’s body, leaving him cold and shaking. Livvy trudges on without noticing. “Because you know, it’s fine if you don’t want to be Kit anymore. And you know that I’ll love you no matter what. I mean, you about Diana–”

“I’m not trans,” Kit cuts in. He backs up, allowing the closest monster to breathe heavily against his back. “I’m not a girl,” he whispers. He knows he shouldn’t have spat it out like it was an insult, but in the right context, it could be.

It’s scary, coming out as queer and then telling everyone you like girls’ clothes. He knows what everyone’s reaction will be. Oh, so he’s one of those gays. So we know who the girl in the relationship is. Just wait, in a few years, he’ll be getting everyone to call him she. Kit’s fingers dig into his arms, the sleeves doing nothing to cushion his skin from the pain. It’s no use trying to explain to everyone who questions what makes Kit Kit. They’ll never understand that his appreciation is aesthetically based, that he’s still a boy even if pairs his jeans with heeled boots or his t-shirt with a skirt. He’s already had people come up to him in the halls with insults veiled as questions about being bisexual. Do you even have a type or is just anyone who will give you attention? How will you keep a relationship if you have that bisexual urge to cheat? Does this mean you’ll still take it up the ass if you have a girlfriend? They ring in Kit’s ears, piling on top of each other until they’re nothing but white noise that threatens to make his eardrums burst.

He knows he’s hyperventilating, can feel his lungs burning, his heart pounding against his ribs, and his vision darkening around the edges, but’s helpless to stop it. Kit wants Ty. Who clings him to so tight that if Kit shattered into a million little pieces he’ll stay put together. Who mutters reassurances right into Kit’s ears even when Kit can’t clearly hear them. Who lays with Kit afterward–when he's still shaking but at least back in his own head–and goes through the known evolutionary history of dolphins.

But having Ty comforting him would mean Ty would be here, seeing Kit in a dress. And that only makes Kit’s panic worse.

There’s a hand rubbing a firm circle against his exposed spine and a voice speaking directly into his scalp. It’s not a lot, but it’s the tether Kit needed to drag himself back to reality.

The room comes back into focus, tears Kit didn’t realize he was shedding clouding his vision. Livvy has pulled him into her chest, curling over his head so his forehead rests against her collarbone. Slowly, her words sharpen.

“It’s okay Kit, I’m sorry I said anything. You’re okay, everything is okay. I promise you’re safe. Nothing’s here to hurt you.”

It’s so similar to what she whispers to Ty when he’s on the verge of a meltdown when Kit has to just watch from a distance as they curl into each other like two parentheses, protecting the vulnerability Ty shows by fisting his hands in his hair and repeating words under his breath.

It’s good, and soothing in an almost mindless way that helps piece Kit’s brain into a functional organ. When his heartbeat calms down and his lungs are able to take in a gulp of air without protesting violently, he pushes himself back again.

Livvy just watches him, waiting for Kit to say the first thing but daring him to brush it off with an I’m fine.

“Sorry,” he says instead, which is not a better line but at least he’s admitting he’s not okay.

“No, Kit, I’m sorry,” she presses, “I shouldn’t have assumed. Especially if you were working through something like your gender. It’s a lot to admit.”

“I just want to wear whatever I want. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Livvy agrees. The tension that’s coiled tight in Kit’s chest loosens somewhat. Though he shouldn’t be so surprised Livvy is as accepting as she is, with over half of her family identifying as queer in some fashion, including herself. But it’s nice to be taken at face value. Hearing what Kit says about himself and acknowledging it as the simple truth.

“I do have a question though,” she says.

Kit isn’t proud of how his shoulders draw up. “What?”

“You look kind of a right mess.” She tucks a lock of hair back behind Kit’s ear. “So I was wondering if you’ve considered makeup when thinking about your new look and if I’d be able to do it for you.”

Kit lets out a fragmented breath. That’s a much easier question to answer.

“I have. And you can. Just nothing too–” He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Livvy is dragging him back to the desk. With the briefest of checks that Kit’s okay, she bursts out of the room and down the hall leaving Kit alone with his thoughts as he fingers the hemline between his forefingers and thumb. He’ll never get how people claim they can see no similarities between Livvy and Ty after finding out they're twins. Sure, they’re not identical but Kit can see the shared traits easily. They both laugh with eyes squinted and heads thrown back, they both cock their heads when confused, and they both are unrestrained balls of energy when excited.

Livvy’s considerably more collected when coming back into the room, a good chunk of her makeup collection cradled in her arms. Though there’s less care when she just dumps it all across her desk. He blinks at all the palettes and applicators, praying that the pencil he saw Dru and Ty use to coat their under eyes black will go nowhere near his waterline.

“Alright,” Livvy huffs, falling back into Ty’s chair she borrowed from his desk, “is there anything that you’ve just been dying to try?”

Kit thinks back to Halloween a few years back. They had decided to go as something fantasy themed and all together they looked like they were heading to a Renn Faire rather than trick-or-treating. Livvy had gone a knight, her fencing saber acting as her trusty sword, though everyone kept assuming she was Joan of Arc. Ty went as a necromancer, which Kit believes was just an excuse for him to wear a heavy, black cloak the entire night and spend three days creating a detailed Necronomicon prop with Dru. And Kit was a faerie. The costume itself wasn’t terribly complex, just a linen shirt and pants combo that he spruced with tying his hair back in a loose updo that he let Mina decorate with beads and leaf decals, but Tessa had helped him apply mascara and some eyeliner to give him a more ethereal appearance. Kit couldn’t go by a mirror or window without sneaking a quick glance at his reflection all night.

“I really like how mascara looks and I don’t mind how chapstick feels, so, lip gloss?”

With all the shame-filled late-night searches Kit’s done to pin outfits to a private Pinterest board, he never dived too deep into the complex world of makeup. Everything he knows is simply by osmosis of having a girl best friend four years running.

“I can do mascara and lipgloss, but let me just help reduce some of this puffiness first.” She pulls out a green device that looks like a rolling pin attached to a long handle. Her hand against Kit’s shoulder keeps him from flinching too far back but once it hits below his eyes, he’s relaxing again. It’s cool and it feels like it’s dragging the heat that had pooled up and away.

It’s just how when Livvy does his nails: following a set set of steps to make sure it looks as good as possible. They don’t talk much as she works, the only breaks in silence are her answering the quiet questions Kit has about brands and techniques. Oddly enough, it feels like bonding. He shares so much with Ty: being queer men, being neurodivergent, and recently romantic interest.

Maybe this can be the thing they share.

“If I may ask, what draws you to feminine things?” Livvy requests, bringing a blond pencil up to his eyebrows. “If there even is a reason,” she tacks on.

Kit shrugs as lightly as he can without jostling his face too much. “I can’t say it’s much different than what draws you to it. Just wanting to feel pretty, I guess.”

“Well, good thing you were always partly there, pretty boy.” Kit flushes despite her teasing tone.

She instructs him to look up as she applies the mascara and luckily Kit is already familiar with the process; Tessa got to deal with all of Kit’s flinching and eyelids fluttering. “Have you always felt this way?”

“I think so?” Kit questions, thinking back on his childhood. Sure, a lot of his interest could have been chalked up to budding pre-pubescent attraction–which is probably what saved him from being questioned too heavily by his biological dad–but even then Kit knew something about looking at women’s clothes felt different than him wanting to kiss a girl. “But it’s the stereotypical story: boy likes girly things, society calls him fag, so he just repressed it until he forgets about it eating him from the inside out.”

It’s almost enough to make him laugh. He sure did turn out to be pretty gay without putting on makeup.

Livvy’s hand pauses just for a moment before continuing. “Well, I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me.”

“I appreciate you being so cool with it,” Kit responds.

She leans back, mascara brush swinging dangerously close to her cheek, lips pursed.

“We don’t have to worry too much about blush right now because the general redness of your cheeks is enough.” Kit scoffs. “But I will admit everything would look so much better if I had a foundation shade in your color. You’re lucky Emma left one of her brow pencils here and it’s close enough of a match to get by. Maybe when we go to get you some clothes we can swing by Sephora and pick a few things out.”

“Livvy,” Kit warns but she’s already turned to look at her lip gloss selection. He doesn’t know if he can do something like that yet. Trying on his friend’s dress in the privacy of her bedroom is very different from taking something into the changing room at a public store.

“Oh, It’ll be so fun! I love shopping with Emma and Christina, we make a whole day of it. Now I know the first time will probably be just you and me but it can still be a blast. I’m also pretty much an expert, so you’ll need me to help pick out things that flatter your body type.”

Kit isn’t even sure what his body type is. A disproportionate leg-to-torso ratio accompanied by an extra layer of fat around his stomach? Do they get that specific? Livvy holds up a few tubes of lip gloss, checking their color against the flush in Kit’s skin.

“It’s not that it won’t be fun. I just don’t think I’m ready to go the whole nine yards yet. Baby steps, yeah? Let’s just get a few feet first.”

Livvy sighs but Kit knows his barest hint at acceptance will be enough for her to have a plan put together when he officially says yes. Finally, she settles on a brand and he’s saved from shoving his foot in his mouth by a sticky layer of artificial strawberry flavoring. He smacks his lips when instructed, silently pleased with the soft pop they supply.

Wordlessly, Livvy holds up a handheld mirror for Kit to inspect her work, looking far too smug. For the second time today, he’s left speechless. She was right about not needing any blush as his cheeks are already flushed from his brief panic attack–and it’s not like he’s going out the look–but everything Livvy touched looks good. It’s still his face, but somehow more. The mascara makes his eyelashes look longer and fuller, framing his eyes in a distractingly familiar way. She filled in his eyebrows to make them darker and more defined and the lipgloss glistens along his cupid’s bow as he turns his head.

Kit definitely looks pretty. But all with all the fizzing that’s taken up residence in his stomach, heavy stones quickly dispel it all.

He’s never been blind to how he looks. Growing into his features in his late teens meant growing into something he could only describe as androgynous. People have always called him a delicate balance of handsome and beautiful. High cheekbones and full lips with a strong jawline and broad shoulders. It was when he started to grow his hair past his ears that people started to do double-takes for more reasons than interest. Passing them in public, Kit could always tell what they were thinking: was that a boy or a girl? He can’t help but think about Ty.

“What’s going on?” She whispers, resting her folded forearms on his shoulder.

Kit snaps the mirror closed and throws it back on the desk, unable to look anymore. “Ty’s gay.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty aware,” Livvy chuckles, “you should have seen how many times he watched 10 Things I Hate About You just for Heath Ledger.”

“So what if I start doing this,” Kit makes a broad gesture to his face and clothes, “and he starts to lose interest.”

Livvy lets out a sympathetic sound. “Oh, Kit.”

“I know it won’t be an everyday thing. I still like masculine styles! I just want to be free to wear the stuff everyone associates with girls. But what if Ty can’t bring himself to kiss me when I have lipstick on.” Kit sniffs. “What if this tears us apart?”

He can feel his throat closing up and tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, but Livvy is already there with a tissue before any can spill again.

“First, please don’t cry as I just applied that mascara and it will run like a bitch. Two, you know Ty doesn’t care about stuff like that.” She holds onto his elbows as he collects himself, then trails her hands down his forearms to link their fingers together. “Ty likes you however you present yourself.”

“There are tons of gay guys who are masc-for-masc and all that shit.”

“Well Ty isn’t one of those guys,” she assures. Her thumb comes up to swipe at a tear that slipped out. “Do you like it?”

“It kinda makes me look like a girl.”

“But do you like it?”

Kit hesitates, thinking back to how his body immediately reacted to putting on the dress, seeing his makeup in the mirror. “Yes. I really like it.”

“Then that’s all Ty will care about.”

He can only nod, pressure building behind his eyes with renewed force. It takes a lot of effort to not cry, though the remaining shreds of his dignity and Livvy’s hard work being on the line are excellent motivators. When Kit finally nods, waving for Livvy to step back, he feels a little better.

“I’m okay,” he promises, “sorry about nearly crying again.”

“Babe, for all the times I know you’ve choked back tears. Letting yourself cry twice in one day might actually be good for you.”

Kit laughs and all the fear and anxiety in his chest finally dissipates. It reminds Kit of the scene in most teenage coming-of-age stories. Where the main character inevitably goes to their wiser, older sibling, usually back for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and pours their heart out to show all the terrible pressure they’ve been under. The older sibling will just take them under their arm, give all the right advice in the most condensed way possible, and make a reference to some comfort action they used to share. It’s cheesy and so overdone, but it’s always been one of Kit’s favorite scenes. Because, when he was growing up, all he wanted was an older sibling or friend with more life experience to tell him that everything will work out and he shouldn’t stress out so much.

He and Livvy are the same age, with the possibility of a few-month age gap depending on when Kit was actually born but will probably always be up in the air, but this feels like that kinship. Despite how often they’ll flick each other off across the cafeteria floor, rib each other over the smallest of things, or send stupid jokes in the middle of the night knowing it’ll wake the other up, the root of their friendship is something loving and pure, no matter what.

Livvy is like the older sibling Kit always craved when he inevitably fell asleep and woke up to an empty house.

“And you know, we can always just take your picture to see what Ty thinks.” Livvy wiggles her eyebrows, leaning in close. “He might actually really like it.”

Kit gags. “I don’t need you suggesting that, ever. Need I remind you he’s your twin brother?”

“Hey! I wasn’t suggesting anything! Just that he might be the exact opposite of opposed to you expressing yourself.” She shakes her head. “You allos man, all you can think about is sex.”

Kit puts his head in his hands, which Livvy immediately slaps away claiming it’ll ruin her masterpiece, you don’t touch the art.

After letting Livvy take one–one–picture of Kit’s makeup, they continue to lounge in silence, though now Kit has to be more conscious of not rubbing his face and how he sits so he doesn’t flash his boxer briefs. But as the clock gets closer and closer to when Ty estimated they’d be home, Kit has to take it all off.

Thankfully it’s easier than he’d thought it’d be, though Livvy goes through a lot of rules to get the makeup off that makes Kit wonder why he can’t just dunk his face in water and scrub. Asking results in such a heavy sigh that Kit absolves himself to just listening to what she says.

Looking at the dress now in Livvy’s hamper makes Kit’s heart ache, though. Even after Livvy assures him that if he ever wants to come around to wear it for a little while again–or anything else in her wardrobe–that he’s more than welcome, Kit wishes he had things in his own closet so he won’t have to express himself solely in a shared bedroom in a house miles from his own. But he meant it when he told Livvy baby steps. The longing lets him know that this is real.

He lays back down on the rug, watching Ty’s digital clock flip at each passing minute. A whole new kind of dread settles deep in his bones. He’s going to have to lie to Ty for a while. Not that Kit particularly wants to, but he’s just not ready to share it yet. It came out to Livvy because Kit was a pot boiling over and he physically couldn’t keep it contained anymore. But telling Ty will involve them sitting down and Kit having to talk through all his feelings and answering any questions Ty’s bound to have. He can’t just show up to a date–because they actually have those now–in a skirt and tights with no prior explanation. That will never go over well.

Not really knowing himself made it easier to not talk about it, but now it’s something he has to actively keep from Ty, which sucks. But necessary, for the time being.

He’s so deep in his own rumination he doesn’t notice Livvy shuffling around the room until she drops a heavy Sears bag just to the right of his head. It’s so heavy it thumps loudly even against the carpet and stays upright for all of three seconds before tipping over due to its own mass.

“Jesus Christ! Livvy! You could have taken my head off!” He yells, earning a flippant wave in return.

“I have impeccable aim, look inside.”

It’s clothes. A lot of clothes. Things he’s seen Livvy wear before and things he doesn't recognize. He spots a familiar shade of navy blue that he knows is a buttoned crop top he loved a lot when Livvy wore it. Though he’s not sure if it’s coincidence or Livvy noticed him looking that long ago.

“Livvy–”

“Ah, ah, don’t Livvy me like the idea of someone doing something nice for you is enough to send you into hysterics. They’re all clothes I haven’t worn in a while so I was going to donate them anyway. You can go through them first if you relieve me of having to go down to the GoodWill.”

“You’ve already done so much today,” he protests. Livvy just holds up her fingers.

“And people don’t have daily kindness caps. I’m allowed to be as nice as I want. Do whatever with them, they’re yours now.” She flops backward onto her bed, bouncing several inches off the mattress and rattling the lamp at her bedside. It makes Kit laugh because it always makes Ty tense when she does it, concern radiating off him in palpable waves.

Kit tucks everything back into a hopefully inconspicuous lump. It won’t fit in the duffle he brought for staying over so he can only pray no one asks why he’s taking a Sears bag he definitely didn’t arrive with. At least he has time to come up with a convincing lie.

“This is a lot like you telling me you’re bi before Ty,” Livvy says off-handedly, staring at something on her phone. Then she shoots a pointed look his way. “You need to tell Ty. I don’t like keeping shit from him.”

But Kit knows that she won’t say a thing until says it’s okay. He won’t force her to keep it a secret for longer than she must. “I will, I promise. I’m not going to go behind his back and do drag once a month to get it out of my system.”

“Oh please, you don’t have the resilience for drag. Don’t kid yourself.”

Kit cackles, which sends Livvy into a fit as well. This is good, familiar. The world hasn't tilted off its axis now that Livvy knows.

Eventually, they decide to wait downstairs so they can catch Dru before dragging Ty back out. They have plans to gorge themselves on late-night Mexican street corn from the vendor that passes by the Blackthorn’s house after a long stint selling off the Santa Monica Pier.

At a quarter to midnight, the front door opens and immediately Dru’s laugh fills the room. Her tightly woven braids had come undone at some point in the night, leaving her hair in loose curls that spill across her shoulders. With her mascara running down her cheeks, it honestly adds to the look. She’s cackling and while Ty isn’t smiling behind her, his eyes are alight and he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Seeing him so happy makes Kit’s chest feel like it’s glowing.

“Good concert, I take?” Livvy asks, sprawled across the couch like a Victorian damsel after a fainting spell.

“It was amazing! Life-altering!” Dru gushes, folding herself over the back of the couch.

Ty doesn’t sit down in favor of pacing in front of the tv. “It was really fun.”

A light from upstairs clicks off as Dru dives into the setlist of each of the bands, with Ty piping in on the songs he wished they had included. All of it fades to the background as Kit just stares at his boyfriend. His eyeliner is not in the same state Dru’s is, but it has smudged out into an unintentionally smoky eye. The black is stark against the heavy flush of his cheeks. He fiddles with the end of his striped sleeves while each of his steps thud against the hardwood.

He’s an interesting mix of devastatingly handsome and cheek-pinchingly cute.

“–and Ty totally almost punched a guy!” Kit zones back in at the end of Dru’s sentence and is suddenly very invested in the conversation.

Though Livvy’s been listening to her sister attentively, she also perks up considerably. “Wait, Ty almost punched someone?” Despite asking Dru she looks directly at Ty.

“What do you mean by almost punched?” Kit adds.

“It was so badass!” Dru then turns to Ty, absolutely beaming. Ty doesn’t react, too focused on folding his sleeves a certain way over his fingers.

“He wouldn’t leave you alone,” he says, “even after you told him you’re a minor.”

“Ty found me to get our spots back in the mosh pit after a brief intermission between bands and the guy got all up in his face.” Dru's voice got a little quieter as she addresses Ty, “I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you threw a punch.”

It’s hard to imagine Ty fighting someone. The image forms vaguely with the few times he’s gone to Ty’s taekwondo meets, but that’s also very controlled combat with a ton of rules and referees to prevent anyone from getting seriously hurt. Ty’s about as violent as he is protective, which isn’t a lot. Kit doesn’t want to imagine what the guy could have possibly been saying to get Ty going.

“If I hit him, we would have gotten thrown out and would have missed the rest of the show. But,” Ty looks at Dru for a second, a flash of something passing over his eyes, “he definitely deserved to get his nose broken.”

The laugh bubbles out of Kit’s throat without him really thinking and suddenly they’re all in hysterics. It’s a uniting feature of Blackthorns Kit has found, their laugh that resembles more of a shout.

“At least the concert was mostly fun?” Livvy asks, still struggling to get a full breath in.

This sends Dru into another tangent about how hot Andy Biersack was in person which has Ty softly agreeing. They got on for a while, trading stories of crazy moves by band members and other people in the mosh-pit with brightly dyed hair and more spikes on their clothes than fabric. At least the most pit wasn’t a poor experience, given its reputation.

Then Kit’s stomach groans loudly, cutting off whatever Livvy was about to say.

“I think it’s nearing street corn time,” he jokes.

Livvy shoots off the couch. “Thank god! I’ve been thinking of how to subtly hint at it in conversation for the past ten minutes. Let’s get some food!”

“I need to shower first. I smell,” Ty says.

“And as much as I love the aesthetic I slaved to create,” Dru swipes a finger under her eye, smudging what’s already there more than wiping it away, “I need to get this off before it blinds me.”

“Sounds good. Kit and I’ll just wait.” Livvy casts a look at Kit, catching him staring openly while Ty unlaces his boots. “Actually, Dru, why don’t I help you with your makeup.”

“If you want, but I’m just wiping–”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s go!”

Then they’re gone, Livvy’s promise of buying Dru her food is the last Kit hears before a door closes and leaves the house deathly quiet.

Ever since Kit and Ty started dating, Livvy’s been leaving them to have more time alone. Despite how much she loves to tease that now they’re together all they can think about is sex, she loves to set up scenarios where they have time and privacy. Kit doesn’t have the heart to tell her that they aren’t waiting for the second she’s gone to throw themselves at each other. Things have hardly changed, except that they definitely kiss more than friends. And Kit will not complain about the kissing.

“Hey,” Kit says, leaning against the wall as Ty kneels down to slide his boots off.

“Hi,” Ty replies.

Kit takes a deep breath, working up the courage to speak. They’re dating now, officially, with a few formal, romantic outings between the two of them that can no longer be passed off as friendly. He’s allowed to say these things. “You look really hot.”

“I do?” Kit can’t believe that’s how Ty responds, because clearly he’s been in front of a mirror in the last four hours.

“Yeah, babe, the eyeliner really does it for me,” Kit croons. He tries to not giggle at the heavy flush that overtakes the light exertion on Ty’s cheeks. So, instead, he leans closer to ask: “Can I have a kiss?”

Because even though they’re dating, Kit knows it’s still best to check. Ty isn’t always open to having people touch him and especially after something so stimulating as a concert with a heavy emphasis on moshing and apparently a narrowly avoided fight. He doesn’t want to assume Ty doesn’t need some space to decompress.

“I meant it when I said I smell.”

“Eh, I don’t really care.” Kit grins smugly. “And maybe I like the boyish musk.”

Ty grimaces but stands up to give Kit a peck all the same. Which still makes Kit’s insides do cartwheels around his abdomen. His lips are slightly dry against Kit’s, but since he knows they’re from Ty screaming lyrics he loves so dearly, he can’t be upset. But Ty freezes, pulling back just enough to stare at Kit’s mouth.

“Are you wearing new chapstick?” He asks. Kit touches his lips, feeling no residue left behind from the lip gloss. He made sure to get it all off and apply his usual, flavorless chapstick to soothe the friction irritation.

“Why?”

“You taste like strawberries.”

Kit flushes. Immediately, his mind starts supplying all the little lies to get out of this situation. “I must have grabbed one that I usually save for my house. Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Ty hums, his tongue darting out to run along his lips. His socked feet tap against the floor frantically. “I like it.”

And then he turns on his heel to go upstairs and shower.

Kit stands in the middle of the living room, listening to the pipes creak when Ty turns the shower on and the chime of the clock on the mantle hitting midnight. The fizzing starts up again in his stomach with renewed vigor.

33 notes · View notes

chrasilla · 1 year

Text

ao3 fanfiction titles are some of the most spiritual, poetic phrases i have ever laid eyes on, and then the tags are bdsm, edging, rimming, non-con, and choking kink

#ao3 #fanfiction #drarry #wolfstar #destiel #fanfic #ao3 memes #fandom #harry potter #the shadowhunter chronicles #kit x ty #kitty #supernatural #chrasillasss

996 notes · View notes

ti-bae-rius · 2 years

Text

Prompt dailyau (via hailargent)

‘Our flats are opposite each other and your kitchen window faces my kitchen so we always see each other making coffee at 3am’

Ship: KITTY

(I think after the last sobh update we need some happy kitty content)

Even though I know he’s there, I don’t want to look like I’ve been waiting, so I stir my cup of coffee for longer than necessary, the spoon clinking against the mug until the steam has all but stopped rising from it. Then I look up and smile. He raises his mug in greeting and I offer a little wave in return. The knot inside me loosens and I head back to my room, finally able to focus. This strange ritual has become a vital part of my routine and, even though I don’t know him at all, have never even heard his voice, my day feels wrong if we don’t see each other.

It’s been the same thing every day for a couple of months. Perhaps, for some people, that would be dull, but to me it’s like the satisfying pop of a stiff joint. I’m not sure when he moved in, but at some point I noticed it; his apartment is directly across the alley from mine and from my kitchen window I can see his identical flat, the perfect mirror image of my own. When he stands in front of his sink, drinking his coffee, and I do the same at mine, it’s like we’re reflections, inverted versions of one another.

The next evening when I make my coffee, he isn’t there yet. My upstairs neighbours are either having sex or moving furniture. I hope for the latter. Before I can have those hopes dashed, I pull my headphones on and shuffle a playlist. While the water boils, I put dishes away, vague shuffle-dancing from the cupboard to the drying rack and back. When I finally look up, he’s watching me, grinning. Before I can blush too hard, I realise he’s dancing too, in time with me. He moonwalks into his lounge and disappears from view, leaving me to finish making my drink alone. My feet tap to my music right up until I fall asleep, well after I’ve taken my headphones off, and I can’t help wondering if his do too.

The day after, he’s there first, looking as if he’s just woken up despite it being 8 o’clock at night. His elbow is up on the counter and his chin rests on his hand as if he’s in danger of falling asleep on his feet. I can’t stop looking at his hair: no two strands appear to be going in the same direction - it’s fluffy in some places and flattened in others like the grass on a campsite. I motion to my own hair and he pulls his phone out, then looks back to me, mouth open in faux-offence. He pulls his hoodie over his face and yanks on the strings so that his face all but disappears, then flips me off with both hands. The whole day, laughter keeps bubbling between my lips at the memory.

And then the next day arrives, and he isn’t there.

For a whole week, a strange, horrible sourness creeps into me, tainting each day with the feeling that something is wrong. Each day, the world feels a little more off-kilter, like someone is pushing a vase closer and closer to the edge of a table. More than once, I consider throwing something at his window, but knowing me I’d smash the glass or miss completely. Besides, what would I even say?

‘Hello. I’m Ty. You have inadvertently become a part of my daily routine and I’d really appreciate a notice period of 2-3 weeks if you plan to stop assuming that role I’ve never communicated to you. Also it’s very hard to focus because I keep going back to my kitchen hoping to see you and I’ve made so many cups of coffee I’m constantly vibrating.’

It sounded a bit…intense for an introduction.

I briefly consider that maybe he’s gone on vacation, but if I squint I can see the constant flicker of a TV somewhere in the apartment. Then I become hyper aware of how much of a stalker I’m being and back off. At least for a while.

It’s in the second week I really start to panic and become gripped with a horrible fear he’s died. I have no logical basis for this; he’s just a stranger that just so happens to live in an apartment with a kitchen facing my own, but the idea that he’s hurt - or worse - and might be all alone begins to eat away at me. I spend Saturday trying to work out the floor plan of his building to figure out which apartment he’s in, falling down a rabbit hole of horror stories about people dying in their home and not being found for months, and being unable to sleep with completely unwarranted but all-encompassing worry.

Sunday morning when I go to make coffee and don’t see him there, I grab my keys and get dressed. It only takes a minute to walk across to his building, ring the bell for the apartment I think is his. It takes even less time for me to realise how absolutely insane I’m being. The door clicks open and a blue eye peers at me through the crack, the gold chain stopping it from swinging wide. It’s him, with dark rings under his eyes and the beginnings of a shitty beard from not shaving, but him nonetheless. He looks completely baffled to see me and I wish for the universe to rewind two minutes because now I’m here, and he clearly hasn’t died or broken a leg or whatever, I realise how utterly stupid this is. I’m a perfect stranger, on his doorstep, with no reason to be here except that -

“About 30,000 people in Japan die alone in their apartments every year,” I blurt out. I clamp my mouth closed, then open it again to apologise, but against all odds (and common sense) he takes his door off the latch and opens it, leaning against the frame. He’s not as tall as I imagined he’d be, and close up I can see freckles across his nose like he’s been flicked by a paintbrush coated in watercolour. His sweatpants are too long and the cuffs bunch around his bare feet like leg warmers. I rub my hands down my jeans nervously and try again.

“I haven’t seen you in your kitchen for a while and I just wanted to check you were okay.”

He blinks at me, seemingly speechless, then swallows, throat bobbing like a buoy.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” he says in a way that makes me think he hasn’t spoken in a long time, voice all tight and unsteady. It also makes me think he’s lying. I wonder if the scepticism shows on my face because he continues. “I’ll, um, I’ll be alright.”

I bite my lip because I don’t know what to say. I’m about to just turn and leave, to stop this whole ridiculous thing I’ve started, when he clears his throat.

“I don’t know. I’m not great.”

I take a deep breath before I reply, ready with what I wanted to say all along, a script already written in my head.

“I’m Ty,” I tell him, “and maybe you don’t know but we kind of got into a routine of making our coffee together, well, kind of together. And I know we never spoke but it was my favourite part of the day and then you stopped and that’s fine, but I wanted you to know how much it meant to me. And that I was really worried you’d died.”

When I glance back at him, he looks like he might cry. He blinks a few times and exhales slowly.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, coughing a little to clear his throat. “I, uh, I really needed that.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, and he looks at me as if he’s been waiting for someone to ask him that question for years. He leans towards me and starts talking and talking and talking.

“I thought I was doing great, y’know? But a couple weeks back my parents video-called me and they put my sister on - she’s only 3 - and she didn’t even recognise me and started crying and I haven’t even been gone a year but it’s as if I was never even there. Like, I was going to go home, right? I was going to go visit them, and my dad was like ‘we can set up the guest room for you!’ and I was all ‘oh, what about my room?’ and they’ve turned it into a fucking office. Which, like, of course they have because I don’t even live there anymore and it’s not as if they wouldn’t change it back if I told them it bothered me, but it’s like, of course Mina’s gonna forget me if there’s nothing to remind her of me. They were so excited to have me home, so it’s not like they haven’t missed me, and now I’ve messed that up because I don’t want to go back anymore, so I’m making it all worse anyway. But I’m like, I’ve moved all the way out here - all the way from fucking Devon by the way - to get a job, which I can’t even find. So what was the point? I have no money left and even though they’d send me some, no questions, if I asked, I can’t ask because I’d feel guilty and this is all so stupid. My sister is forgetting me and I have nothing to show for being here so why not just move home? But my room’s a fucking office. And all I do is apply for jobs and watch The Good Place. I haven’t left this building in 2 weeks, Ty, and I ran out of coffee like 10 days ago and I’ve cried twice this week because I just want coffee - even though it’s not really about the coffee, clearly - but I can’t drag myself to the store to get a fucking jar of instant fucking coffee.”

He appears to say all of this in one long breath, though I know that can’t be the case. Still, when he finishes, his chest is heaving like he’s just finished running a marathon. He looks flushed and stressed, but also ever-so-slightly relieved. It’s a definite improvement on how he looked before, like he’s set down some great weight. I try to find something to say.

“I have coffee,” I settle on eventually and a tiny glimmer of the guy I remember, who danced along with me so I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be caught, returns to his eyes.

“Kick a guy when he’s down, why don’t you?”

I don’t fully understand what he’s talking about so I laugh in the way you laugh when you haven’t heard what someone says, and say “Would you like to come and have a coffee with me at my place?”

He softens.

“That sounds really, really nice.” He glances down at himself and backs into his apartment. “I’ll change and meet you in the lobby in 5. I cannot believe I opened the door to you looking like this.”

I smile and turn away to start down the hall before he calls my name.

“I’m Kit, by the way. And just so you know, our coffees were the best part of my days too.”

He tucks his head back behind the door and closes it, leaving me standing in the middle of a hallway that is strange but familiar, the perfect reflection of the one outside my own door, hoping that Kit forgets to buy his own instant coffee for a couple more weeks.

#kitty #kit and ty #kit x ty #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #ty and kit #ty x kit #tsc #tda #the dark artifices #cassandra clare #tiberius blackthorn #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfiction #fanfic #kitty fanfic

82 notes · View notes

neeksxoxo · 1 year

Text

pls send kitty fanfics my way im obsessing again

#kitty #kit x ty #kitty fanfics #kit x ty fanfics

4 notes · View notes

protectdrusillablackthorn · 2 years

Text

au where ty and kit are roommates at the Academy? should i ????

#the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #cassandra clare #fanfic #kitty #kit and ty #kit x ty

16 notes · View notes

amchara · 2 years

Text

Herondales Don't Fail: Ch. 1 - The London Institute

Ao3 / 1

Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn (Kit/Ty), original characters

Wordcount: 5,412 words

Rating: Mature

Summary: It’s been almost five years since an epic line-up of Shadowhunter heroes and their allies closed all the portals to Hell. Now, demons are scarce and the Nephilim are searching for their purpose in this new world. Centurion Ty Blackthorn has been sent to London to investigate a potential new threat, while Kit Herondale has taken up a post helping to rebuild the London Enclave.

Kit was happy to accept the London Institute’s invitation to assist in the rebuilding of the city’s Enclave. But he didn’t count on being blindsided into joining the competition to become its next head - or being hated by most of its inhabitants who assume he’s only there because of his name.

Notes: This is the Kit POV story of "The London Files", which are one-shot or multi-chaptered fics set post-The Wicked Powers. Established Kit / Ty relationship, where they're about 22-23 years old. Set in the same universe as Effortless (Or, the time Kit almost earned an A-Level) but you don't need to read it to follow the story, although it will add a bit more context to Kit's relationships to the OCs (Ade and Ellie) in this fic - basically, they are his school friends from Devon.

You can find the main case file stories here and other stories set in the same verse here. I would suggest also reading 'Weather Change' as it's basically a prologue to this story, although this one can still be read independently.

The morning of his first day at the London Institute Kit woke up with cold feet, morning glory and Ty staring at him like he might burn a hole in his forehead.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Ty.

“Good morning too, love,” Kit said, with a groan. His head was intermittently aching and he suddenly remembered last night. He had come back in after his night out dancing with Ellie and had pounced on Ty, who had leapt up from his report-writing in eager reciprocation.

Kit looked down… yep, that was one huge hickey that he had on his left pec. And from previous history, he knew his neck probably looked like a drunk vampire had gotten at him.

Ty’s gaze dropped down to Kit’s fingers searching out his neck. “Don’t worry, we can iratze them before you have to head to the Institute.”

Kit suddenly felt nervous, remembering the day ahead. For comfort, he reached out to trace his finger down Ty’s cheek, from grey eyes framed by darkest eyelashes to his perfect jawline.

Ty closed his eyes. And then in a graceful movement, pulled Kit closer to him in the bed. His lips found Kit’s and they kissed with a tenderness that deepened after a few beats, Ty stroking his hair gently.

Kit broke the kiss reluctantly. “Ty- what time is it?” They’d been in London less than a week and he hadn’t adjusted to the timezone yet.

“5:45. You still have a couple hours before you need to leave,” Ty said, close to his ear, and in his voice, Kit could hear a dark thread promising a very good time in that intervening period. “Especially as you don’t have to drive in L.A. traffic.”

“That is the sexiest thing you’ve said to me in about.... five hours,” Kit said, pressing a quick kiss on Ty’s cheek. Who needed sleep, anyway? Particularly given their recent schedules… Kit would always seize the opportunity.

Ty lifted his head and his lips curved in a smile, eyes gleaming with smugness. “Good, as I still have several things I want to do before you leave this morning.”

He could feel Ty’s fingers tightening in his hair, directing his head back into a more advantageous angle that gave him access again to Kit’s neck, his other hand roaming downwards. Kit bit back a groan, and leaned into Ty’s shoulder.

But a conversation from the previous night right before they had fallen asleep popped into his head. Kit could feel Ty hovering over him, his lips stroking across his throat. He made his decision.

“No,” he said. Ty stopped. Kit’s hands reached up and disentangled Ty’s hand from his hair. “Pretty sure we had a deal last night-”

Ty pulled back, with a small pout on his lips. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,” he admitted but a quick, shy glance upwards meant Kit was certain he was going to get his way.

“Oh- you can definitely go back to sucking later on,” Kit told him with a grin, letting his eyes drift downwards suggestively.

Ty smiled enigmatically and he looked at Kit with a sardonic eyebrow raised as if to say - why are you waiting?

Kit responded by rolling so he was on top, straddling him and an incomprehensible noise came from the back of Ty’s throat. He reached up for Kit- but Kit pinned his hands easily over his head and leaned over him, his long hair falling around him and tickling the sides of Ty’s face. “My turn,” he said.

Ty’s expression was of a person accepting their fate. “Okay,” he said, his voice full of desire and slight resignation.

Kit smiled. He would accept the rare victory of Ty Blackthorn giving up control.

An indeterminate time later, and Kit entered the downstairs kitchen, freshly showered and ravenous. He nodded at Anush who was standing and peering over Ty’s shoulder as Ty pointed to something on his laptop screen, talking in a low voice.

Anush was taking notes with fierce speed but managed to nod companionably as Kit crossed the brightly-lit kitchen. They both were dressed in smart trousers and collared shirts, with their Centurion pins flashing in the morning sunlight. “So we’ve considered that they may have stationed part of their network in France?” Kit heard him ask.

“Yes- but,” Ty paused in his explanation. He tilted his head as he watched Kit turn around, pushing up his sleeves, and Kit wistfully admired the sight. Before they arrived in London, it had been almost six months since he had spent more than a day or two alone with Ty. And given their first London patrol and Ty's injuries, Kit was just thankful he had the chance at all to admire Ty in the early morning light.

Admittedly, Anush wasn’t part of his domestic fantasy, but Kit supposed he had to make allowances, given how closely he and Ty worked together as Centurion partners.

But he had paused for too long, and he could see Ty about to ask a question. “You’re both starting early,” Kit said hurriedly, grabbing supplies for breakfast. He eyed the coffee machine with slight betrayal- he had sworn he had programmed it the previous night. Then he sighed - and stretched across the counter to turn the switch on at the wall.

They’d visited the Herondale townhouse on Curzon Street occasionally over the past couple of years - ever since he and Jace had collectively agreed to restore it back to being a liveable home instead of a museum relic - but infrequently enough Kit still sometimes forgot the fact wall sockets in the UK had to be turned on. The coffeemaker gurgled to life.

Ty rolled his eyes, distracted. “I still haven’t gotten the ban on bringing mundane equipment to the office lifted yet so Anush is taking physical notes for our meeting. It’s much less efficient,” he said, annoyance evident in his voice

“Give it time,” Kit said, grinning. “You’ve only been working there for a couple days- once they realise their best Centurion is being asked to do his work with one hand tied behind his back, they’ll lift that laptop ban.”

“Excuse me- TWO best Centurions here,” Anush said jokingly, leaning across the table to grab another thick pile of papers.

Ty gave Kit a small smile as he turned back to his screen. “I hadn’t realised how old-fashioned it would be here,” he said.

“They’re very traditional here still,” Anush agreed with a sigh. “Honestly, if we can get them to listen, it’d make our lives so much easier to use a computer rather than handwritten notes. Plus filing would be digital and super easy,” he said, looking at their stack of paperwork.

He turned back to Kit, who could see his sharp brown eyes scan up and down, a crease forming on his forehead. “Speaking of tradition… today’s your first day at the Institute right, Kit?”

“That’s right,” Kit said, and he narrowed his eyes in return, as he started eating his breakfast. “Something wrong with how I look?”

Anush shrugged as he held his hands up. “Nah, look man, you know I don’t care. But just so you’re aware… from what I’ve gathered in the week I’ve been here, the Centurion office takes its cue from the London Institute. Super traditional.”

Kit raised his eyebrows and looked down at his clothes. The pit in his stomach deepened and he could feel the previously-squashed down anxiety rising. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a small frown cross Ty’s face at Anush’s words.

Kit took a deep breath. “I’ve packed standard issue gear in my bag for training but-” he said, defiantly crossing his arms. “They asked for Kit Herondale, that’s who they’re getting.”

Anush snorted and Ty looked amused. “They’re definitely getting a Herondale,” Anush said.

Kit pasted on a grin. “And who am I to deny them that experience?”

He gulped down the rest of his cereal and poured some fresh coffee into a travel mug. “But- speaking of, I am gonna head out- don’t want to give them any impression other than the one I’m trying to carefully cultivate.” He picked up the bag he had packed the previously evening, silently thanking his previous self for being proactive.

He loped across the kitchen and bent to give Ty a quick kiss. “See you this afternoon for the wraith briefing?” he said and Ty nodded. “And Kit-” his hand tightened on his forearm and Kit picked up on the subtle warning.

Kit squeezed back. “I know- I’ll keep my eye out,” he said.

The mysterious text message they had received the night they arrived in London. The London Institute is rotting from within - tread carefully Herondale.

Sabina was heading down from the armory to grab breakfast, when she came across her sister peeking around the corner of the corridor to the Institute’s entrance.

She took in her sister’s appearance as she approached. Unlike the previous day, there appeared to be fewer scorch marks on Noura’s heavy duty apron she wore over her gear, which suggested that today’s experiments were going well. Or not well. She couldn’t really tell which but so long as Noura continued to avoid Evelyn’s notice for another couple of months until the new Head of Institute was decided, that was the main thing.

Noura spotted her out of the corner of her eye and she waved Sabina over. He’s here, she signed, gesturing towards the front door.

Sabina hurried over. No need for further explanation of who ‘he’ was. The legendary Herondale. And her competition; unless she was wildly mistaken about Evelyn’s meeting this afternoon.

She debated whether to take a look but her curiosity and Noura’s slightly impressed look was worrying… she decided to risk it. She peeked. Noura pulled her away, grinning, to an alcove where they could talk.

“Huh,” Sabina said, facing her sister so Noura could read her lips. “He’s… not what I was expecting.”

She had met Jace Herondale when she had spent a month at the New York Institute, early in her travel year. As a newly Ascended Shadowhunter, and one who had only previously spent time in the old Academy when it came to Shadowhunter society, she hadn’t really felt comfortable exchanging more than brief pleasantries with him, even if he was only a year older.

This Christopher Herondale, part of the group of heroes who had saved the entire Shadow world four years ago, wasn’t exactly built in that mold. Oh- he had the same broad shoulders and blond hair of his cousin but…

“He looks like a Shoreditch hipster,” Noura said, smirking. “Hot.” She feigned wiping her brow.

Sabina rolled her eyes but internally, she agreed at her sister’s succinct summary. Well, the first part at least.

Long hair pulled back into a high bun, dark fitted jeans, paired with an artfully faded t-shirt and converses, a canvas backpack casually slung across his shoulder.... if she hadn’t been otherwise informed, and he wasn’t standing in the entryway and chatting with acting Head of Institute, Roger Stormborn, he could’ve been any mundane she encountered on the Tube. Or as Noura said, a denizen of a certain popular East London bar area. Sabina also could have also sworn she spotted several ear piercings. Definitely not the traditional Shadowhunter look.

She grudgingly admitted her sister’s second observation was also true. This Herondale was easy on the eyes. But Sabina had long ago learned how to adjust her internal hotness calibration for Shadowhunters- especially the long-lineaged Shadowhunter families, otherwise she wouldn’t have made it through the Academy.

Plus, the fact that they were often assholes helped.

She wasn’t sure if there was as much of a glow-up for Ascended Shadowhunters (though Noura had certainly attempted to quantify it via their skincare routine pre- and post-Ascension). But she did admit certain old Shadowhunter families seemed to have something of the ‘je ne sais quoi’ about their features. Even for…

“Sabina!” A familiar Scottish baritone voice called from across the hallway. Jacob gave her a friendly smile, as he sought her out. “How is the armoury inventory coming along?”

“I’m on break, Dearborn,” Sabina said, with a polite nod. “But it’s coming along. How is library archiving?”

“Fascinatingly actually- if you’re going to the dining hall I’ll catch you up on-”

“I’m actually catching up with Noura so…” Sabina interrupted. She watched as his beautiful blue eyes slid across to her sister. “Of course- I’ll see you at training later,” he said, nodding to them both as he took his leave.

Noura grinned at her sister and arched a questioning eyebrow, which Sabina ignored. She concentrated on the matter at hand. “What do you think people’s reactions are going to be?” she asked reluctantly, returning to the matter at hand.

“Evelyn is going to freak out when she sees him. You know- she’s like, all ‘ra rah we’re Shadowhunters and need to hold ourselves to higher standards. I doubt she’ll be a fan, even if he is a Herondale,” Noura said, her dark eyes dancing with glee. “I’d be more worried about lover boy as your competition- but even then,” she shrugged, waving dismissively at Jacob’s retreating back.

Sabina bumped her shoulder. “Ugh- do not start,” she said. But she did feel faintly reassured; she trusted her sister’s intuition. Noura pushed back a strand of her short, black hair as it fell in front of her eyes, watching Sabina straighten up. She nodded in the direction of the Herondale. “Should we go and introduce ourselves?”

Kit sucked in a breath as he leapt backwards and out of reach of the broadsword that Jack- no, Jacob was swinging towards him. He hefted his own sword and spun around in an economical half-twist. With brute force, he angled his blade close to the opposing hilt, forcing his opponent to grunt and step back.

Starting Shadowhunter training so late meant he was never going to achieve the sleek fluidity Emma, Ty and others had, which made close combat look so easy. But he had compensated for it with other strategies- pure strength and well-

He saw his opportunity and kicked out towards Jacob’s ankle, trying to force him off-balance to get under his guard. He grinned at the shock on Jacob’s face, which quickly turned into a scowl as Kit gained the upper hand in their one-on-one.

He could hear murmurings from the small group gathered on the side of the stuffy training room hall, watching them.

He also heard Jem’s warning voice in his head. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should, Kit and Emma’s dry voice when he pulled out his more unorthodox moves - save those tricks for the actual demons and work on your form when you’re sparring

But he also heard the echo of Jace’s advice when Kit told him his plans to move to London. You have one chance to make a first impression, so make it count

Kit’s fighting style was messy, dirty and… mundane. But effective, he thought grimly, gritting his teeth as he swung around and tapped Jacob under his armpit in what would’ve been a killing or heavily wounding blow if they were fighting for real. Given Jacob’s last name - Kit decided he wasn’t going to lose sleep if he fought a bit underhandedly to win against a Dearborn.

Jacob’s eyes widened and he held his arms up. “I yield,” he said, stepping back. He gave Kit a considering look, as another of the London Institute’s Shadowhunters stepped into the training circle.

The Institute tutor, Sabina Burakgazi had been one of the first residents Kit had met- alongside her sister, who was also standing on the sideline. In contrast to Noura’s enthusiastic greeting, she had been quiet and reserved, her fine-boned face polite and distant as she greeted him. Even in the training briefing she had given when he joined the afternoon session, she hadn’t given any indication she was seeing him as anything other than an additional body, which Kit was grateful for.

Sabina stepped into the circle and Kit took the opportunity to do a quick pre-sparring evaluation. A few years older and a few inches shorter than him, dressed neatly in gear, with hair pulled back and held in a beige-coloured turban wrap, Sabina looked more ballet dancer than fierce warrior. But Kit knew that delicacy was likely deceptive. As she sauntered up, he was reminded of nothing more than the leopards that had watched him and Ty warily when they had last visited the San Diego zoo.

“We’ll finish up here for the time being, Herondale,” she said. Her brown eyes flickered up and down in a business-like fashion, pausing briefly on his left wrist, which was aching slightly. He resisted the urge to rub it.

Assessing. Like most Shadowhunters did when they learned his name- wanting to see one of the famous Herondale line in action, although Sabina was more subtle than most. Not that he blamed her.

And at least most London Institute inhabitants seemed far enough removed from the front lines of the final battles to understand his role in them so there were more curious looks, in contrast to the pitying or scared looks he sometimes got when he visited the NY Institute. Evelyn’s invitation had been short and to the point- and while it had specifically requested him, there had been an oddly impersonal tone to it. Kit was hoping it might actually mean that London would be a good fit. Where he could be just an average Shadowhunter.

Figure out if it was actually what he wanted.

“We’ve been summoned to Evelyn’s office,” Sabina told him, holding up the fire message in hand before turning away, clearly expecting him to follow.

Kit wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked down at his gear. “Without changing?”

“Believe me, you do not want to keep her waiting,” Noura called out, and Kit could see a couple of the other young trainees laugh nervously.

“Noted,” he said. He held out a hand to Jacob, wondering what his opponent would make of it. Jacob just clasped it briefly and said: “Good match.”

“You’re to come along too, Dearborn,” Sabina said, her mouth twisting slightly when she said his name.

Kit noted Jacob’s face fell fractionally but he nodded, laying down his sword and flattening down his already perfect head of chestnut-brown hair.

They both hurried after her.

Evelyn Highsmith - the regal Head of the London Institute sat in a high-backed chair in a corner, away from the bright August daylight streaming in and illuminating dust motes in the air.

Despite her advanced age, she stood to greet them with only a slight lean on her eagle-headed cane. Kit vaguely remembered her from the whirlwind visit to London seven years ago. It had been the summer his father died, he met the Blackthorns - he found a place with the twins - and everything in his life changed irrevocably.

He wasn’t sure she remembered him but her hooded, rheumy blue eyes watched him closely as he filed in after Sabina, Jacob following.

The other two Shadowhunters took a sort of soldier’s ‘at-ease’ position in front of her, and Kit tried to imitate them, feeling awkward about it. In L.A. Helen and Aline didn’t stand on ceremony, and in New York, Jace and Clary’s style could be loosely called ‘chaotic coordination’ but clearly - as Anush had mentioned - things were more traditional here.

Evelyn sat down, and pulled out several folders, clearing her throat. A soft snick of the door and the acting Head, Roger Stormborn entered, muttering apologies for the lateness. He moved to stand behind Evelyn’s chair, facing the three of them. Kit didn’t know entirely what the dynamic was there. Evelyn was in her ninth decade, Jace had told him, and should have stepped down years ago, but had refused to, particularly in the aftermath of the Dark War, and then the mess with the Princes of Hell and portals. Stormborn had been the de facto head for day to day activities.

Not much was known about Roger- he seemed steady enough, if thoroughly unremarkable, according to Clary’s internal notes on the heads of Institutes.

“Ms. Burakgazi,” Evelyn began by reading the first folder. “Top of your year at the academy, unusual for a mundane student. Ascended in 2012. Travel year with the New York, Buenos Aires and Jakarta Institutes and a secondment to Sydney. Joined full time with the London Institute and you’ve been with us for - five years now?” Sabina nodded. “Named Institute tutor last year, following Amanda Cartright’s retirement.”

Evelyn turned to Jacob. “Mr. Dearborn. From the Strathclyde Dearborns - your family has been attached to the Edinburgh Institute for five generations, including several heads…” Jacob stood up taller, if that was even possible, Kit thought. “Travel year included time at the Stockholm, Vienna and Moscow Institutes. Then back to Edinburgh. You were acting head at the Winnipeg Institute for two years before the decision was made to close it and transfer remaining Shadowhunters to Calgary. At which point, you asked for a transfer to London, where you’ve been assisting us in archiving the London Institute’s history.”

Evelyn’s gaze moved to Kit, and he willed himself not to reveal his apprehension. Whatever was written in her file on that, he reminded himself, it would likely only be half of the truth. If that.

“Mr. Herondale. A late discovery of your Shadowhunter heritage and Herondale name at age fifteen. You had a brief stay with the Blackthorns of the L.A. Institute before Jem Carstairs and the warlock Tessa Gray were made your guardians.” As she chose to only refer to Tessa’s warlock nature and not her Shadowhunter background, Kit suddenly remembered Evelyn’s disdain for Kieran and Magnus.

“Despite their limited ties to our Institutes and society, you still completed your training. Sometime during this period, it was also discovered that you were the ‘First Heir’ - a Shadowhunter/Faerie hybrid, who was-” Here, Evelyn looked down to read carefully. “Meant to bring the Faerie Realm under Shadows.” Kit could feel Jacob and Sabina try not to look at him at this stage.

“Despite your Fae heritage-” Kit tried not to bristle “-in 2015, you joined your cousin Jace Herondale, and Clary Fairchild’s quest to Faerie to defeat the Princes of Hell, which of course, as we all know- led to the interdimensional gates closing.” Evelyn droned on. “In the preceding years, you’ve visited a number of Institutes, although none for an appreciable amount of time. No travel year mentioned.”

“I had a mundane travel year-” Kit interrupted. Evelyn looked up in surprise, spectacles sliding down her nose. “I beg your pardon?”

“I er- spent a year in the mundane world, after the gates closed,” Kit said, defensively.

“Well, that certainly explains the attire,” Evelyn said dryly, pausing to give him another unimpressed once-over. “Although not the persisting in its wearing.”

“Since then I’ve taken on several missions to the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. And spent extended time at the L.A. and New York Institutes.” Kit tried to keep his voice even.

“Yes,” Evelyn said slowly, her gaze scrutinizing him once again before returning the paper. “You come very highly commended from those Institutes’ Heads.”

She closed Kit’s file and then cleared her throat. “I imagine you all know why you’re here.”

Absolutely not a fucking clue , Kit thought, wondering why she had pulled the three of them out of training to basically read back their Shadowhunter resumes to them. Particularly him, given he had only arrived this morning. As far as he knew, he was an extra body, helping rebuild what used to be Europe’s largest Enclave but currently held mainly Shadowhunters a year or two out of their travel year. He snuck a glance to Sabina and Jacob, who both looked pale but determined.

Roger came forward, a troubled look on his face. With a sinking stomach, suddenly a suspicion formed in Kit’s mind. “My health is no longer strong enough to run such an important Institute. I’ve been afflicted with a mundane illness that is proving troublesome for the Silent Brothers to treat outside the Basilias, and I can no longer put off the treatment needed,” said Stormborn.

“Sabina, Jacob, Christopher,” He nodded at each of them. “You will be working together to run the Institute until December, and at that point- Evelyn will decide which of you will be the next Head.”

Kit had thought years of therapy had cured him of the urge to run anymore. But it still seemed that the Shadow World could throw him curveballs to spur that habit.

“Christopher, stay behind please.” Evelyn’s voice was brusque.

Having half-expected the request, Kit returned to his previous spot and watched as the others filed out.

Evelyn was writing and he studied the old, dingy paintings of Shadowhunters cutting down swathes of Downworlders behind the large desk as he waited for her attention to turn to him and to get his own swirling emotions under control.

“Welcome to London, Mr Herondale. I imagine this meeting was something of a surprise to you,” she said finally.

Kit resisted the urge to shrug. “I imagine seeing how I reacted was useful in some way to you.” If this was going to be how she wanted to play it, he wasn’t going to dissemble. He had seen Aline and Helen use this tactic in L.A. and - come to think of it, other Blackthorns- use the tactical withhold of information in order to throw someone off guard.

There was a tiniest twitch of her lips, as she nodded. “Perhaps.”

In your invitation, you didn’t even hint at wanting me to be Institute Head- you lured me here under false pretenses, he thought. But he didn’t voice it outloud. He thought about his next few words carefully, trying to figure out how to best sell his objections while still communicating he wanted to remain in London. Close to Ty. “It seems a risk though, bringing in an outsider like myself who doesn’t know your practices and… traditions.”

He watched her carefully, wondering if she might give clues as to why she chose him as a candidate.

She pursed her lips. “You’re a Shadowhunter, Christopher-”

“-Kit.”

“And you’ve gone through the standard training-”

“You mentioned my Fae heritage,” Kit said, trying to salvage the conversation. “Does that not disqualify me?” A slight stiffening of her shoulders was her tell - as he suspected- his ties to Downworlders did bother her.

There was a narrowing of her eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, times have changed - and it hardly prevented the appointment of Helen Blackthorn to the L.A. Institute, did it?”

Kit tried to backpedal. “I meant-”

“And from what I understand- it’s hardly a concern anymore, hmmm? No further claims to the thrones of Faerie, due to the loss of that magic.” Evelyn tapped the folder, her gaze steely.

Kit froze, pushing down unwanted memories. Ash’s desperate, slipping grip as Kit transferred everything, every powerful jolt of magic, a legacy he never wanted, in order to save him and heal Faerie.

“I – no, I don’t have further claims to Faerie thrones,” he said roughly.

He lifted his eyes. “But frankly, I’m not a suitable candidate for running this Institute, Ms. Highsmith.’

“Let myself and Roger come to that conclusion. You’re a Herondale who has survived missions that would’ve killed most Shadowhunters. You have a lot to recommend,” Evelyn said, a tone of finality entering her voice. “And your unorthodox background might just be what this Institute needs.”

Her gaze raked briefly over him. “That being said, I expect you to look like a proper Shadowhunter, Christopher. Including the hair. Starting tomorrow,” she said, turning back to her papers.

Kit heard the dismissal. He nodded and turned on his heels, exiting, frantically recalibrating everything he had thought about London, and what this post might mean.

“Stormborn is retiring? That’s unexpected.” Jace’s voice sounded surprised on the other end of the phone.

Kit scrubbed his face as he paced the length of the courtyard, ending up underneath the gate, just before the noisiness of the mundane world intruded. He had debated who to call post-Evelyn meeting (he wanted to tell Ty in person) and he figured Jace might’ve had some inkling about this. And if that was the case, Kit was going to kill him for letting him walk in unprepared.

“Yep. End of the year. And somehow he and Evelyn have decided that I, of all people, am somehow one of the suitable candidates to run the Institute.”

“Well-”

“Fuck no ,” Kit hissed. “Jace. I told you- that’s not what I wanted, coming to London.”

“Hey, fair enough- and I didn’t give that reference thinking you’d be handed the reins of the Institute.” Jace’s voice was conciliatory. “Especially on your first day. But you know…”

“If you mentioned the Herondale name, I will hang up,” Kit threatened.

Jace laughed. “You said it, not me. What can I say- attention and authority just flows to us, Christopher. You might as well embrace it.”

“I’m 22, no way in hell should anyone be putting me in charge of anything,” Kit said. “No wonder the Institutes are floundering if they keep putting inexperienced idiots in charge.”

There was a brief silence on the phone and Kit closed his eyes, remembering. “I mean- I’m referring to myself. It was different for you and Clary.”

Jace let out a small chuckle. “You’re closer to the mark than you think. I’m referring to myself of course, not my darling wife. Yes-” In the background Kit could hear Clary’s voice.

“Anyway, you’re also less of an idiot than you think and I say this having gone with you on patrol after eating two plates of Izzy’s cookies…” Jace’s voice softened. “See how it goes. It’s not like it’s being handed to you on a silver platter. And okay, you don’t like being reminded of it but c’mon- you could’ve gone to practically any Institute- but you chose London? Where Herondales have a long history of running the Institute?” Jace’s voice was skeptical. “Evelyn probably had to add you to the running list to fulfill tradition.”

Kit luckily had a good comeback to that point. “I only came to be closer to Ty, now that he’s been reassigned. And anyway I still think they’re wrong,” he muttered. “Also- f tradition. Everyone keeps saying London’s traditional. So far it looks like it’s where fashion comes to die.”

“That’s Old World Institutes for you.” He could practically hear Jace’s grin. “My advice - give it a month or two. If you’re still thinking it’s not for you after that, endorse another candidate. I’m sure they’d appreciate the support.”

Kit remembered the wary glances Jacob and Sabina had given him, as they left Evelyn’s office. “Not sure about that...”

There was a pause and Kit tensed, wondering if he was going to get a further ‘Herondale name legacy’ spiel.

But Jace was wiser and didn’t bother, likely anticipating how it’d land with Kit. “You know you’re welcome any time to come to NY again. Anyway, gotta go- Jossy is grabbing at my dagger and Clary is glaring at me.”

“Yeah, I have to go too,” Kit said, looking at his phone’s clock. “Ty and the other Centurions are arriving soon to give a briefing on the wraith attacks.”

“Now, that I am interested in-” Jace said, his voice suddenly infused with the Institute Head authority that he could turn on instantly. “Send me a message if there’s anything new to report.”

“You mean, anything juicy that’s not in the official dispatches,” Kit countered.

“In your new role you’ll be writing a lot of those official dispatches,” Jace reminded him. “But also, yes.”

“Will do,” Kit said. Then he remembered the ominous text message- but he and Ty had decided to wait until they had more solid evidence and he decided to keep it to himself for now. Other than this surprising news, there weren’t any immediate red flags that he could point to at the Institute- but then again, maybe this competition would help them both figure out where the message came from, and what it referred to.

Either way, his arrival at the London Institute was not going the way he thought it would.

Taglist: @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @of-same-steel-and-temper @thomastaircompassrose @thechangeling @mferraz @kestrafagnor @gabtapia @alldagayships @blindbandit1515 @silvermagnolias @chaotic-halfblood-kit @fighting-god-69 @lifeofbrybooks @all-this-panic-still-no-disco @heloisacosta23 @kitheronthorn @idk-i-just-really-like-tsc @t0wergirl @immortal-enemies @ahumanbeingtryingherbest @chewriting @bookishjules

Please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list. :)

#tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #the wicked powers #post canon #established relationship #casefile #mystery stories #the dark artifices #secrets of blackthorn hall #my fanfic #alicantenet

40 notes · View notes

yoooitssalexx · 4 months

Text

I G N O R I N G T H E P A S T

Viktor Drago x Balboa!Daughter Reader part 4

Sneak peak to part 4

You had promised him to be on his side tonight,the seat close to the ring by his corner. You watched a familiar looking woman approach the seats close to where you sat,realizing it was Viktor's mother and her new husband.

"You know Viktor?"She stopped in front of you,you standing to not let her intimidate you.

"I do."You nodded,raising a brow as she eyed your red jumpsuit.

"You're the balboa girl."She said,a certain distaste detectable in her tone.

"And you're the woman that walked out on her son and husband."You matched her tone,watching anger cross her and her husbands face. "I know more than you'd think,so don't think you can look down on me because you feel all high and mighty because of who your husband is."

You stood there as she walked away,smirking to yourself when you realized the truth coming from you pissed her off. You sat down in victory,checking your phone before you heard the chanting of 'Drago' begin. You stood to see the fire shoot out,music beginning as Viktor walked out.

You watched Viktor walk out,the bright red robe he wore catching your eye. Contact had been scarce while he trained,a text here and there the most frequent form of contact. You watched him confidently strut into the ring,approaching the ring to wish him luck.

He neared the ropes,smiling when he reached you. His eyes drank you in,quite enjoying the way your red jumpsuit fit.

"You look beautiful,moya printsessa."He leaned against the ropes,watching your hands come to his glove covered ones.

"Good luck,moy medved."You patted his gloves. "Ty pouluchil eto."

He nodded,bumping your fists lightly. "I missed you. Too much,and I realized.."His words died when he noticed his mother sitting in the crowd. He shook his head,turning his focus back to you. "I realized that I love you."

His words felt like a blow right to the ribs,the breath knocked out of you at his confession.

"Viktor I.."

Right then the lights dimmed,patterned lights flashing as Bianca walked out with Adonis, your father at his other side,her voice sent chills down your spine. You stepped down,making your way to your seat. Her song was short but the message was clear,she was supporting Adonis just as much as you were supporting Viktor.

———————-

@stargirlfics

@6rookie-writer0110

@melaninmarvelficrecs

@fumbling-fanfics

@ellixthea

@importantkidspyfarm

@celestianstars

@xuxszx

@lady-olive-oil

@avengersandlovers

@spencervoid

@dc41896

@sir-skarsgard

@natashacoco

@hibiscuswrites

@omnyamaflowerz

@formulas-bitch

@imaginethatblog

@bubblesmaketheworldgoround-blog

@bearly-koalafied

@dersha89

@xsimxx77

@catiebug88

@ketleia

@middleearthdemigod

@rose124h5

@abigbadassbitch

@phoenixforce3008

@erikac91

@bway1234

@kpopfanlover13

@blank6000

@nerdszzz

@kit-cat23

@youdtink1

@princess0727

@marvelandwweprincess

@dmariet3

@optimisticlawyergiantsuitcase

@riv2468

@eddiemunsonforever

@username1257

@tanuki-chan-world

@crybabyjackass

@edstead

@pirateprincess99

@acliliband

@littlepieceofsh

@anime-slut22

@ashlee96

@svr2003

@starxdame

@pookie-cleary

@swettreat95

@kyotosworld

@lavishz1

@fruityforcocoapuffs

@allforfruit52

@abigbadassbitch

@seraph-ulysses

@marchioness-de-sade

@cryotrain

@vexis0daylight

@angelofdarkness51

@marvelandwweprincess

@poisonivy2012

@peachescream06

@fherystargaryen1991

@gomodernart

@believeinthefireflies95

@teamjacob147

@ihateusernamesworld

@craftytrashprincess

@dmariet3

@chiajna

@lady-winter-soldier50-blog

@ickybarbie

@cailyn-18

@littlebodybigheartthings

@dudash

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@852853

@undergroundtragedy

@whutdafawk17

@xsimxx77

@honeyoriginalz

@skits90s

@ilovefictianalmen

@beratmehmedi

@therapycat21

@heyitsperfect

@winters-doll

@fourtris-is-4ever

@helenemandl6

@believeinthefireflies95

@maemae2006

@sweettreat95

@slayriana-grande

@rkil98

@yxahjdz

@sweetestrose569

@sympathy-baby

@ecortez202

@poisonivy2012

@cryotrain

@fherystargaryen1991

@infinityshadows

@ms-angiealsina

@mrsmunson-harrington

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@lady-dee-reads

@abigbadassbitch

@fadingbatmuffindonkey

@yesiamshe-74

@rasenchakra

@kaileeren

@kokokokocgirl

@lovekahree

@sweetpeamarie03

@vampirewhatifs

@originaltimetravelcloud

@re-cchin

@formulas-bitch

@alex-the-baller

@mariska-gayle

@seraph-ulysses

@theglitterkeepsfalling

@deafeningsharkslimeempath

@the-untamed-soul

@reinedubayou

@masterkazekage

@yeah-like-boy

@jajaja-xo

@lovekahree

@Southsideacademythings

@Seraph-ulysses

@yourdadsdemodog

@nerdszzz

@lovestoreadfiction

@pussyfartssw

@smigiryt

@littlemerzoste

@dotavick

@missgirllll

@r0xxana

@falcon-13

@stevebuckysdoll

@marsfunzon22

@sweettreat95

#viktor #viktordragoimagine #viktordragosmut #creed 3 #creed iii #florian munteanu #viktor drago #florian munteanu smut #florianmunteanuimagine #rocky balboa #adonis creed #creed 2

43 notes · View notes

chewriting · 2 years

Text

First Birthday

"Relationships": Kit Herondale x Ty Blackthorn, Kit Herondale & Ty Blackthorn, Kit Herondale & Livvy Blackthorn

Word Count: 7.5k+

Read it on Ao3

Summary: Kit knew he didn’t have a normal childhood, but it wasn’t until he was put in a functional family did he realize all of the things he actually missed out on. Family trips to the beach, waving to your parents in the audience of your school-mandated concert, staying up late with siblings to with the New Years’ ball drop, and a sturdy shoulder to cry on when your middle school crush starts dating someone else. Oh, and birthdays. Kit never celebrated his birthday before turning sixteen.

Kit didn’t have the opportunity to meet many kids his age at the Market, so seeing another head at his own height was enough to still him.

The kid stood out between the throngs of torsos and legs passing by his dad’s stall; his pale blonde hair reflected the bright July sun, his smile a thousand watts. He openly gawked at all the wares he could see at his level, barely contained by the grip a woman kept on his hand. It was open wonder; no doubt an expression Kit also shared the first time he stepped into the market with his dad. But that’s not necessarily what drew Kit’s eyes to the random kid, it was the large blue button pinned to his t-shirt with IT’S MY BIRTHDAY printed in large yellow letters. Kit was vaguely aware of birthdays, he’s seen birthday parties on tv—with all their bright balloons, sparkly presents, and tiered cakes—but wasn’t sure of their purpose. Everyone always seemed really happy during any scenes accented with standard birthday fare and Kit had really liked cake in the few times he’d eaten it.

The pair didn’t pause by Kit’s dad’s stall, his business contoured towards adults anyways. But Kit watched from behind the table as they continued down the street until they turned the corner and disappeared. He risked a quick glance at his dad, who was carefully watching the streams of people making their way between vendors. His dad was the one who taught Kit his ever-improving skill of assessment, and Kit recognized the sharp look in his eyes as they dragged across the crowd. Even in a crowd this large, with people only passing by the stall for a few seconds, Kit’s dad could pick out people who were more likely to listen to his well-practiced pitch. Los Angeles was full of way to wealthy people who were practically looking for places to throw their money away, and his dad offered that space under the guise of realty. Kit knew his dad noticed the same pair Kit did but didn’t share the same interest. But while he was looking for people to slowly con, Kit was sneaking out of the booth and down the street.

It took Kit a few minutes to find the pair again. The market was notoriously confusing in its design but Kit had spent years learning which stalls he could squeeze through and which streets led to dead ends. After several minutes of weaving between legs and poles alike, and getting momentarily distracted by the sweet-savory smell of isaw skewers, he found them standing in front of a stall selling small, pocket-sized crystals. Kit tucked himself behind a crate of vegetables to watch. Jess, the vendor, twirled a lock of pitch-black hair around her finger as they perused. Kit knew her practice through what his dad knew. All of her crystals were fake. Nothing more than cut and polished pieces of colored glass. She kept her stall open as the man who owned the market was easily swayed to look the other way for a cut of profits beneath the table. Kit’s dad stayed open in a similar way, though he had to give a smaller percent due to their ‘connections’. He never explained to Kit what these ‘connections’ were, but they were strong enough to reduce his dad’s payments to nearly nothing.

The boy was grinning wide, clutching a bright blue shard in his fist to watch the colored light it cast on the ground. His mother dragged just the tips of her fingers over some of the bigger pieces, though one of her hands was still wrapped around her son’s wrist to keep him from going far. Kit could see Jess impatiently tapping her fingers, her numerous rings glittering in the sunlight, waiting for them to eventually buy something or leave.

“Momma!” the boy cried, reaching up as far he could to show off the glass. “I want this one!”

The woman smiled. “Of course baby, anything for your birthday.” She plucked the glass from his hand and handed it off to Jess across the table. Kit was stunned. The boy had just asked for something and got it without question. All because it was his birthday? There was nothing that Kit could ask his father for without having to answer a dozen questions as to why he deserved it. Anything he wanted, that was deemed not a necessity, had to be explicitly earned or plucked from the pockets of someone who earned it.

Jess tapped a few buttons on her IPad screen. “Will that be everything?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“That will be fifteen dollars.” The woman’s face pinched. The price was higher than Kit has ever heard Jess put on a piece that small. With her business, nearly everything on her table was selling at a high profit due to the cheap way she made them. It made it easier for her to keep prices low enough to not cause suspicion. But clearly, the woman was second-guessing. Kit knew the song-and-dance well. This was the time to add something, a fake discount or a free item at no cost to Jess, to make the deal seem like an offer that couldn’t be passed up.

Deep down, Kit felt a little bad that they were getting ripped off. Parents were the easiest to weasel a few extra dollars out of as exhausted ones would do anything to prevent their children from having a public tantrum and doting ones bent like flower stems to their kids every whim. Not everyone at the market knew the delicate in-and-outs of the con, but those weren’t people Kit’s dad associated with; and thus, they weren’t people Kit knew. But it was the only life Kit had ever known and any guilt he felt about watching his dad set up another appointment with a client was trumped by the knowledge that some people were just dumb enough to fall for the easiest traps.

“Usually I charge twenty, due to the clarity of that crystal being harder to find. But I cut the price down for the birthday boy.” Jess said, sending a tight-lipped smile down to the boy. Though he didn’t acknowledge her and kept his eyes on the crystals still on display. The woman’s shoulders relaxed slightly and she gave Jess a twenty. Jess didn’t put the crystal in a bag, instead just passed it around the table back to the boy. She gave back the change and the pair disappeared into the crowd again. Kit’s interest in them followed suit.

He took his time ducking beneath people’s arms and around people’s bags as he went back to his dad’s stall. He still couldn’t believe that that boy asked and received. So easily. It felt like Kit had to jump through hoops to even get his dad to notice him some days, let alone buy him a new game to keep him occupied once a year. On the way, Kit passed by a truck advertising homemade rock candy in an assortment of flavors, and he got an idea. Usually, he’d nick the needed amount from coat pockets or purses, or used the excuse that he had already used up his meager spending money on something for his mom and just wanted a snack so a susceptible stranger would fork over the change. Too many people were weak to a pair of big, blue eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Maybe he’d been missing out on the birthday trick.

Slipping back into the stall, Kit made sure there was no one at the table before asking his dad. “Johnny? Can I get some rock candy? It’s my birthday.”

Kit’s dad was never dad at the market. It was a shift Kit didn’t know why he had to stay conscious of, but he knew there were severe consequences if he slipped up. He never wanted to spend so much alone time in the basement ever again.

His dad only turned his head to give Kit a scathing look. It wasn’t necessarily angry, but definitely pointed.

“It’s not your birthday.” He said, before turning back to the crowd. Kit huffed.

“Yes, it is.” Kit protested. “I would know, wouldn’t I?”

“No, you wouldn’t. You don’t have a birthday.”

“I don’t? That boy had one.” Kit looked over the table as if the mother and son would materialize simply to prove his point.

“You are not that boy. Now get down.” His dad spat and despite Kit’s growing frustration, he obeyed without thought. The day was bright, like most summer days were in Los Angeles, so underneath the table was cast in a deep purple light from the cloth his dad used as a cover. Kit loved that a cloth could change the color of light but it never made any sense as to why, and he always forgot about his intrigue by the time they got home to actually look it up. Despite how pretty it was underneath the table, it was boring. Extended periods listening to his dad convince people to look through his zones and previous projects got old quickly when Kit knew the whole script by heart. It gave him time to think, though. How did that boy get a birthday when Kit didn’t? Was it another thing he had to earn? Kit didn’t really want to think about the things he’d have to do to earn a day where he could get whatever he wanted. There were a lot of lessons that his dad repeated frequently, hoping they’d nail into Kit’s skull, and the fact that there were things that were not worth the price to receive them was a major one.

As soon the customer was gone, his dad reshuffling papers on the table, he knew it was safe to poke his head out. Though he kept the majority of his body still underneath the table, just in case he needed to vanish quickly again.

“Why don’t I have a birthday?” Kit asked and he watched his dad let out a heavy sigh. If there was anyone who knew just about everything, it was Kit’s dad. He had an answer to just about every question Kit asked him but there was a limit. If Kit questioned things for too long, his dad would get that line between his eyebrows and he’d flex his fingers like he was working off tension. Kit knew to back off then and give his dad space because while he had never hit Kit, the sound of his palm against their wood dinner table could echo in Kit’s ears for hours.

And there were questions he refused to answer. Like why Kit had to hide in the basement anytime he had guests over, or why he didn’t get to go to school like kids did on tv, or just about anything regarding his mom. Those were questions that immediately brought his dad’s guard up and Kit learned to just stop asking them.

“You weren’t given one.” He ducked down to say firmly to Kit’s face, his voice still light enough that Kit wasn’t too worried. Though it wasn’t often that Kit’s dad would get down on his level to talk and a shallow crease was forming between his eyebrows.

“Do you have a birthday?”

“I do.”

“How did you get it?”

“My parents gave it to me.”

“Why did you not give me one?”

“You don’t need one.” His tone was dipping into scolding territory, a place Kit never liked to be. “Birthdays are pointless, just a marker for how much time has passed since you were born that people make into bigger deals than they are.”

Kit looked down. He knew it was time to stop lest he wanted to be reprimanded. The last thing he wanted was to be banned from his only chance at getting out of the house. When another person approached the stall, Kit ducked back down without his dad’s prompt. He couldn’t help that unworthy feeling from creeping up his chest. What did that boy have that let him overcome the conceived ‘pointlessness’ of birthdays that Kit didn’t? Kit carefully scooted hed knees up to his chest and rested his forehead in the divot they created. There wasn’t much Kit could do without making his presence known; his dad was continuously conscious of how much space Kit took up and made Kit very anxious about every minute movement he made. Though with all of the things he was teaching Kit to do, it was probably best for Kit to be extra aware of his body at all times.

He wasn’t expecting his dad to talk to him again and Kit didn’t exactly plan on coming out from underneath the table until it was time to leave. But, after a few minutes of silence passed, Kit’s dad lifted the table covering to look at him. “I put a quarter in my jacket. I want you to get it out without me noticing.”

Kit beamed at the chance to impress. There was nothing that made his dad as clearly proud as Kit improving on the skills he was being taught. Each time Kit could pick a lock faster, or pickpocket a coin in fewer tries, his dad would get that brief warmth in his eyes that Kit would tuck away when he needed to convince himself that his dad did like him the same way the parents on tv did. Sometimes, if Kit was doing especially well, his dad would rub an affectionate hand in Kit’s hair that would leave his scalp tingling for hours. It didn’t matter that that was really some of the only times Kit could get affection from his dad, what mattered was that they were there and Kit knew how to pull them out.

It took Kit only four tries to find and take the quarter; two fewer tries than the last practice.

It honestly wasn’t an issue while Kit was a kid. There was a period when all Kit could think about was what he would do if he had a birthday, and what kind of things he’d want. But from a young age Kit knew about the futility of wishes without action so he gave it up. Though, even as he got older, sometimes he’d pause and think about his birthday. Had it already passed? Or was he still waiting to age another year? He did agree with his dad that using a single day to mark how long you’d been alive seemed pretty pointless, but that didn’t stop him from staying up each year to watch the fireworks that cemented each incoming year and whisper his new age into the rainbow-lit sky.

But outside of his few moments of weakness, it wasn’t an issue. He still went through each year, getting older without celebration, and was fine. Not much changed as he got older, though he eventually got big enough that he couldn’t hide under the table anymore. But what came with that was his dad now trusting him to wander the market without supervision. So, while his dad was hustling people at his stall, Kit could slip his fingers into people’s coats. As he got older, he didn’t even need to ask his dad for things he wanted. He could pay for them himself with bills he filched or from the money he earned by his dad pawning anything else he could get his hands on.

It didn’t become a problem until his dad died, he was put into foster care, and the workers there didn’t have any proof Kit existed. Other than the fact that Kit was sitting in front of them, there was nothing that said that Kit was a person. No birth certificate, no social security, no school records. At first, they assumed he was an illegal immigrant that his father had taken under his wing, but there was no trace of Kit anywhere outside the U.S. either. So his file ended up being the name Kit gave them, trusting it was right—even though it technically didn’t matter as the only person who ever called him by his name was now dead so Kit could really call himself whatever he wanted—and his physical description.

The home Kit was placed into tried to get him to just pick a day to celebrate, even if it wasn’t accurate. He protested enough that they eventually gave up completely. He didn’t end up staying long enough for it to matter anyway.

It really became a problem when Tessa and Jem eventually adopted him and were met with closed door after closed door when they tried to enroll him in school. Without proper proof of citizenship, he wasn’t allowed to attend public school. Even though Kit insisted that he would be fine, he’s taught himself enough to get by, both Tessa and Jem were adamant that Kit get to socialize with other teenagers and experience at least a little bit of normal teenage life. Kit had no idea how they did it, but they eventually were able to convince officials of Kit’s ‘unique circumstance’ and he was given an identity as Christopher Johnathan Gray-Carstairs. It was like Christopher Rook didn’t exist at all.

The birth certificate was a blank slate for a while as Tessa and Jem wanted Kit to pick a day himself. But Kit remembered how his dad said that parents pick birthdays for their kids; though of course, he knows that’s not how it works now, it still felt like a bit of sentimentality that Kit could afford. If his biological parents weren’t going to give him a birthday, then his adoptive parents could. Tessa and Jem tried to take it mildly, but Kit could see Tessa’s eyes grow misty when he insisted they choose something.

So, according to the U.S. government, Kit’s birthday was April 8th, 1997. A few weeks after the official paperwork came in, Kit was enrolled in incoming freshman year at Venice Senior High School.

Finally going to school, was a cacophony of things he didn’t understand. People shouting in the hallways, couples standing way too close at their lockers, and even the occasional fight between periods. It was exactly and nothing like what Kit saw in the movie and tv shows he learned from. Sure, people stuck to their little groups of safety. But it wasn’t unheard of for people to break off and talk to other sects. And there weren’t a few girls that were so popular that they practically ran everything. The closest thing his school had to that was Addison Taylor and her two friends Abby and Maddison, who were all cheerleaders but also on the honor roll. From what Kit heard they were pretty, smart, and actually nice. It was kind of a disappointment.

What did translate though, was how people revered birthdays. Kids walked down the cramped hallways with balloons attached to their backpacks, carrying numerous gift bags from their friends, and blasting music from speakers shoved in their backpacks despite how teachers demanded them to turn it down. Once, Kit saw a girl hauling around a bear nearly the size of her torso. It was all so incredibly performative. Though Kit has no idea how they can balance the desperate need for attention with all the work they have to get done each night. He might be the outlier struggling with classwork as most kids probably get through the new concepts easily, while Kit has to spend hours researching preliminary topics he would have learned in elementary and middle school if he had attended. All the work he had to do to even be allowed to enroll seemed to be for not; why was there so much intermediate math from elementary school to high school?

In almost a direct contrast to Kit’s rapidly decreasing opinion of birthdays, Livvy loves them. If her near-constant discussion of her little sister’s surprise birthday party is anything to go by.

Livvy was the first actual friend Kit made. She was in his English class and practically shot her hand in the air when Mrs. Mitchell asked if anyone would volunteer to be his seat partner. She didn’t flinch at Kit’s carefully worded barbs to get her to leave him alone, because Kit was not used to being the center of attention for so long, and she helped Kit with certain math problems beneath their desks during independent reading when she saw Kit struggling. It didn’t take long for Kit to warm up to her, and after a few weeks, she introduced him to Ty. And then two became three.

Indirectly, Kit has been involved in every detail of a party for a girl he doesn’t know from the decorations to the invitation list. Though Kit hasn’t put his actual opinion in anything, just allowing himself to be a neutral party for Livvy to bounce ideas off of until something sticks out. He doesn’t actually mind as long as he’s able to stay laying down in the small bit of shade provided by the tree they’ve claimed as their after-school spot.

Livvy and Ty actually live close enough to school that they walk, but once Livvy learned that Kit waits around twenty minutes after the final bell for either Jem or Tessa to pick him up, she said they’d all wait together. Kit was a little hesitant, not used to friends simply for friend's sake, but acquiesced once Livvy insisted that it wasn’t out of the way. Ty ended up being relatively easy to convince as well.

That’s their formation as Livvy is talking into the open air about her plans. Kit is propped against the base of the tree, eyes closed to steal some semblance of rest before he has to slave over algebra, and Ty is sat crisscrossed on the grass reading in the receding daylight. It’s honestly surprising how Ty listens with his headphones on and clearly immersed in any of the eight novels Kit’s seen him cycle through. But he replies to every question Livvy directs at him and knows every time someone calls his name.

“Kit. I need to ask you your opinion.” Livvy says, the sound of grass shifting indication she’s turned towards him. Though Kit can’t find the energy to open his eyes, he lifts his eyebrows to show he’s listening. “If you were really into classic horror, would you want zombie or bat decorations?”

It’s a futile question. Kit knows that Livvy has already cut out bat shapes from black construction paper and threaded them through equally black string. She had FaceTimed him while she did it because she wanted company and Kit wanted a distraction from his English essay about Of Mice and Men.

“Bats. Can’t have horror without bats. Zombies are too limited to specific movies.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Good point.” Kit can practically hear Livvy’s smile in her voice. Sometimes, she just needed to be reassured that she was doing a good job, and Kit was happy to supply some encouragement even though he knows literally nothing about Livvy’s sister besides the fact that she loves horror movies and wears a lot of black. Two traits he can’t fault someone on.

Kit starts to drift off as Livvy continues discussing details with Ty. The afternoon is warm even though with each passing day Kit can feel the air getting colder as winter approaches. This might be one of the last days where they can comfortably sit outside in short-sleeved shirts until Spring and Kit plans to revel in it. Maybe he’ll put off his homework until after dinner and convince Jem and Tessa to spend some time at the beach. Kit knows that Tessa has been dealing with a little bit of cabin fever as she’s in the later stages of her pregnancy and is out on maternity leave.

“Hey, I know I’ve been talking about birthdays for the past two weeks, but it’s made me realize we don’t know your birthday Kit,” Livvy says. He almost smiles at Livvy’s use of ‘we’, as if it was a topic she and Ty had actually discussed. Then his face warms at the thought of Ty finding him interesting enough to talk about when he wasn’t around. But the need to actually answer drains all feelings of content right out of Kit’s body. He purposefully avoided any and all conversation about his life before Jem and Tessa because it was private and he hasn’t been sure if he can trust Ty and Livvy yet. Though in their time together, Kit can say he feels more comfortable around them than any of the acquaintances he ever made at the market.

So, he lets a little bit of truth out. “I don’t know either.”

Livvy is silent and Kit doesn’t dare open his eyes now. He wouldn’t be able to stand to see the same pitying look on her face that he’s seen on social workers and police officers since his dad died. It’s like all the excitement gets sucked out of the air. Kit hates that he’s just brought the mood down by answering honestly. He should have just lied.

“How do you not know?” Livvy asks.

“My parents never signed a birth certificate and I’ve never celebrated my birthday so I don’t know when I was born.” The assumption was that somehow Kit’s mom was able to give birth with a midwife who didn’t care that she and his dad didn’t want to sign a piece of paper tying their son to them. It’s a flimsy explanation, filled with holes and basically see-through. But it’s probably the best Kit will ever get.

“Is that legal?” Ty asks, which Kit is internally thankful for because he doesn’t want to have to explain this twice.

“Nope. It’s a felony. But my dad wasn’t a straight-and-narrow guy to begin with and my mom took off before it was ever really her problem. By the time the police learned about it, my dad was dead and my mom’s in the wind.”

Kit lets them stew in it. He’s had years to come to terms with the fact that he’s missed out on a pretty fundamental part of growing up for fifteen years; he’ll give them a few minutes. It does still feel weird to admit it though. It had always been a conversation that he and his dad never really talked about, like all of the other things he robbed Kit of experiencing. Some kids know the exact minute they were born, and Kit doesn’t even know the season. It must be difficult for the twins to wrap their heads around.

Luckily, it’s at this moment that his phone vibrates. Tessa. Kit thanks any deity can for the excuse to get the fuck out of here.

“That’s Tessa. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Kit slings his backpack over his shoulder, only huffing slightly at the strain, and speed walks towards the pick-up line.

“Wait! Jesus Kit, you can’t just say something like that and leave!” Livvy calls from behind him. Kit contemplates turning around and ultimately decides to be brave and face her.

“It’s not that big of a deal. Please don’t make it one.” Kit pleads. He really can’t deal with the twins feelings bad for him as they’re the only people who have ever made him feel like a normal teenager. Like he can forget he knows how to pick his way through dozens of brands of locks and that most of the video games he’s collected were paid for with stolen money. Kit will never be normal but sometimes he wants to pretend he is. And he can do that around Livvy and Ty.

It’s like Livvy can hear everything he leaves unsaid and takes a cautious step back. Behind her, still sitting, Ty watches the both of them with his book closed in his lap. Kit gives Livvy a weak smile and scurries off to Tessa’s car to finally get out of this situation.

It’s late into the night when Kit gets a text from Ty. He’s been working on his English essay, progressively getting more stressed about getting it done in time, and is grateful for the excuse to do something else.

Ty: If you don’t have a birth certificate, how are you enrolled in school?

Kit can’t help the smile that creeps up his face. Of course, Ty would look into the legalities of Kit’s predicament.

You: When Tessa and Jem adopted me, I think the foster system helped them arrange to get me a birth certificate. It was a really long process but I do have one now. Social security number too

You: I’m officially a U.S. citizen :)

Ty: How did you choose your birthday?

You: I had Jem and Tessa just pick a date

Ty: What did they choose?

You: April 8th. Why?

Ty: Livvy still wants to know.

Kit taps his pencil against his desk. Livvy was a schemer and combined with Ty’s attention to detail, they could be kind of dangerous. He doesn’t want to think about what exactly she wants his birthday for. But then Kit has to remind himself that this is just something friends know about each other, no hidden objectives.

You: What’s your and Livvy’s birthday?

Ty: June 11th.

Twins born under the twin sign, classic. Ty doesn’t send another message and Kit doesn’t feel compelled to keep the conversation going either. It was one of the nicer things about talking with Ty, he never felt like had to fill any silences with pointless chatter because he knew that Ty didn’t mind the spaces that form naturally. Kit feels comfortable just existing in the same space as Ty sometimes, which is a luxury he’s never felt with someone before. He’s a little nervous about how quickly he’s become so attached but it can likely be attributed to him actually having friends for the first time. Sure he’ll latch on fast. Ty’s pretty wonderful anyway.

Kit pushes that thought aside before it can pick up steam. He has to focus on his essay if he wants to get this section done before midnight. An unrealistic goal, but one he’ll stick to for the time being.

🎈

Eventually, Kit’s ‘birthday’ comes around. Kit made Tessa and Jem promise that any celebration they wanted to do would stay small and just between them. He still felt the day approaching like a thunderstorm on the horizon. The night before he couldn’t sleep. Is this how people always feel before their birthdays? Or is this just another thing he’s needlessly fucked up about?

Per his request, Kit’s morning is just about the same as it always is. Aside from a slightly longer hug from Jem as he’s leaving and Tessa whispering happy birthday into Kit’s scalp after her kiss goodbye, nothing changes. There’s no big exclamation when he gets to school. Kit goes through his classes without a second glance from any of his peers. Blessedly, even Livvy doesn’t give him any extra attention excluding the knowing elbow she poked into his side during class. It feels nice, normal. The last thing Kit wants is the people in his life trying to make this birthday the best as it’s his first.

The days have shifted from the mellow Spring warmth to the beginnings of oppressive Summer heat in April. All three of them seek refuge in the shade of their tree because while there is a light breeze, the sun beats down on anything brave enough to stay in direct sight. Even though final exams creep closer day by day, Kit appreciates the little pocket of peace he’s in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ty leans over to Livvy. He can hardly hear what they’re saying to each other, but keeps himself out of it in case it’s familial and not his business. But then, Ty taps his knee gently.

When Kit looks up, Ty has a fairly large, wrapped gift on the ground in front of him, and Livvy’s holding a smaller bag.

“What the fuck?” He whispers.

“I know you said to not do anything big for your birthday, but you never said anything about gifts. And I think you should be happy that I was able to hold out until now.” Livvy grins, plopping the bag down by Kit’s feet. It feels like something dislodges in Kit’s chest and rattles down his ribs.

“Livvy-” Kit protests but she cuts him off with a hand.

“You’re our friend, and friends give gifts on birthdays. Don’t make it bigger than it needs to be.”

Kit doesn’t appreciate her throwing his own words back at him, but he picks up the bag anyways. It’s light and easy to see where the actual gift is wrapped with tissue paper underneath the simply decorative bunches. Livvy stops him from reaching inside.

“Okay, I’ll give you a pass this one time. But, when you get a gift you have to read the card first.” Kit sends her a bored look, but she just shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just follow them. And now as a member of society with a birthday, you have to as well.”

Kit rolls his eyes but digs around the bag for the card. The envelope is the same deep blue as the bag and luckily Livvy just folded the flap inside the pocket instead of sealing it and requiring Kit to tear it all open. Actually reading the card inside, Kit lets out an exasperated breath.

Printed in cartoonish letters across the top is HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY with a picture of a baby boy. There’s a small blurb about many more to come but Kit just skims over it. He is barely restraining himself from flinging at Livvy’s face like a throwing star.

“Happy first birthday!” She snickers. Ty chuckles and Kit tries really hard on keeping up the charade of being angry.

“Get out, it’s not even a funny joke.” But Kit’s already laughing. Which sets Livvy off fully and Ty isn’t far behind. They all crack up until Kit’s struggling to breathe and tears are streaking down Livvy’s cheeks. It’s really not funny and yet Kit feels like he might asphyxiate.

“Okay, okay, but you can actually open it now.” Livvy somehow gets out between her heaving breaths. He gets through the tissue paper with much less fanfare. It’s a DVD box set. All of the Superman movies from Superman to Superman Returns. All packaged in a sturdy tin with the Superman logo pressed into the front.

“Livvy.” Kit starts, but he can’t get himself to finish. He can’t believe she remembered the times he told her about loving Superman. When he was still living with Johnny, they didn’t have any streaming subscriptions so Kit could really only watch the movies on cable. Which ended up being a lot of old superhero movies, including the original Superman from 1978.

“You don’t have to say thank you. I know.”

“Were these a lot?”

“One, you don’t have to worry about it because they’re a gift. Two, no because they’re all super old movies.” Kit traces his finger over the outside of the Superman diamond. He feels like he could cry.

“And we’ll have to watch The Man of Steel when it comes out next year!” Livvy says, causing Kit to laugh again.

“Sure. But we’ll have to watch all of these first.”

“Movie marathon then.”

Never before being adopted did Kit ever expect to get a gift, let alone one that feels so personal. Johnny did give him things, but never with extra fanfare of wrapping paper and ribbons. It was always practicality first and he never really got Kit something unless it was explicitly requested. Surprises weren’t an occurrence. Most of the time, Kit tries not to think about all of the little things he missed out on with Johnny keeping him hidden for so long. It can usually send Kit into a spiral that’s hard to recover from. So he just tucks the box back into its bag and sets it aside before it can reduce him to tears.

Ty, of course, is sitting patiently for Kit and Livvy to finish. Something about Ty’s gift makes Kit’s inside squirm relentlessly in his stomach. It’s definitely bigger than Livvy’s but the main problem is that Kit’s mind whirs with all of the things Ty could possibly attribute to a good gift. Slowly, Ty pushes the package across the grass for Kit to take.

When Kit still hesitates, Ty speaks. “You can open it at home if you want.”

“You got it for me. I should open it in front of you, right?”

Ty looks up for a moment, considering. “Only if you want. It might be best anyway because I don’t want it to get dirty.”

Kit nods and pushes it off to the side to open later. Ty doesn’t look offended.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” Kit says, finding his words thickening with emotion.

“Yeah, but we wanted to. Happy birthday, Kit.” Livvy grins brightly.

“Happy birthday.” Ty echos, already going back to the book he set at his side. It feels like Kit’s heart is too big for his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs and spray red all across the grass. There was so much he’s got to do in the short time that he’s been under Jem and Tessa's care. He has real friends now, parents who ask him about his day even when it doesn’t really matter, and the chance to be a big brother. That was the biggest change, but also what Kit treasures the most. He loves to just hold Mina because he’s never actually carried another human being before, let alone one so small. The day she was born Kit was a nervous wreck but getting to see her wrapped in pink and cradled against Tessa’s chest was like an otherworldly experience. Never in his life has he immediately fallen in love with someone. She’s not even six months old and yet Kit knows that will do anything and everything to protect her.

The three of them stay silent after that; Ty reading, Livvy taking out some of her history homework, and Kit just sitting there, reveling. It all felt too good sometimes like he’ll wake up one morning and find himself in his old basement again.

His phone buzzes as a text from Jem comes through; he’s here. Kit collects his things and tried to pick up Ty’s gift, but can’t. It’s heavy, like really heavy.

“Ty, what the fuck is this?” He asks, setting Livvy’s gift back on the ground to try to commit all his efforts to picking up Ty’s.

“You have to open it,” Ty replies, only looking up from his book when he hears Kit struggling.

“Why is it so heavy?” Kit gets it off the ground, but the strain in his biceps is fierce. He doesn’t know how he’ll get it to the car.

“I can’t tell you that either.” Ty pauses, just watching Kit try to get a comfortable grip. “Do you want help?”

“You know what, yes please.”

Ty gets up and easily takes the gift from Kit’s arms. He doesn’t even flinch. Kit has never been so envious. But instead of dwelling on it, Kit snatches Livvy’s gift off the ground, bids her a quick goodbye, and walks to Jem’s car trusting Ty is just behind him. Since Kit is not petty enough to let Ty struggle, he opens the back door for him to set in the backseat without strain.

“I could barely carry that thing. How did you lug it around all day?”

“It’s not that heavy. It’s fifteen pounds.”

“That can’t be fifteen pounds.” Kit looks into the car at the package. “Can I not lift fifteen pounds?”

“I guess not.” Kit goes to give Ty a glare but can’t when he sees Ty has the smallest smile on his face. All of Kit’s organs melt into a warm slush, sending a hot flush up his body. He doesn’t even want to begin to dissect it.

“You know what, it’s my birthday and I don’t deserve this.” Kit opens the passenger door to throw his back on the leg space. Fully ignoring Jem for the moment, who is very patiently waiting for Kit to stop talking to Ty so they can go home. He turns back to Ty briefly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Ty gives him a small wave close to his torso and walks back to Livvy. Who he can see whip around to pretend like she wasn’t just watching them. Kit rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger seat.

“Did they get you gifts for your birthday?” Jem asks, pulling out once Kit got his seatbelt on. The warm and gushy feeling fills Kit’s chest again as he sinks down into his seat.

“Yes.” He says, not even trying to contain his smile. Jem doesn’t say anything else, allowing Kit to stew in the fact that he has friends that really care about him, enough to give him nice gifts on his very first birthday.

Kit doesn’t get a chance to open Ty’s gift until later at night.

As soon as he got home, he saw the banner put above the entrance to the kitchen and the balloons tied to his chair. It was small, just like asked, but more than he expected. They eat pizza for dinner and Kit gets to blow out birthday candles on the cake Tessa made for the first time in his life. He didn’t know what to wish for, and how serious birthday wishes have to be, so just asks for a lot more birthdays.

After, Kit gets to open a few more presents from Jem and Tessa. The next three issues of Spiderman comics from the “Brand New Day” storyline and a scratch-off movie poster. Kit did his best not to cry and just barely managed to succeed. Though both Jem and Tessa saw right through him and hugged him so tight Kit was worried they cracked a rib or two.

But eventually, Mina had to be put to bed, and Kit needed to see if he could get some homework done. Though, as soon as Kit saw Ty’s gift sitting on his bed, all thoughts of homework go right out the window.

Despite its size, it has quite some give when Kit presses his palms against the wrapping paper. It crinkles pleasantly but Kit has no idea what it could be. He flips it over and carefully pulls off the tape securing the flaps, allowing him to undo all of Ty’s careful folding without ripping any of the paper. The gift practically glows in Kit’s dark bedroom.

A blanket. It’s a blanket covered in bright, yellow sunflowers. Kit runs his hand over the fabric and is astounded at how soft it is. He unfolds the blanket from the packaging, nearly forgetting how heavy it is. The other side is completely yellow, the same yellow at the petals practically covering the entire white background on the front. All out, it’s much easier to hold than when it was tightly packed in the paper. Kit pulls out his phone to text Ty.

You: You got me a weighted blanket?

While he waits for Ty to reply, which can usually range between a few minutes to a few days, Kit strips his bed of its comforter and lays Ty’s blanket out. It’s the perfect size, which Kit has no idea how Ty managed as he’s never been in Kit’s room and Kit’s pretty he never told either of the twins his mattress size. He runs his hands across the fabric again. His phone vibrates.

Ty: I made it. You said that you sometimes have trouble falling asleep and I have a weighted blanket to help me with the same issue.

You: You made it????

Kit flops back onto his bed, staring at his phone. Ty made him a birthday present. Ty made him a gift to help with Kit’s insomnia. His heart starts to beat wildly in his chest. And embarrassingly he has the urge to burrow his face into his pillows and scream.

Ty: It wasn’t hard, I just had to find the right fabric and buy filling. Learning how to sew wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be. Emma’s friend Christina knows to sew too so I asked for her help when I needed it.

You: It’s so hard to convey this with text, but Ty, thank you so much. This is so thoughtful.

Ty: You’re welcome.

Kit barely resists the to resist the urge to take a picture of it draped over his comforter. There is no way he is going to get any work done tonight, with all the butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach and the way his hands are shaking as he types. As a whole, he’s been keeping up well with his homework so one night of nothing won’t ruin everything.

So Kit gets ready for bed, practically buzzing to get to see how Ty’s blanket works.

#kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #livvy blackthorn #dru blackthorn #jem carstairs #tessa grey #mina carstairs #the wicked powers #TWP #the dark artifices #TDA #the shadowhunter chronicles #TSC #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #series: the sparks and the flame #chewrites

7 notes · View notes