#i considered printing this somehow and tracing it back on paper so I could use my markers

[pocket-prosecutor]

dads after they do one (1) task: slepe

line version under the cut:

[zhalfirin-binds]

Winnie-the-Pooh detail shots

Here are a some pictures that reveal a few of the flaws and a few of the things that worked out really well.

First up the cover. There is a wild mix of media going on here. The title is hot stamped, the bear and bees printed and a few of the outlines re-traced with a very fine tipped black pen and the balloon is a set back onlay of marbled paper. When cutting out the paper, I first cut it too large, so I cut a bit more off and naturally then it was too small. Since I really wanted that blue heart shape there, I cut the sliver I cut off, cut some more off and, if you look carefully, you can see where I added the thin sliver to fill the recessed area.

The honey pot was not printed at all, but completely drawn with the same black pen I used for tracing the bear on the front cover. When enlarging it the writing looks a bit fuzzy but otherwise it went really well.

The headbands have both been done over because I had a knot in my brain and didn’t manage to try a different way of doing them. So in the second go I somehow I managed to have the black thread pretty much disappear in the bead. The head endband has a fun hick up too the bead kind of changes direction. I’m not entirely sure how I did that, but it’s clearly visible after the blue thread a bit to the right goes rather straight instead of slanted and then the bead continues differently. I also managed have the board I used to press down the spine stiffener a bit askew, so the instead of sitting between both boards on top of the spine stiffener I squashed part of the case board. It shows mostly because the shoulder on the right isn’t sitting nicely on the board.

The box came with its very own troubles. Mostly in the form of that multitude of different angles with a very short spacing in between. The tiny flaps I cut left plenty of grey card board uncovered. This I took care by painting the edge, but they also refused to stay glued down neatly. I also could have done a better job preparing the paper to cover the inside (therefore I’d have had to know I was going to do it that way though XD)

I really love how the transition of the brighter leather turned out, it’s barely visible at all. (In contrast to it the edge to the darker leather stands out much more! I also managed to burn the leather there because despite checking for temperature when blind tooling I obviously didn’t get it right.)

Last but not least, these were some fabric colours I considered for the case when I started out. I finally went with a different red.

[mrsluthordanvers]

Prompt: Lena finds out because she catches Kara “making up” quotes for supergirl in her articles

Read on AO3

Lena knows she’s not spying. It is technically her property after all. She owns CatCo now, and this is a CatCo supplied notebook and every idea in it belongs to her, contractually. But it doesn’t make her feel any less guilty, flipping through the lined pages, scanning the messy notes Kara has scribbled in the margins.

She didn’t know it was Kara’s when she picked it up from her couch after the weekly morning meeting. But the moment she recognizes Kara’s distinctive print, she can’t put it down. Kara’s avoiding her, which puts a pit in the bottom of Lena’s stomach as Kara’s best friend. But she’s also been missing meetings, and disappearing for hours with no articles or ideas to show for it. And that is unacceptable as Kara’s boss.

So, yes, she is going through Kara’s notes.

Lena skips through the first few pages of notes that belong to articles already published, including a few interviews with her that she tries her best not to linger on. Even if a couple doodled hearts make her smile as she gets comfortable behind her desk. The further she flips through Kara’s notes the more it becomes obvious that Kara is starting to rely on a singular source. Supergirl.

It’s hardly surprising to Lena; she knows that Kara’s name has been on more than a few bylines about the superhero. She knows that they know each other. But still she lingers, one finger tracing across the page as she reads.

At first it’s simple notes. Things like “quote from Supergirl???” and “source?? Supergirl?” with little arrows pointed to specific ideas that need to be fleshed out. A few pages later, the notes disappear. They become somewhat tidier, Supergirl is still at the centre as Kara’s most used source. But now there are direct quotes from Supergirl directly written in. Except it’s not just one quote, but rather lists of them. Some quotes are completely crossed out and rewritten underneath, words are occasionally scribbled out with new words crammed above. Different variations of the same wording, until Kara seems to be satisfied. One quote circled so heavily that Lena could see the spot where Kara’s pen broke through the paper.

Lena’s running her finger over the spot when someone clears their throat, startling her.

“Have you seen my-” Kara’s already looking around the office before she’s even finished her question, eyes landing on her notebook on Lena’s desk. “You found it!”

Lena nods, but pulls the notebook closer when Kara goes to reach for it, making her forehead scrunch.

“Is everything-”

“-are you fabricating quotes?” Lena asks point blank, as she settles back in her chair taking the notebook into her lap as she taps a finger against it.

“No?” Kara’s forehead wrinkles further as she watches Lena with a tilted head.

Lena hums as she picks up the notebook and makes a show of rapidly flipping through the remaining pages. “By my count, I would say there’s at least… 50... different quotes in here from Supergirl that you’ve reworked so heavily they can hardly be considered quotes anymore.”

There’s a pregnant pause when Lena looks back up at Kara. She’s gone so still, Lena wonders if she’s still breathing. Lena blinks once, twice, and suddenly it’s like she’s seeing Kara for the first time. The way her blue dress shirt is straining at the seams around broad shoulders. How Lena can make out the lines of her abs where it hugs her around the middle. Even the fabric on her khakis are pulled tight across her thighs.

Admittedly, Lena has checked out Kara on more than one occasion. This is not the first time she’s noticed how Kara is probably hiding a six pack under her knit cardigans. But this is the first time Lena’s noticed how Kara looks like she might split a seam if she so much as makes the wrong move. How she almost looks out of place in her own clothing, contained somehow.

“Oh.” Lena breathes as she puts the notebook on the desk between them. “I see.”

“Lena…” Kara croaks as she takes a step forward but halts again when her phone chirps.

They stare at each other for a moment before Kara’s shoulders finally slump, “There’s an emergency…”

“Of course.” Lena nods, her back rigid as Kara looks back and forth to the office door before she ultimately chooses the balcony, shedding her shirt before she takes to the sky.

As soon as she’s out of sight Lena lets out a deep breath, looking between Kara’s shirt now laying on her floor to the notebook still sitting on her desk. A giggle starts to bubble in her chest, growing steadily until she’s laughing out loud. Still laughing even as James comes to ask if she’s okay as she carefully wipes tears from her eyes.

“Perfect.” Lena nods as she stands. “But you need to start sending another reporter to interview Supergirl. And I just heard she’s responding to an emergency.”

High above the city, Supergirl can’t help but grin as she turns mid-air and rockets towards the alien across town.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Mutual longing

It’s 03:43 and I missed writing James, uf i love this one

Warning: 18+

---

Oh, James is a breathtaking sight. With his dark hair and twinkling eyes, his tall toned body and charming smile. His smooth voice and irresistible accent. He is the whole package.

Lost in thought you imagined him fucking you against the wall, his big hand over your mouth to contain your moans as he pounded you aggressively-

„Hey“ Lily chirped, leaning over the table to give you a friendly hug, „Sorry I‘m late, head girl shit.“

You hugged her back, acting as if you didn‘t just imagine getting absolutely railed by the fellow head boy.

„Don‘t worry ‘bout it. Haven‘t been long anyway.“

Lily rolled her eyes and gave you a teasing smile.

„Knowing you, you probably showed up fifteen minutes early to be polite. You can give me shit you know, I deserve it.“

You laughed lightly before you furrowed your brows dramatically and held up a finger much like Professor McGonagall when she lectured the marauders again.

„Lily Evans you little shit. Hopefully you will have a long dreadful nightmare for the shit you put me through!“

Lily smirked at you and nodded, impressed with your choice of words.

„That would be James trying to hug me again, so no thank you.“ She clapped her hands. „Right, lets start.“

You couldn‘t help but think of just how fucking hot it would be to be in James‘ strong arm. Breathless moans and impatient hands tugging down your skirt. His hands all over your body, slowly moving down towards your-

Fuck.

---

Sometime during your meetup Remus appeared and sat down with you. Then came Peter. With him Sirius and of course James.

„I swear Black if you don‘t shut the fuck up“ Lily said forcefully, very close to yelling, „I‘m gonna beat your stupid face with this book!“

Sirius’ wand fell from between his clenched jaw, he was trying to impersonate a growling dog, and he rolled his eyes.

„Calm down, Evans. Besides, Remus would totally not appreciate that, considering my face is number one in his list of“, he cleared his throat theatrically, „Reasons why Sirius Black is the most enchanting being I‘ve ever fucked.“

Remus, already used to Sirius‘ crude remarks, just continued to read his book, his index finger tracing shapes on Sirius‘ palm absentmindedly.

„I agree“ Remus mumbled, missing the way Sirius blushed and melted with his next words, „Sirius is enchanting.“

Sirius, content with the attention he got, leaned his head against his boyfriends shoulder and finally shut his mouth. Lily smiled gratefully at Remus, who send her a wink, the corner of his lips pulling up slightly to show that he had said it on purpose. Not that they needed to know just how accurate Sirius had been with the list.

You threw a glance at James and saw him engrossed with his potions textbook, lips moving silently as he read through the pages. Taking the time to admire him from up close, you watched how his brows would furrow and ease up whenever he worked out a problem, how he would bite his lip in concentration or scratch his nose and push up his glasses when they slipped down his nose.

Truly handsome. Sex on legs.

Fuck why can‘t he just touch you already.

For someone who flirts on the daily he sure was oblivious to girls who were actually interested in him. And not gay, unlike Lily, who literally had a pin on her bag with the lesbian flag on it.

Might get a pin with “Fuck me James“ printed on it. Maybe then he‘ll know, you thought bitterly.

You had already planned a whole color scheme for the pins when a foot nudged your shin under the table and forced you out of your head.

„Need help“ James whispered and slid his worksheet over to you, „Please?“

Oh hell yes. No need to beg, Potter.

„Sure“ You said, congratulating yourself for sounding confident, „Give me a min.“

Reading through the question your took a moment to think about the answer, scribbling it down yourself instead of telling him. You weren‘t sure how long you could gaze into his eyes and act like you didn‘t have wet dreams about him.

Satisfied you looked back up and noticed him already looking at you, or more specifically your mouth.

A devilish idea crossed your mind. Oh, yes.

Acting as if you were still thinking, you bit your lip softly, tracing your bottom lip with your tongue to leave it glistening pink. James swallowed, hand loosening his tie and he lowered his head with blushing cheeks.

„Here“ You smiled, gently sliding the paper back to him and shivered a little when your fingertips touched.

His fingers had to business being so close to the top of the sheet, considering he was sitting across from you and could have just grabbed the bottom part. Hope flared in your chest when you saw him just as taken aback by the touch and you basked in the radiant grin he shot you from under his mop of hair.

Your stomach swarmed with butterflies and you let out a small breath, thighs clenching.

Oh James.

„I should get going“ You said after a while, not in the mood to study anymore.

James‘ head whipped up and he got up as well, packing his bag in time with you. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you refrained from making your excitement too obvious.

„Yeah me too, I‘m tired. Goodnight.“ James rushed and gently pulled you along by the strap of your bag.

The others just grumbled in response, Sirius fast asleep and drooling while Remus waved his hand dismissively. Lily muttered a quick, „I‘ll join in a few minutes“, which actually translates to hours.

Since the others aren‘t here I could have some alone time with James.

Oh shit, there goes your brain. It was really creative when it came to imagening James‘ moans, considering you never heard them before. Or his dick. Fuck.

You silently made your way upstairs and sadly it was an awkward one. Frankly you blamed James for being so hot that you literally had no clue what to say, not knowing that he thought the exact same thing. Sure he is all for, „Everyone can wear what they bloody want“ and he had proven that point by wearing skirts multiple times, but fuck-

You in that skirt has to be criminal by some kind of law right? Has to be a sin in some kind of religion? And don‘t get him started on your lips-

James shook his head to get rid of the mental images and focused on his breathing. Praying that you wouldn’t see his boner.

Somehow you had made it to the empty common room and turned to each other at the same time to say goodnight. Both of you had not considered the distance between your faces, which proved to be extremely short with your noses bumping painfully.

„I‘m so-“

Your words died down when James kissed you hard, his big hands - oh those big, callous hands you‘ve been dreaming about for weeks finally touching your cheeks to pull you impossibly close.

Stunned by his sudden desire to kiss you, you pulled your head away to look into his face and what you saw made you smash your lips on his and his back against the wall.

His quiet, absolutely submissive noises shot straight into your blood and you press your hips against his to hear more of it. His arms were wrapped around your neck, hands buried in your hair as he opened your legs with his knee to press his thigh between your legs.

The rough fabric of his pants made you shudder and your hands slid down his upper body until you got to his cock. James head sank against the wall with a dirty moan as you put your hand in his pants to touch him. Shit, his skin was so soft and hot and he already has precum on the tip.

James lips met yours sloppily as he pushed you backwards onto the couch and sank down between you legs on the ground, moving your feet to rest on the cushion. He clearly didn‘t have any more patience in him and made quick work of pushing your panties aside to rub his fingers against your soaking entrance.

„Come on, James“ You moaned, bucking against him when he finally pushed two fingers inside.

„Mmm look at you“ James groaned out, leaving kisses along your inner thighs and let out wanton sound when your cunt clenched around him.

You didn‘t care about anything but his fingers fucking you at this point, whining when the cool metal of his ring pressed against your clit. You jerked at the hot sensation of his tongue curling around your clit, greedily sucking your pussy lips into his mouth.

„Oh James!“ You whimpered breathlessly, pulling his face so close that his nose was smushed against your lower belly, feeling the vibrations of every moan he let out shoot directly to your cunt.

Pulling him up by his hair you kissed him again, panting into his open mouth when he kept pistoning his fingers into your cunt.

„Please let me fuck you“ James begged needily, brows pinched in longing to feel you around his throbbing cock, „Please I can‘t wait anymore!“

Instead of answering, you pushed his pants down with your heels and trapped him between your legs. James hissed in relief when he felt some kind of friction on his cock and eased himself inside.

„Oh“ James let out a broken whimper, head thrown back in sheer bliss, „Feel so good.“

You couldn’t answer, way to enamored with the way he stretched you open so deliciously, watching his cock push into your body. Oh fuck, the sight was so dirty and crass and yet you couldn‘t take your eyes off him.

„James“ You gasped with difficulty, „James please ‘m‘gonna cum!“

James bend your legs so they were over his shoulders and pounded you harshly, face screwed up in ecstasy with the way you cried out his name. Your moans cut off only to be replaced by sobs when the tip of his cock hit your g-spot over and over again.

„Yes yes yes“ James chanted, pressing his forehead on yours to stare at your dazed expression, „tell me how you feel!“

Your shook your head quickly, signaling him that you couldn‘t possibly form a coherent sentence, but his persisted.

„Tell me how you feel!“ James hissed, thumb suddenly on your clit and you broke.

„Good good so fucking good“ You cried, latching on his body to encourage him to fuck you harder.

„Prove it“ James moaned brokenly, „Cum for me!“

His other hand wrapped around your delicate throat and squeezed firmly, making you tip over the edge and cry out your release. James‘ orgasm made him tremble so violently that he couldn‘t hold himself up anymore, collapsing on your chest with a deep throaty whimper as he filled your cunt with his hot cum.

„Fuck yes“ James ground out, hips still pushing in and out of you, like he couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. He raised his head to watch you, his pupils still dilated, pink lips quivering with aftershocks.

James looked absolutely wrecked and satisfied. He stared at you as if staring at a goddess, nuzzling close to hear your heartbeat.

„You okay?“ James asked quietly and tucked himself back in to help you clean up.

„Yeah, perfect.“ You grinned, letting him help you up and pull you towards his dorm.

He gave you a playful smile, but you saw the slight nervousness in his eyes.

„Stay?“

God, yes. Finally. Fuck those pins, who needs them.

„Yes.“

[hotdamnhunnam]

Too Good for Grey

A/N: Sooo this is a fic that I’ve had in mind ever since I first posted my list of Imagine Ideas a while ago! Though I know Charlie’s decision not to play the role of Christian Grey is what was best for him, part of me will always be heartbroken that we all missed out on 50 Shades of Hunnam 😭💔 In this fic you’re his girlfriend; he’s considering the role and you let him... practice in the bedroom 😏

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Charlie, blindfold, bondage, punishment, light flogging (just with his belt, nothing too intense) Request: No specific request, but there’s been demand for a Part 2 of Red Carpet Rogue and I decided to write this fic as a sequel to it!

Word Count: ~3.4k

[Please read Red Carpet Rogue first if you haven’t yet! Otherwise the second paragraph won’t make much sense without that reference...]

You love mornings like this one. Lazy weekends with your boyfriend, hottest man under the sun. Completely chill and easy and carefree, nowhere to be. No work, no plans. You’re seated in his lap feeding him pancakes from your fork, since that’s the only way to get your man to focus on his breakfast. Charlie’s hands are fully occupied, roving and reckless, moving all over your robe and deep inside. Clearly still riding high from such a scandalously sexy night.

You push another forkful past his lips, then playfully lean in to lick some syrup from his chin as it so sweetly drips. His stubble tickles, causing you to giggle, while he growls and tightens his grip on your hips. “Mmm...” he hums, digging into your skin with his thumbs. “You know I still can’t get over just how fucking awesome last night was, Y/N. Thinking we should invest in a stretch of red carpet to relive it over and over again.”

“Hmm, I like the way you’re thinking...” you respond, settling deeper in his lap and slowly sinking, till you feel your man’s enormous cock grind up against your cunt. Heat burning through your silk robe and his sweatpants. “God, you were so fucking dominant. More than you’ve ever been.”

“That a good thing?” the bastard asks you, as if he has to, bursting into laughter when you shoot him a glare of the fuck do you think?!? Your dom/sub dynamic is not a new thing. “Well, chalk it up to this new script that I’m considering. Came my way yesterday before we headed out for the evening.”

He gestures at the stack of papers on the counter behind him just now, which you hadn’t noticed all morning somehow. You blink at the title printed on the front page and cannot believe what you’re seeing. Basically stop breathing. “Oh, wow...”

Charlie flashes a cheeky grin as he gets off on your reaction. Can’t resist making a stupid dirty pun, ‘cause he’s the worst. Rubbing his crotch harder against yours as he says the words. “Yeah, who could’ve seen that coming.”

“Now if you’re gonna start talking dirty to me, Mr. Hunnam... you’d better be ready to act on it,” you warn him, well aware he’s been ready and raring to go all damn morning. “I know you’d slay this role but don’t know if you really want it, to be honest.”

He shrugs as he kisses stray drops of maple syrup from the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’ve got my doubts. But haven’t ruled it out. Think some part of me wants it. Luckily I’ve got the greatest girlfriend in the world to help me work through my decision-making process.”

“Well, should we call it work...” your lips curve into a seductive smirk, “...or play?”

At those words, Charlie’s cock fucking jerks. That’s your answer, of course. Better than anything he can say.

And you’re so fucking ready to meet Mr. Grey.

***************

“You sure about this, babe?” he asks as you hastily finish your pancakes. You’re hungry for something quite different, for fuck’s sake. Your pussy’s so wet that it practically aches. “It’s not like we have a red room...”

“But we do have a very nice bedroom,” you tell him. He’s trying to stall and you’re not gonna let him. You’re ready to go. “Plus we’ve got, you know—silk scarves and ties, a closet full of all kinds of hardware supplies. So I’m sure you can... improvise.”

Charlie’s still acting as if he has to think twice. Blinks twice, with an excited little twinkle in his eyes. “Somebody’s eager...”

“Somebody? Both of us, baby. You know you can’t wait for this either.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ready...”

“Charlie, I know you’ll take things slow and steady. I trust you completely,” you reassure him as you kiss his cheek softly and sweetly. “Besides, we’ll rely on the traffic lights code. Red for stop, yellow for ease it up. Green for go. They used those safewords in the books, right? Never read them so I don’t really know.”

“Then how do you know what—”

“Know what Fifty Shades even involves? Love, I’m not some kind of pop culture idiot,” you interrupt, taking his hand to guide him down the halls. You’re really not about to let him stand and stall. “And I may have looked up... a few things on Google. Being such a kinky bitch and all. Brainstorming new ways to play the role of your submissive little slut.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts as he finally gives in to what he wants, suddenly slipping into dom mode all at once. Changing his tone, making you moan, slamming you up against the wall. Towering over you so big and strong and tall. “Who would’ve thought... who knew that’s what my sweet little girl is up to when you’re clicking away on your laptop? Googling filthy ways for me to fuck you up?”

You groan in desire as his dirty words start a fire. “Ch-Charlie...”

He reacts just as you knew he would, and his dominance feels so damn good. Last night he scolded you just the same, when you called him by name. “What the fuck do you call me?”

“Sir,” you instantly answer. Obviously. Filled with the urge to say more, like a good proper whore, since you feel more submissive than ever before. Thirsty for fifty shades of Charlie. “Thank you for reminding me, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“You better be,” he chides, sliding his hands down your shivering sides, then swiftly untying your robe and letting it fall open wide. His touch upon your skin is hot as hell and fucking heavenly. “Your place in life is to obey. Do as I say. To serve and pleasure me.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, breathing heavily, as he cradles your face in his dominant fingers. “I promise I’ll always remember.”

You’ve known it to be true, since the day you first met him: Charlie Hunnam owns you, and you fucking let him. You’re fated to live for his pleasure and love him forever.

He reads all of the thoughts in your head as he slowly lets go of your face, slaying you with his blazing blue gaze. Though you moan at the loss of his fingers, the power and passion of his touch still lingers. You can feel it all over your sensitive skin. Fifty shades of pure sin.

And you love it. Want every damn shade of it. Already so addicted to the deep submissive state you’re in.

The next words that he speaks... make you so fucking weak. Mr. Grey has most certainly come out to play. And he is here to stay. To make you fifty shades of horny. “That’s a good little whore. Gonna give you the punishment you’ve been so desperately hoping for. Now run off to the bedroom and wait for me... facing away from the open door... naked and down on your knees.”

****************

Yes, sir. Yes, please. You’re pretty sure your cunt is leaking all over the floor as you obey your master’s orders, flinging your robe off your shoulders, stripping down and sitting back upon your heels.

It’s not the first time Charlie’s ordered you to kneel—but this right now... just hits different somehow. He’s so hot it’s unreal, too dominant for you to even deal. And you’re obsessed with how insanely good it feels.

You’ve already lost track of just how long you’ve waited. Heart racing, breath bated. How much time has passed? It may have been two minutes or two hundred. You just know that once your man arrives at last, he’ll be all set to give you everything you’ve wanted.

The moment when he finally comes... you feel his presence from across the room. Exuding vibes of absolute alpha male dom. And you’re so desperate to receive all of that energy from him. You can’t believe how blessed you are to be his woman. Here experiencing fifty shades of Hunnam.

Though you’re dying to turn behind you toward the door to see how good he surely looks right now, you stop yourself somehow. Keep both hands resting on your thighs, with lowered eyes, head bowed. Still and silent, though self-conscious that you are breathing incredibly loud. You’re so fucking aroused.

As Charlie takes a few deliberate steps toward you... rests his hand against your head, stroking your hair and tenderly twining his fingers through... you already feel dead. Can’t stop some smutty sound from slipping out your slutty little mouth.

He then reaches around, to trace his thumb across your bottom lip, shifting his grip before you can even attempt to kiss his fingertips. Needs you to know that you are not to make a sound, till he allows. That he owns you without a fucking doubt.

He’s owning you now with the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. “Y/N. I need you to understand... that you are mine to command.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathlessly answer. And the slut in you compulsively reacts, tilting your head back, in an effort to make eye contact. Dying to look up at his gorgeous face, to meet his gaze, as you profess the shameless fact: that you belong to him, in every way and always...

And yet your man has other plans. Prevents you from catching a glimpse of him before you even can. He had arrived with something in his hands—a strip of cloth, some kind of tie or scarf, silken and soft. He masterfully fastens it around your eyes the moment that your head tilts back, and suddenly your vision fades to black.

“Now that’s no way for a good little slut to act,” Charlie scolds, as he tightens your blindfold. “Shifting from your position? Moving without my permission?”

Ugh God, he’s so hot you could die. “I...”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of your worthless apologies. High time I teach you a lesson in proper submission.”

“Ohh, sir—” you moan as he pulls you closer, till the back of your head rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch. The prize that you crave so fucking much. The object of your dreams. You can tell that he’s wearing your favorite jeans, and his cock is so hard it’s obscene, bursting out of the seams.

Then he effortlessly hoists you onto your feet, the bare skin of your back sliding up against his upper body—shirtless, naturally—so that you can feel every firm ridge of his muscles and all of his raw carnal heat. “Now I know what you want... but what’s much more important... I know what you need.”

Those words murder your cunt, and it feels like time stops. Then the next thing you know Charlie has you facedown on the bed, both arms over your head. And he’s tying you up. Binding both of your wrists to the bedposts, with some fucking serious rope.

This is everything your inner slut ever hoped. And you can’t even cope.

He’s just getting started and already this feels so damn perfect you just want to cry. Fucking magic. You’re fucking ecstatic. Tears of pure euphoria rise to your eyes, fighting at the blindfold he had tied, dampening the fabric.

Charlie picks up on all your unspoken emotions, as he always does. He can tell that you’re buzzed and just wants to make sure that this isn’t too much. Leaning in near, to whisper sweetly in your ear. “How’s the traffic?”

“Huh...?” you reply in a hazy sigh, taking a moment just to realize what he means. “Oh—green. So green.”

“Mmm, good to know,” he smirks against your cheek, as you revert to being too horny to speak. “But we can always take it slow. Just let me know if we’re approaching yellow—”

All of a sudden you’re able to speak again, just then. The words are somewhat muffled as your face is partly burrowed in the pillows; you make sure that Charlie hears you loud and clear, though. “Hell no. Green means fucking go.”

“If you say so...” he smirks once more, kissing your cheek before he lifts off of your back, all fucking ready to attack. You both can’t wait for what’s in store.

Charlie has spanked you countless times before. With you facedown in bed, you would’ve guessed that’s what he had in mind—to slap your slutty ass red, then to fuck you from behind. Remind you that you’ll always be his dirty little fucking whore.

Today you’re hoping for a little something more.

And that’s exactly what he’s giving. This time around... the punishment’s bound to hit different.

You can hear the faint rustle, telltale sound of metal and leather as Charlie undoes his belt buckle. Oh, shit—surprise, surprise—for some of these supplies, he didn’t even have to venture in the hardware closet.

Everything he needs to exert his total dominance, he’s fucking got it.

And it’s everything you’ve ever fucking wanted.

“Know just how much this pretty ass loves getting punished...” he teases, taking your bare naked cheeks in his hands with a few tender strokes and squeezes. 

If you had to guess—without being able to witness—he must’ve looped his undone belt around his neck to free both hands for just a minute. He must look so fucking hot right now. An absolute sex god like nobody’s business.

“This sweet ass will look even prettier in pink by the time we’re finished,” he says it like a promise, and you really hope he keeps it, to be honest. “You know I would say prettier in red, but...”

“Oh, no, that’s a bad word,” you murmur in playful laughter. Repeat the right color to make sure he feels reassured. “Green, sir. Want you to let loose and get fucking mean, sir.”

“Ugh fuck,” he murmurs, as you hear him smile while he slides the leather belt off of his shoulders. You can just imagine what the sight of you in such submission has done to his denim-clad cock. “You’re killing me, love...”

“But that’s your job. I’m the sub,” you remind him, well aware you’re coming close to topping from the bottom. Sort of. Whatever it takes, to get Mr. Grey to come out to play, to feel comfortable falling into his role as your absolute dom. “Now go crazy and get rough. I promise I want it, sir. Honest. I can’t get enough.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” Charlie rasps, slowly grazing the edge of the leather across the soft globes of your ass. “Once we’re done with your punishment... you know I’m gonna fucking wreck this perfect little cunt?”

“Yes, sir. Please punish me and use my pussy for your pleasure.”

“Motherfucker...” you hear him quietly mutter, scrambling to strip out of his jeans, because his cock is probably straining in pain against the denim, harder than it’s ever been. No surprise since your cunt’s also wetter than ever. It’s just so perfect that you two are getting off on this together. You love the way your dirty words have this effect on him, just as his do on you. You’re such a slut for Mr. Hunnam; the best thing is that he’s such a slut for you, too.

Once he’s finally naked and gets in position behind you, he takes a few seconds to soak in the view. Psyching up for what he is about to do: whip the shit out of you. Just as you want him to.

“Now with each lash that comes down, I want you to keep count. And need you to repeat the color. Loud. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you swear, yielding to his command, instinctively arching your ass up in the air, because you’re desperate for your punishment. “Yes, sir, I understand. Green means hit me as hard as you can.”

“You fucking greedy little cunt,” he taunts with a dominant sneer. “Who makes the rules here? I’m gonna go just as hard or as soft as I want.”

You realize you were stupid to think he would go so hard, right from the start. Charlie knows where your limits are, even when you don’t. He reads your body and your mind and sees into your heart. Knows just what you need even when you’re too focused on only what you want. That’s why you have no doubt that he’ll dish out the most perfect punishment.

And so he does.

From the very first lash on your ass... your breath halts with a heart-stopping gasp. You have never felt such a damn buzz. From the way the sensation bursts onto your skin, underneath the smooth leather, a blossom of sin, pain blurring into pleasure... you want this to just go on forever and ever.

Your master had given you orders, you somehow remember. “One...!” you scream, as you sink deeper into submission, so desperate for him it’s obscene. “Oh God, thank you, sir. Green.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, just before he treats you to another. Each hit makes your fucking toes curl. You are the luckiest bitch in the entire fucking world.

“Two! Fuck, thank you...” you wholeheartedly thank him again and again, with each serving of perfect pain, grateful to your dom for how fucking awesome it feels. It’s unreal. And you keep screaming green on repeat, to give him all the safety and comfort he needs.

He’s enjoying this, no doubt—his cock’s standing rock hard and proud—but this first time around, with each strike that comes down, Charlie is much more focused on reading your signals. Respecting your limits, especially when it’s so tempting to test them a little. You don’t really seem to have any with him, as far as he can tell. Which is epic on some level, but also scary as hell.

He decides when you’re finished, with getting punished, since you’re taking it too fucking well. All you want is more of it; you love it and can’t think of anything else. On your end it’s exquisite. Excruciating ecstasy fulfilling your every fantasy. All because it’s pain coming from him. Fifty shades of Hunnam. All because of how deeply you worship and love him.

If there’s one thing you love more than taking these whips from his belt, the sweetest sting you have ever felt... it’s getting ripped to pieces by his massive cock. Playing your lifelong role as a slut for Sir Hunnam to fuck. Taking him in your soaking wet cunt, letting him ravage you just as hard and as fast as he wants, rough and savage, dishing out some serious damage, till you both explode deep inside and all over each other at once.

Something about the hard passionate sex today, the way he wrecks today... feels even hotter after how you got to play.

Apparently he really likes it when you tap into his inner Mr. Grey.

You both come harder than you ever have, as his huge shaft unloads inside your hole and feeds your soul and breaks you right in half. Breathing in shallow gasps as you feel him fucking collapse, your naked back slick from the sweat off of his sculpted chest and his firm chiseled abs. His face is buried in your hair, and though you know how much he wants to unfasten your blindfold and unbind your wrists, so he can turn you over for a heartfelt kiss, and shower you with hours of loving aftercare... right now your man’s just laying there and praying for some air.

He’s just so perfect it’s not fair. You know he’ll spend the whole rest of the day talking through all your feelings, treating you to every form of healing. Endlessly obsessing over every mark upon your skin, like he committed some ungodly sin, compulsively asking you whether you’re really okay. And he’ll keep on asking no matter what you say. Although he also loves to play this way... deep down he’s doing it for you, because his love is pure and true.

And that was when you fucking knew: this man is way too good to take the role that he was offered yesterday. You’re here to help him though each step of his decision-making process, to respect him if he wants this, and support him either way—but you already feel quite sure after today that your man Charlie is quite honestly... too good for Grey.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗❤️

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[its-a-humanriot]

Common Language, pt. II

Charon realises very quickly that he doesn’t understand his new employer very well.

In the first instance, this is very literal.

(pt. I) / (pt. II)

---

The two of them head out scavenging initially, hoping to replenish some of his employer’s lost caps. Their interactions remain stilted. She is clearly unused to having a travelling companion - much less one who she has command over - and is clearly avoiding using that ability as much as she can, wincing if she forgets to word her sentences carefully. Somehow, this only serves to make Charon more uneasy – at least with direct orders he knows what to expect from it. The rapid derailing of their first interaction means that he doesn’t even really know why she had spent all those caps on his contract in the first place.

His confusion at her only increases as they spend more time together over the course of the day. She has taken to speaking the same way she did after his outburst, slightly slower and obviously selecting her words more carefully. His initial reaction is resentment - that he is being patronised or pandered to somehow, that since he lost his composure she is walking on eggshells trying to preserve his feelings. The fact she saw him in such a state at all makes him uncomfortable beyond measure, never mind the fact that it happened less than an hour after their first proper meeting.

However, this conclusion is rapidly cast aside when (on many occasions) she slips up - she rapidly becomes less comprehensible as she falls into her natural speech patterns. On seeing his blank expression, she has to backtrack and rephrase or repeat herself more slowly, usually accompanied with a deep sigh and a furrowed brow followed by an apology. Her frustration only ever appeared to be directed towards herself, along with a kind of embarrassment at her difficulty in expressing herself. A couple hours after setting out she makes a comment about needing to ‘hit the jacks’ as they head into a house to loot. When she turns to see him looking back at her with confusion, instead of re-wording her sentence she just averts her eyes, clears her throat, and mutters “be right back” before darting up the stairs and into one of the rooms. He almost starts up the stairs after her until he hears the sound of water on porcelain and the situation becomes painfully clear, and he does a rapid about-turn to start his search for valuables on the far side of the ground floor.

It also does not take long for Charon to notice his new employer’s hoarding tendencies. This in itself is not unusual. Most wastelanders kept an eye out of any scrap of resources they could lay their hands on - you tended to live longer that way. Otherwise, useful odds and ends picked up could be sold on for caps, and some of the more daring wasteland folk earned a living by sneaking under the noses of super mutants and feral ghouls to obtain more valuable items. Charon considers this as the young woman pokes at the swaying figurine of a woman in a grass skirt on a wrecked bus dashboard, smiling to herself as it appears to dance, and tucks it into a side pouch of her pack.

No, the strangeness is not that she hoards or even how much, but what she takes. She clearly has at least some capability of evaluating what goods are worth taking – prioritising high-value low-weight items, only going for the heavier pieces when they are really worth it (and after he has insisted that yes, he can carry a few more fission batteries despite her reluctance to use him as a pack brahmin) But for every carton of cigarettes or sensor module she picks up she scoops a handful of screws into a pocket and thread nuts onto a string like jewellery to carry with her. A few carefully selected tin cans that aren’t too bent are filled with old buttons and beads, padded out with scraps of printed pre-war fabric to stop the clattering noise from drawing too much unwanted attention. Even once today her own spent bullet casings got swept up off the floor, bundled into a rag and tied into a neat little parcel before tucking it away.

 “Charon, what chow do you want?”

He pauses in counting his ammunition in the spot by the fireplace. The house they have selected for their camp tonight still has an intact chimney. As long as they keep the fire small it shouldn’t draw too much attention, and they get the luxury of cooking their food indoors while getting to stay warm through the night. When he looks up towards the young woman, she is waving food containers at him. With a small amount of effort, his expression remains blank.

“I will eat whatever is available.” Previous employers have never paused to ask such trivial questions of him. His impartial answer earns a little furrow in his employer’s brow, but her disposition is otherwise cheerful.

“Well, there’s both o’ these, plus all the other stuff we salvaged today. What would you prefer?”

“I have no preference.”

She looks oddly disappointed, like she wasn’t just asking about food options, but doesn’t press him further. Charon looks between the containers in her hands – a box of Blanco mac and cheese, a tin of Cram, and what looks like a few squirrel-on-a-stick skewers wrapped in pieces of old newspaper. He thinks about how long it has been since he had fresh, hot food and not whatever scraps Ahzrukhal let him scrape off a plate or whatever leftovers Carol would smuggle to him. He looks back down at his pile of bullets and keeps counting.

“I have no preference. You should eat the squirrel before it goes bad.” Charon says placatingly. He hears a small, terse sigh from his employer’s direction, and then she sits down by the fire. But when he looks at her out of the corner of his eye (and he is so used to watching his employers, constantly gauging moods like he’s listening to a ticking Geiger counter) she just unwraps the squirrel kebabs and props them in front of the grate of the fireplace to heat up, then unboxes the mac and cheese and places the foil tray directly on the smouldering coals.

“Then we’ll share.” This time she catches him looking at her, and returns the look with a small smile before she turns away to start cleaning her rifle. If she notices that he is still looking at her after that, she doesn’t let on.

If he has to turn the kebabs a few times to stop them getting too crispy while she is distracted, it’s of no consequence. He doesn’t quite save the mac and cheese, which gets a little blackened around the edges before he snatches it off the fire, scorching his fingertips. Divided between the two of them in front of the fire over a slightly awkward silence, it is still the best meal he has had in a long time.

 His employer insists on taking first watch despite his protestations, saying that she has something to work on while the fire is still alight, and he grumbles to himself as he begrudgingly lays down to rest. The combined powers of his training and the soothing noises of ammunition being counted lulls him to sleep quickly.

His sleep is not peaceful – his episode from earlier that day bleeds into his dreams and he wakes up flat on his back and tense as a compressed spring and lost in time, eyes wide open and watching and listening and waiting for the scientists to release him from the sim pod, for Ahzrukhal to curse him out of bed, for a mother whose face he can no longer recall, for someone –

 No one comes. The strange swimming lights and shadows slowly resolve into the peeling patches on the dilapidated ceiling in the dregs of the firelight and a dim glow of electric light. The only noises are a rustle of paper, faint clinks of metal on metal, a sigh and the mumbling of a woman’s voice. His new employer, the kid – what was her name? He forces his shaking hands into fists, and sits up.

 His employer – Billie, he remembers now - is sitting by the fireplace as she was when he went to sleep, but with a hooded homemade lantern sat on top of some kind of scheme that she is pouring over as she tinkers with what appears to be something like a crossbow. Muttering words under her breath with enough vehemence that they can only be cursing, she measures the flight groove against a syringe then a dart, before dropping both in annoyance and scrubbing her fingers through her mass of dark curly hair. At this point she finally seems to notice him, and the pursed look of frustrated concentration on her face drops.

“Agh – sorry. Did I wake you?” Her recently mussed curls only served to make her look even more startled. Charon finds his jaw still clenched after his nightmare, and it takes a moment to loosen it enough to speak.

“No.” At least she doesn’t seem to have noticed anything strange about while he was sleeping. “You should rest. I will keep watch.” She frowns, and checks her Pip-Boy.

“But it’s only been a few hours-”

“I require less rest than most. I will keep watch the rest of the night.”

She looks unconvinced, but packs away her schemes and lantern without further protest and curls up on the mattress, and it is not long before her breaths lengthen as she drifts into sleep.

 The next few hours pass without incident – Charon finishes re-counting his ammunition and counts their supplies to keep his hands and his mind busy – bottles of water, packaged food, stimpaks. They are well enough provisioned for now, and should be well able to make it to Rivet City as his employer had indicated without running short as long as they don’t run into too much trouble. They had chosen a house for tonight as far as they could manage from a supermutant camp, and the nearest passing footsteps don’t seem to come closer than the end of the street. He sits in the dim light of the fire’s embers, and waits.

The young woman mutters in her sleep, curling in on herself. Though it is obscured by her speech patterns and the nonsense of sleep-talk, some of it sounds like names. All of it sounds distressed. He pauses, waiting to see if she will wake while he traces one, two holes in the bottom of his boot, but eventually she settles, nuzzling her head down under the edge of the one thin blanket she had pulled down from the upstairs bedroom. He has not counted another among their packs – once they get to Rivet City he may need to suggest that they acquire the essentials of a proper bedroll. It will be much easier for them to stay alive out in the open wasteland without the risk of hypothermia, especially if they don’t get the luxury of having an intact roof and walls around them.

Sometime after her breaths even out again in slumber, Charon finally runs out of things to keep his hands busy. The last of the embers in the grate have died, and daybreak is still an hour or so away. He hesitates, then lays down on the bare floor an arm’s length or so from the mattress and he counts his breaths, his heartbeats as he watches the pale morning light reveal the patterns of the tattered ceiling.

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 17- Muffin But Books

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Bookshop/bartender/baking AU)

Word Count: 2,050

Summary: You go out to celebrate the reopening of the bookshop and have maybe a bit too much fun...and before you know it’s the day :) 

Author’s Note: So I hope you guys can get the feel of what the bookshop looks like now, I used some pics in the moodboard that give you an idea :) I also could not resist some sexy fun with Bucky because I never can. The bar they are at called The Park (pic is in the center of the moodboard) is unfortunately closed now but here is an article about it so at least you can see the space and know the story. Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me and a day early today! 😁 I love you and I’m sending you all my love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: soft fluff, fun with friends, smut, teasing, flirting, all the emotions (the good ones :) 18 + only please ;)

Top Shelf Masterlist 

You and Bucky are tucked into a booth at The Park, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. It’s the Saturday night before the reopening of the bookshop and Sam suggested everyone take the night off to celebrate. The two of you arrived early on purpose, enjoying some alone time while sipping your drinks and talking quietly together in the corner booth.

“Do you wanna sleep over at the bookshop tomorrow night? Or will it be too much to get up, go home and shower and then come back?” Bucky takes a sip of his drink while he watches you consider his question. “Let’s stay over. It will be our last night before it officially becomes “The Bookshop Bakery!” He agrees with a smile, leaning in for a kiss that he quickly deepens when your hand runs up his thigh under the table.

“Starting the party without us I see.” Sam’s loud voice breaks the two of you apart. “You have the worst timing Wilson,” Bucky groans before standing and pulling him in for a hug. Everyone finds a seat and orders some food and drinks. The next few hours are light and worry free. You talk about the excitement over the reopening, Peggy and Steve’s upcoming wedding and everything in between.

You’re halfway through your third drink when you hand starts inching up Bucky’s thigh again. He grabs your wrist, stilling your movements and whispering in your ear, “what are you up to, baby?” Striking up a conversation with Nat you ignore his question and wiggle from his grasp. He let’s your hand continue its path until it’s hovering over the growing bulge in his jeans.

He nearly spits out his drink when you start to gently rub him through the thick fabric. It’s hard to stop when you can feel him throb beneath your fingers, but you can tell it’s really getting to him. “Hey Buck, you ok. You look like a deer in headlights.” Steve’s question makes you bite your lip to stop from giggling. “I’m good. Yea, fine, thanks.” Steve raises a brow but doesn’t push it, turning his attention to Peggy.

“Doll face. What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?” This time it’s more of a growl than a whisper and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Just having a little fun is all.” With one more firm squeeze you remove your hand and slip into the conversation between Sam and Nat. Before you know it Bucky’s hand lands on your bare thigh and his fingers dance along your soft skin.

“Hey Nat, Peg, bathroom break?” You eye the two girls and they both nod, squeezing around the guys to get out. You give Bucky a wink and saunter off toward the back. “Fucking hell.” Sam smirks. “What was that Barnes.” Sliding out his middle finger, Bucky doesn’t answer, just takes another sip of his drink. Sam tries Steve. “So, how’s the beard working out for you?” Bucky can’t hold back his snickers and he dips his head, “we are never gonna let you live it down.”

When the three of you return the boys are still smiling and Steve’s face is red. “Oh god,” Peggy complains, throwing her hands up. You all laugh and slip back into your seats. This time you decide that Bucky’s lap is better than the booth. He definitely doesn’t mind and now you can continue your little game. Shifting back and forth you do your best to push your ass back and grind over him. His hands are digging into your hips and his breath is hot in your ear.

“What time is it?” he grits out. “Almost 1 am,” is your sultry answer. He reaches back to grab his wallet. “Ok gang, we’re out. We have some stuff to finish at the shop tomorrow and dinner with Grandma.” The boys boo but Nat and Peggy give you a sly smile. “See you all at the opening!” With that Bucky slides out from under you and grabs your hand.

The bar is only a few short blocks from your apartment and you both keep your cool until you’re in the elevator. The second the doors shut Bucky has you pressed against the wall, his hands slipping under your dress. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that.” Your sassy response dies on your lips the moment his fingers ghost over the wet patch on your underwear. He hums into your mouth, pushing the satin aside and gliding his fingers through your folds.

The elevator dings and he pulls away, letting your dress fall down and pulling you out and down the hall. You try to find your keys but it’s taking too long. Bucky turns you around and kisses you against the door. Breaking away he takes his fingers and traces them over your lips before pushing them past. You both moan as you suck them clean, tasting yourself.

“Fucking keys,” you breathe out, finally finding them at the bottom of your bag. The door flies open with your combined body weight and Bucky quickly slams it shut. You’ve barely dropped your bag to the floor, and he’s got your dress up above your hips. Trailing soft kisses along your neck his fingers hook into your underwear and pull them down your legs.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, eventually working them down his thick thighs. His boxers are next, and you wrap your hand around his hard cock, slowly pumping the length of him. He parts your legs with his knee, removing your hand and running his cock through your arousal. “Is this what you want?”

He pushes into you every so slightly before pulling back out, loving the whine that leaves your parted lips. “Yes. I want you to fuck me.” He teases you one more time before slowly filling you up. He lifts one of your legs and goes deeper, causing your head to roll back against the door. His lips are on your neck as he thrusts into you hard enough to shake the door on its frame. His hand reaches between your bodies and it isn’t long before you’re clenching around him, chanting his name with your release.

Once you both catch your breath, he carries you to bed, covering you before he gets in and holds you to his chest. You can feel your eyelids grow heavy with sleep, the steady beat of his heart matching your own. Kissing his chest and snuggling closer you whisper, “I love you,” barely hearing his same words as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

Sunday is a flurry of last-minute preparations and dinner at Grandmas. She’s practically humming with excitement and makes you promise not to give too much away about tomorrow. “I want to be surprised and I have full faith in you all.” You help her clean up and sit and talk for a little longer before heading back to the bookshop.

You and Bucky stand by the door and look out and the new space. “Wow. I can’t believe we did it.” Bucky hums his agreement, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his head atop yours. “We did it.” You take a deep breath, loving how it smells like pumpkin and spice and coffee beans with the light scent of old books somehow weaving its way through in a perfect balance.

The books have been neatly shelved on the beautiful new dark wood bookcases, all the mismatched piles gone and free of dust. You wrote all the aisle and shelf labels by hand and encased them in brass adornments that match the new lighting fixtures. The front of the store was cleared out and now houses a completely new display case for the baked goods as well as some tables, chairs and a couch with soft cushions.

Behind the counter there are shelves for coffee mugs, teacups and plates, all of which you and Bucky picked out at antique stores, estate sales and consignment shops. The labels for the desserts are hand-printed on antique looking paper, framed by more brass and the new countertop is a dark oak wood with lighter grains running through it.

The lighting is soft with hanging lamps and candle holders that line the walls while the accents are bright and colorful without being overpowering. You got rid of the old blinds that covered the windows and went with light and flowing curtains that are pulled back with antique hooks. It has a charming and soft look that’s both comforting and classic.

You and Bucky head toward the back staircase, which is now closed off with an iron gate to prevent people from going up to the attic library. Once you’re upstairs you plop yourself down on the fluffy blankets, watching Bucky as he scans the bookshelves. “What are you looking for handsome?” He smiles but doesn’t answer as he stops in front of one and grabs a book. “Remember this?” He turns it around to reveal the cover. Your eyes land on the Auryn garnishing the cover. “Of course, I do. You read some to me the first day we met.”

He props up some pillows and leans back, opening his legs so you can sit between them. You lean your back against him and he cuddles you close, placing the book in your lap. “Ok, I still have the bookmark from that day.” He starts to read, and you feel yourself relaxing, his soft voice lulling you to sleep. When he realizes you’re out he sets the book down and shifts so you’re both laying down, kissing your shoulder before resting his head on the pillow.

Bucky wakes before the alarm, moving carefully and sitting up. “Hey baby, pssst.” Gently running his hands over your hair, he tucks it away from your face. “Sleepy head, hey, come on, time to get up.” You mumble something incoherent and roll over, smacking at the air. You took the week off from work using your vacation days so you could help Bucky with the launch as much as possible and getting up early just doesn’t sound appealing right now.

“Today’s the day!” he chuckles, “gotta get up.” His hands reach down and squeeze your butt and he watches a smile creep over your face. “I know you’re awake now. I’ll resort to tickles if you don’t start moving.” Trying to smack his hands away you curl into a ball, hiding in the pillows. “Ok, I’m up! I’m up!”

The two of you change and head back to his apartment to shower and get ready. You only have to grab a few things before heading back to the store and checking it all over for the last time. You have a couple of hours before the doors open, so you head to the back to throw some things in the oven, hoping to have them as fresh as possible.

“Hey, baby?” You hear Bucky’s voice from outside the door and immediately panic at his tone. “Bucky.” You quickly head out and around the counter staring at him first before following his line of sight. The line of people outside has you muttering, “holy shit,” under your breath, grasping for Bucky’s hand before you turn to him.

His smile hits you like a ray of sunshine and before you know it, you’re kissing and hugging him and jumping up and down in his arms. “There must be 25 people out there already Buck!” He keeps smoothing his hands down your hair and rests his forehead to yours, “thank you. Thank you for everything.” Tracing his lips with your finger you kiss them softly, “Bucky, I love you. Now hurry, we gotta get the muffins and cookies out of the oven!”

Once everything is out and properly displayed you straighten a few cups hanging along the wall and attempt to check your hair in your phone. “Are we ready?” Bucky gives your hand one last squeeze before you make your way to the door. You can already see Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam and right beside them is Grandma Betty. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and when they land on you and Bucky you know you won’t be able to hold back your own.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckys-henley @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @buckyandbowties @buckosawrus @chuuulip @eurynome827 @emilylyoness @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @scarletsoldierrr @tuiccim @this-kitten-is-smitten @the-wayward-robot @yansi1923​ @flyawaybay​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @amandatar-06​ @nd1998sc​ @captainchrisstan​ @vherriepie​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @fire-flv​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @irishflutiegirl​ @rinthehufflepuff​ @moonybarnes​ @nordlysinthewoods​ @inflxmes @curlyred2020 @lauratang​ @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines​ @buchanansebba​ @addikted-2-dopamine​ @lady-pswrld​ @lookiamtrying​ @tales-of-spring​ @lokilvrr​ @mishaandthebrits​ @hopefuldreamers-world​ @rebekahdawkins​

[whatsseobb]

Don’t Wanna Lose Your Love Tonight (Crystal x Gigi Fanfic) - One Shot

AO3 Link

[A/N: So I am pretty sure I am not the only one blown away by Gigi Goode’s gorgeous video earlier. 

This made me write a CryGi one shot/smut for you all. 

I was also somehow inspired by One More Chance, a Filipino romance film but it was just one scene from it. 

I also included the AO3 link if you wanna leave a comment or kudos or something. 

Oh. Hi DGFC! I just wanna say I love you all.

Anyway, here it goes. 

WARNING: There’s some ice play involved. Let them be kinky.] Synopsis: She gently bit on to the ice cube, slightly biting onto Crystal’s lips as well before she pulled away and crashing the ice between her teeth, letting the pieces melt in her mouth. “I swear you would have regretted letting me go tonight.” 

Don’t Want To Lose Your Love Tonight

  The sound of keys shaking echoed into the hallway as a tall ginger-haired girl nervously entered the apartment. She closed the door behind her and looked around the area, her eyes trying to memorize every nook and corner of the place she once considered her home. The place were once filled with memories that she and her girlfriend shared through the years that they have been together.

Gigi let out a deep sigh as she brushed her long fingers along her ginger mullet, picking up an empty box lying around before going to the bedroom, taking a few decorations and items she owned. She looked at the fake flower in the middle of the night stand. It was the first rose she received from Crystal back in their college days. It was the first Valentine’s Day they have spent together and the young couple back then promised to each other that they will love each other until the plastic rose died. The ginger rolled her eyes with a big smile on her face as she remember the cheesiness and sweet words they have exchanged. It surely was cringe-y but it was her girlfriend’s way to show her love. She didn’t mind at all.

The door swung open and was shut, a shorter, brunette girl entered the apartment, slowly walking to the bedroom as she noticed Gigi picking up her clothes and putting it inside her suitcase. “Where are you going? What do you think you are doing?” She tried to grab the pile of clothes from her hand but was shoved away.

She was brushed off by Gigi, tears in her eyes, as she packed away her things. “Let go of me. I’m busy. Don’t touch me.” Her bitchy voice echoed the small place but Crystal wasn’t taken aback. She was used to this girl and her twelve different personalities after living with her for several years already. She watched her pack away her clothes, snatching a black lace lingerie from the girl.

“Don’t take this, leave this with me. You know that this is my favourite suit of yours, other than your birthday suit.” Instead of a smirk that she expected from the girl, Crystal just heard a grunt from Gigi before leaving her to go their bathroom.

She picked up every bottle that she owned, her makeup and skin care products before walking back to the room and dropping it inside her luggage. Crystal followed her tracks, watching her as she picked up her toothbrush and a few pictures they hanged on the bathroom mirror. “No no, I bought that toothbrush. That means it’s mine.” Angrily, Gigi returned it to the glass holder before facing the shorter girl and showing pictures of herself.

“I suppose I could take these. These are my pictures.”

“I’m the one who paid for them to be printed out.” Gigi was starting to find her annoying as she watched over her packing away her stuff. She shoved her pictures on the other’s chest before rushing back to the room. “Ouch, my boob.”

Crystal looked at the photograph of the smiling Gigi, a very different one from what she was seeing right now. It was a candid picture she took when they had a picnic by the lake, back when they were just mere students, which she accounted as one of her favourite dates they ever had. It surely was a fantastic day for both of them, Crystal remembered, as she reminisced the first time they confessed and exchanged their “I love you”s. It was truly a memorable one and Crystal was not yet ready to let go of that memory. She pasted the picture of the girl she loved the most back to the mirror before following her to their, her room.

She saw Gigi standing on top of their bed and was about to grab the sketch of the house they both dreamed of having one day. Crystal was just teasing her earlier, with the toothbrush and the lingerie she wanted to keep, but this drawing, this dream, she can’t have her take it away from her. It was one of the things she truly cherished and hold on to. She was not ready to let it go.

The shorter girl immediately ran up the bed and held on to the frame. “No. Not this one. This is mine.” She said with a slight lump on her throat.

“But I made this. This is mine, Crys.” Gigi fought back, grabbing the frame and tried to snatch it out of the other girl. However, Crystal was strong. She was determined to keep that gift from her.

“This was a gift. You gave me this on our third anniversary. You can’t just take it back. This means so much to me. You do.” She was not afraid to be vulnerable towards the other lady. When she decided she wanted to be with her for as long as she can, for as long as she lived, she was sure to put her walls down and just be completely her around Gigi.

Gigi was furious. She jumped out of the bed, screaming. “Ugh. Everything is yours. Even when we are breaking up, you’ll still be the one who gets to decide. When will I get to decide, huh? Why does it always have to be you, you, and you?” She stormed out of the room and went to the living room to grab some ornaments and other framed pictures that belonged to her. She tiptoed to reach the top shelf of their book case to reach the photographs of her in Crystal’s apartment. It hadn’t been touched in a while and so dust have collected around it. That made Gigi let out a cute little sneeze.

“I love you.” Crystal unknowingly blurted out as she was watching her from the door when she heard the sneeze coming from Gigi.

As if she developed a reflex, the taller girl immediately replied, “I love you too.”

The brunette girl couldn’t help but smile, it was one of the many things she found adorable about her girl. She walked closer to her, bended down to reach the tissue box on top near the edge of the coffee table. Her eyes were too focused on getting the box that she didn’t notice another figure bending down to reach it. The taller girl was trying to get it, she was paused in her track as she noticed the other girl’s face approached closer to her. She stared at her, mesmerized by her charm as if it was the first time she have seen her face. Her hand missed the box, accidentally tipping it and letting it fall to the floor.

Crystal bent lower to pick it up, not seeing the glass table on her way, bumping her forehead against the corner of the coffee table. A loud groan echoed the living room as Crystal dropped to the floor and pressed her palm on her forehead. “Fuck.”

The taller girl panicked, anger slowly fading away from her body, as she watched her girl winced in pain. She quickly ran to the kitchen and brought some ice from the fridge, putting it on a bowl. She grabbed a paper towel and hurried back to where Crystal was. She settled herself on the floor beside her, wrapping a few ice cubes with paper towel. “Let go of it.” She swatted her hand away from her forehead, seeing a slight pinkish bump on the other girl’s skin. “Oh no, Crys. This is gonna be a little bit painful.”

Crystal watched as she was being taken care of by her girlfriend. It made the corner of her lips turn up into a smile as she let her press the ice cubes against her forehead. “Ah.” She flinched as the coldness of the ice touched her. It was contrasted by the warmth of Gigi’s skin against her cheek as she held her face, trying to comfort her from the pain of the bump. Looking up at her, her face inches away, made her sure that it would take a really long time for her to get over this girl. Or maybe never. She considered her as her home. They both were comfortable with each other, too comfortable that they were just their true selves around each other. They were each other’s person. It had been that way. Changing it after years would make a real difference and impact in both of their lives.

“I can’t let you go yet.” The shorter girl whispered as she continued staring at the girl’s face above her. She took in a deep breath, inhaling her sweet scent. “I will miss you.”

“Remember, you were the one who wanted to leave me? You told me that in the middle of that fuc-“ Tears started welling up in Gigi’s eyes as she looked at the girl underneath her straight into her dark orbs.

“I’m sorry, Geege. Please stay.” Her hand reached to cup her cheek, caressing her soft skin.

“Not because I’m helping you with your bump, it means things are okay between us.” Gigi pushed herself away, letting the ice cubes fall on Crystal’s shirt, soaking it wet.

“Oh shit, that’s too cold.” The shorter immediately unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her ample breast which were covered by a white lace brassiere that Gigi loved against her tan skin.  Her eyes traced on the other girl’s skin, making her gulp the lump forming on her throat.

“Go get some fresh clothes, Crys. You’re gonna get sick.” The other girl moved closer to her, her arms snaking around her tiny waist to pull her girl closer. Gigi immediately pushed her away, her eyebrows furrowed on her forehead.

“Stop. You’re not yet forgiven. Plus, you said you’re the one breaking up with me.”

“You know I never meant it, Gee. Please come here, I need a hug.” She tried to pull the ginger-haired girl closer to her which was rejected once again.

“Crystal, stop it. I’m serious. If you won’t stop…” Gigi looked around the area, trying to get an idea of what she was going to use as a warning for Crystal. She saw the bowl of ice that she got for her for her bump. “I will throw all these ice on you.”

The other girl smirked at the idea. She looked at Gigi and leaned her face closer to her, jerking an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? You know how much I love it when you use ice.” To tease her further, she took one ice cube and put it in between her teeth, looking suggestively towards the taller girl.

“I hate you.” Gigi stood up, pushing the girl towards the ground before walking back to the kitchen to fill in the ice cube tray. She stood by the counter, holding the almost empty tray when she felt a figure standing behind her, a hand pressed against her petite hip as the figure leaned closer to her, the other hand brushing her ginger mullet to the side. She slightly jumped in surprise as she felt the tip of the cold ice cube on the base of her neck, a shiver running down her spine as goosebumps covered her skin. “What are you doing?!”

“Shh, baby. I know you like it.” Crystal traced the ice cube against her pale milky skin, turning it slightly into pink at the cold touch. Gigi was frozen on her place, closing her eyes as she let her head tilt to the side, giving Crystal access to her neck. The shorter girl closed the distance between their bodies, pressing her chest against Gigi’s back, the taller slightly rolling her hips against hers. She took a deep sigh before she put down the ice tray, facing her lover.

Gigi had her arms wrapped around the brunette’s neck, leaning down to close the gap between their faces. She gently bit on to the ice cube, slightly biting onto Crystal’s lips as well before she pulled away and crashing the ice between her teeth, letting the pieces melt in her mouth. “I swear you would have regretted letting me go tonight.”

The taller girl flipped their position, letting Crystal lean against the counter as she pushed herself against her. Her hands were on her thighs, lifting her up onto the counter as she let her hand reached to the ice tray to get the remaining cubes left that were unused. Her face was a few inches away from her, in which Crystal noticed and tried to close the distance but Gigi pulled away. “No.” The shorter girl let out a sigh of disbelief as she watch the other girl put the cold square in between her teeth.

Gigi leaned in to let the ice touch Crystal’s lips, before she trail it down onto her neck. The girl in her arms flinched at the touch, throwing her head as she arched her back exposing her almost-bare chest to the tall girl. The ginger smirked, her fingers tracing irregular lines on the sides of the other’s waist while she put the ice inside her mouth but not swallowing it. She planted kisses on the brunette’s skin, feeling her shiver under her touch.

The other girl took Gigi’s hand and placed it on top of her chest which the other ejected as she leaned closer to the counter for support. It made Crystal groan, rolling her eyes as the other teased her with the ice. She let a hand reached back on her own brassiere, letting it unhook freely as the white lace garment slipped off on her smooth skin, dropping onto the kitchen floor. Gigi glanced at the present in front of her, smirking before pulling out the ice in between her teeth once more.

The coldness touching her skin caused her heart to beat faster inside her chest. Gigi moved down, tracing the ice on the brunette’s bare chest, making circles around her nipples without touching them. The other let out a loud moan as she wrapped her legs around the taller girl’s waist, pulling her closer to her. The sounds coming from her lips were unending, perhaps it was getting louder from time to time, which was music to Gigi’s ears. She looked up to watch her girlfriend’s face before she moved down to let the tip of the ice touch Crystal’s nose ring, making the other girl whine at the coldness of the cube against the metal ring. “Fuck.”

Oh yes, that’s what I am planning to do. The ginger thought to herself, the smirking on her lips not disappearing, as she pressed the cube harder against Crystal’s nipple. The other melted against her touch, her knees trembling as low moans escaped her lips. Gigi didn’t waste a chance, she used her free hand to roam on her skin, finding its way towards her other breast. She massaged it gently, her thumb brushing up against the exposed nipple. The taller girl exhaled with a “mhm”, sending vibrations on Crystal’s pierced nipple.

Crystal used one hand to grasp on to Gigi’s ginger mullet, guiding her mouth where she wanted it to be, while the other hand reached for the buttons of her shirt, removing them one by one with shaky fingers. “You’re getting impatient, huh?” The ginger just let her, helping her remove her top before throwing it to the floor. She let go of the first nipple and went to the other, giving the same treatment with the use of the cold ice. After a while, she lifted her head up to meet eyes with her lover. Crystal closed in the distance, feeling the ice getting smaller against their tongues as they shared a rough and hungry kiss. Their lips moved in harmony against the other’s mouth, tongues fighting for dominance as they dance inside the space between their wet caverns.

With the extra strength brought to her by adrenaline, Gigi carried Crystal towards the bedroom, their lips still locked in each other’s kiss. The only time it was broken was when the ginger dropped the girl on top of the bed near the headboard before making her way outside the bedroom to get the bowl from the living room while removing whatever piece of clothing was left on her body. The shorter girl did the same, hiding under the covers as she removed her bottom clothing as well her underwear, pulling the sheets up to her chin as she waved the garment to the air, teasing Gigi who was standing by the door with the bowl of ice in hand. She placed it on the nightstand beside the bed, getting one piece of cube and swirling it against Crystal’s cheek, making the skin it touched redder.

Gigi positioned herself by the foot of the bed, laying down on her stomach as she dove under the sheets. She leaned her torso in between Crystal’s thighs, leaning closer to her bare chest. She continued what she was doing earlier in the kitchen, massaging the softness of her breast while letting the ice between her lips wonder on her skin. She shifted lower, the ice making its way to Crystal’s bare stomach. It made the girl underneath her arch her back because of the icy touch. She drew circles on her tummy, distracting her from the hand slowly coming in between Crystal’s thighs. Gigi felt the dampness down below, making her smirk once more as she looked up at the girl, meeting with her half-lidded eyes.

“I know. Just fuck me already.” Crystal groaned as she threw her head back, feeling the taller girl’s thumb rubbing against the area she needed most to be touched. The circles drawn on her belly button matched the ones on her inner thighs. “Gee.” The brunette moaned as she felt a finger being pushed inside her, sliding smoothly because of the pool of wetness she had. It didn’t take long before another finger found its way inside, thrusting in and out of her.

Gigi slid lower, placing her head between Crystal’s thighs as she traced the tip of the cube lower to her crotch before she pressed it against her spot, sending signals all over the other girl’s body. She winced and moaned and flinched, her knees wobbling underneath Gigi as she forced the ice harder against her skin, her digits curling up inside her as she continue to finger the brunette. All Gigi could hear was her name escaping Crystal’s lips, alongside with low moans as she continued to fuck the girl. She could feel the walls tightening around her fingers, letting her know how close she was to her climax. That made the ginger pull out her fingers, she placed the ice cube on Crystal’s belly button before placing her head back in between her thighs, her face inches away Crystal’s core.

“I’m watching you, love. If you keep on looking at my direction, I’m not gonna let you come.” That statement made Crystal whine, as she took another look under the sheets, gazing at the irresistible view of the ginger in between her legs. The taller girl pinched her plump lips, licking the tip of her fingers, having a taste of the shorter girl, her eyes locked on her gaze. “I’m serious. We have all night long to postpone it. Do you really want that or are you going to obey me?”

The brunette groaned in frustration before putting the covers on top of her, looking at the ceiling. As soon as she followed orders, Gigi pressed her wet muscle on Crystal’s core, making the other moan her name louder. She took the ice from the button and traced lines on her inner thigh as she darted her tongue inside her, tasting the wetness in between. She let out soft hums, sending another set of vibration to her girlfriend as she felt the other’s hand grasp on to her mullet once more. In just a matter of seconds, Crystal let out her loudest groan, her knees and back dropping on to the bed as she reached her climax. Gigi continued circling her tongue inside, letting the girl ride her high. She licked the outside clean, smirking at the sweet taste of her girlfriend.

The taller girl crawled beside her, still under the sheets. “Can I now look?” The ginger giggled before Crystal pulled the sheet on top of her head, seeing the girl gorgeously laying on top of the bed on her stomach, biting her forefingers as she stared at the brunette. “I love you, Gee.”

The ginger moved closer, closing the space between their faces as she kissed the girl, letting her have a taste of herself through her mouth. In no time, the brunette spun her around, hugging her from the back. Her lips trailed kisses down her long neck, her ginger hair brushing up against Crystal’s cheeks. Her hands were all over Gigi, cupping her breast, with her thumb and forefinger playing with her bare and sensitive nipples. Her free hand moved to the nightstand, grabbing an ice cube to return the favour to the other girl.

“How are you always so goode with everything, love? How do you want me to return the favour?” She whispered against her ear, her tongue licking her earlobes before moving back down again to her neck, sucking on her milky skin. The ice between her fingers reached Gigi’s chest, touching her nipple. It was sensitive to the touch, and the ice was no help at all. Soon after, Crystal heard her name escaping Gigi’s lips as she brushed the tip of the ice cube lightly against her perky breast.

“You are such a tease, Crys.” The lady in her arms groaned, her hand snaking its way down to the space between her legs. The brunette slapped the hand off of her skin, making the other groan louder. “What?”

“Who told you to touch yourself? The only one touching you tonight is me.” Crystal did reciprocated what Gigi did to her, her hand with the ice traced down to her stomach, making the taller girl flinch under her touch. She brushed it up against her smooth thighs, the touch of the coldness contrasting against the heat of the moment. “This is how you made me feel, darling.” She teased her entrance with the ice, making her shiver. Then, she let it touch her spot, holding it there using her thumb while she inserted her middle finger inside her, finger fucking her.

Crystal made sure to attend to her upper body needs, her other hand squeezing and playing with her breast, her lips leaving butterfly kisses on her pale neck. The girl was melting underneath her, which was the reaction she needed to see from her after all she had done for her that evening. She inserted another finger inside, making the other moan her name louder than she ever did.

The brunette pushed her on the bed, making her lie down on her stomach as she hovered on top of her. The finger didn’t stop, not for a second, as Crystal made her way down in between her thighs. She spread her legs wide open as she positioned herself in the middle, her lips making contact with her quacking thighs. The shorter girl placed her tongue against her core, pulling her fingers out to make space for wet muscle to enter her.

Gigi’s moans were getting louder, her fingers running through the mattress underneath her as she felt the girl fuck her with her tongue. She threw her head up to the air as she gripped onto the sheets, a familiar feeling at the pit of her stomach started to make its way. She knew she was close and she couldn’t wait to get there. Her hips moved closer and rolled against the brunette’s tongue, getting impatient and excited for her high. Crystal just smirked against her entrance as she continued to roam her insides with her tongue, tasting every inch of her walls.

Not long after, Gigi’s body started to tremble intensely before dropping motionlessly on the bed, only her chest moving up and down as she catch her breath. Crystal helped her, not even stopping her tongue as she thrusted it in and out until Gigi was all finished. Her hands found their way on the spaces beside her body, pulling her up to be face to face with her, her tongue never leaving her skin as she licked her way up. Gigi was numb yet at the same time very sensitive against Crystal’s touch. She laid down on her back, facing Crystal and placing her hand at the back of her head, pulling her down into a passionate kiss.

“That was hot.” Crystal whispered in the middle of their kiss, not leaving the other’s lips. Gigi rolled her eyes before she pulled her into another kiss, flipping them over so she would be the one on top. Her knees were still weak from the interaction earlier, making her fall on top of her. As she pulled away, she rested her head on Crystal’s chest, the other putting an arm underneath her neck for support.

The ginger looked up to her, meeting her eyes halfway. Her chest was still moving up and down, this time gradually become even in breathing, as she whispered. “Are you still going by your word from the restaurant? Are you still leaving me?”

“Hell no.” Crystal’s eyes furrowed on her forehead as she looked down at her girl. “Why? Were you seriously leaving me?”

“If you wanted me to even if I never wanted to.”

“You, tonight, convinced me further, if it’s even possible, to never let you go.”

---------------------------------------------------------------- [A/N: How was it? Hoping you enjoyed it. Love lots! :’’>]

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Week 2020: Day 7 - Repaired

Prompt: Success Pair: N/A Song: 69feetofsmoke - Ppl That I Luv

Summary: Zuko comes across Azula's paintings and sketchbook and finds startling self-portraits. 

The paintbrush slashes across the canvas leaving a thick and heavy trail of black. One harsh, angry brushstroke after another and another and another and…

Red comes next, vivid and bright. There is nearly as much red as there is black. It is thrown and spattered by flicks of the brush from a distance.

A touch of gold. Only the faintest trace of it.

The painting is cast to the side amid the rest of them. She curls herself up on the bed feeling drained. She is well aware that painting shouldn’t leave her feeling such. But it always does.

Azula has become a ghost of herself. Zuko sees it in her dulled eyes, in her loose stance and her slouched sitting posture. He sees it in her disheveled robes and her disarrayed hair. Sees it in her paled skin and hears it in the dejected way she speaks.

She hasn’t been the same since their Agni Kai. She isn’t as unkind, on some days she is actually rather pleasant to talk to, but she is deeply sad. Even when she smiles it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m fine, Zuzu.” She insists again. They sit in the shade of a dragon maple.

“You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Everybody wanted me to change.”

He presses his lips together. He hates when she does that. Even if she doesn’t mean anything by it. Even if she only means to lay down facts as she sees them. He never knows how to reply to that because she isn’t entirely wrong, but she is missing some critical aspects. “That’s not what I mean.” He finally settles.

“Then what do you mean?” She asks, eyes fixed on her hands, clasped atop her knee.

“You just seem...really...unhappy.”

“I’m fine.” She repeats as though rehearsed. She does this a lot too, has him talking in circles.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I am.”

He has to hold back a frustrated sigh. He has run out of things to say. But he doesn’t think that it is a good idea to leave them in silence. “The pond looks nice today. Katara said that she saw you decorating it?”

Azula shrugs. “I moved a few rocks around because I didn’t like where they were placed.” She pauses. “And I thought that a couple of fire lilies would look nice around it.”

He recalls that her bedroom window faces the pond and wonders if this is a small way of trying to lighten her mood.

“It does look nice.” He smiles. She doesn’t return the smile.

.oOo.

It feels weird talking to them. Talking to any of them. Every time she begins to feel secure, like she might be fully accepted, she makes a mess of it. And it is usually over the most mundane and trivial things.

Today’s argument has an extra bite considering that she’d taken something positive and turned it sour.

“You’re really going to choose flowers over people!?” Katara asks.

“They’re just flowers” Mai adds nonchalantly, “Sokka did even know that they were yours.”

Azula fixes him with a cross stare, his arm is slung over Suki’s shoulder. Suki who now wears Azula’s fire lilies in her hair. They aren’t just flowers. They are her flowers. Were her flowers and they made it, if only a little, easier to pull herself out of bed. They gave her something pretty to look at. They made her feel as though she could create something beautiful. She folds her arms across her chest. But even when she does create something beautiful it becomes vile in the end. “They were mine.” She says flatly.

“They were in the palace gardens.” Zuko says gently.

“Which are also mine.”

Zuko sighs, presses his hands together, and holds them to the bridge of his nose. “They’re my gardens too and…”

“And what!?” Azula asks. “And I think that you’re overreacting, a little.” He replies.

“A little?” Mai quirks a brow. “They’re a bundle of flowers, she can grow more.”

Azula clenches her fists beneath the table. “I shouldn’t have to. People should know better than to touch what belongs to me. They should know better than to disrespect…” She hisses.

“I didn’t even know that they were yours!” Sokka throws his hands up.

They are all looking at her. Glaring at her with such hatred and aggravation.

“Ya know we’re trying so hard to be nice to you.” Katara interjects. “We don’t have to and we really shouldn’t. You’re lucky that we’re giving you a second chance.”

But she feels neither lucky nor like she truly does have a chance. In fact, all she feels right now is anxious and angry. But she thinks that she might be angry at herself. She buches the fabrics of her robes beneath the table.

“And you aren’t even putting in any effort!” Toph declares.

“We thought you changed.” TyLee adds softly.

“Who gets mad over flowers?” Suki mutters. “I thought that they were pretty enough to wear.”

Azula bites the inside of her cheek, she hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t considered that she had created something beautiful after all. Something so beautiful that someone wanted to wear it. Beautiful enough that it could have created joy for someone else. And suddenly she agrees with them, that she has made a problem out of nothing at all. Suddenly she feels horrible.

“They were my flowers…” Is all she manages.

She wants to cry, but, Agni, she can’t do it now. Not in front of so many enemies, especially ones that already gnash at her with razor teeth. She gnaws her lip that much harder. She can feel the tears building behind her eyes and they keep talking. She isn’t quite listening but they are still talking and they are still chastising.

She feels like a little girl. She feels pathetic and immature and an assortment of other dismal things. She can’t cry and she can’t look away, she is already being ridiculed enough. She feels as though they are closing in on her, she has to take her mind somewhere else… She has too…

The heat comes to her fingers before the tears have a chance to come to her eyes. She presses her fingers into her forearm and heats them much further. Everyone hates her again, they probably always will. She keeps her mind fixed on the burning sensation. It isn’t potent enough yet so she heats her fingers further still.

“Azula!” Zuko is loud enough to break through her concentration.

She stands up and pushes her chair in. She thanks Agni that her sleeves are long enough to cover the burn marks beneath. It isn’t as though she hasn’t done this before. She’d just never done it with other people in the room.

“Azula, we’re not done talking.”

But she is. She is done with a lot of things; hope and creating joys for herself among them. She pulls out her sketchbook and a fountain pen and begins slashing at the paper.

.oOo.

Azula’s room is vacant when he comes to check on her an hour later. The servants assure him that she has gone for her bath. He seats himself upon her bed. An hour later he sighs to himself, he is nodding off. He forgets how long she takes in the bath.

He stands to stretch his legs when he glances at her nightstand. At first he thinks that it is a journal, and in some sense it might be. It rests face up and open, an image done with thick ink. He knows that he ought not to, especially since their entire argument just hours ago had been about touching her belongings. But curiosity gets the better of him. He takes note of the picture she’d left open and flips to the first page. This one is just as dark, maybe more so.

The ink is applied so heavily that he can see indents on the page beneath it. The figure is hunched over, its face obscured. A plethora of weaponry juts from its back. Some arrows and a few throwing stars, but mostly there are knives. Red ink is used generously.

He turns the page to see another figure this one also has its face obscured, this time by hair. But he can sense the wild eyed gaze beneath. It wraps its arms around itself, nails clawing into its skin. Azula’s artistic talent is so much that it almost feels real, like he is looking at actual flesh that is being gripped to tightly. All around the figure are shadows, faintly human in shape, some are only hands.

The next page is much simpler; another dark-haired figure but the face is violently scribbled out. And the one next to it is similar but instead of ink, Azula blotted the face with paint. Deep, dark, paint.

The fifth image reveals a face. It’s eyes are dark and empty. There is such a deep sadness in them. He wasn’t aware that a single painting could convey such an emotion. He is so distracted by the face reveal that he almost doesn’t notice that the rest of the figure is in shambles. It’s right leg is seperated at the knee and the left is obviously broken. The left arm is twisted and bent. And its right arm is cracked and covering a large hole on its head, the cracks spiderweb onto the forehead. There is no blood, somehow this leaves him more unsettled. In the teeniest font at the bottom of the page he sees the word, ‘broken’.

He quickly flips the page. This one is not much better. Fierce and angry golden eyes look up at him. Golden eyes... The figure emits such an air of hatred that he almost closes the sketchbook as he should. But he can’t tear his eyes away. It is bleeding, its throat slashed from side to side and its wrists mutilated. Zuko finds more tiny writing. ‘Deserved.’

He comes to the page he’d first happened upon. The newest one. The worst one. It is the same figure, this time its eyes look dead and empty, thick black ink runs down its cheeks. It holds a dagger in its right hand, it’s blade adorned with red ink. The figure is naked and upon its stomach is the word, ‘monster’. His stomach sinks, in an instant he becomes aware that he has been referring to the figure as ‘it’. It is a human. It is undeniably a twisted, mutilated self portrait.

On her portrait self’s forehead, Azula had scrawled, ‘crazy’ and in smaller print, ‘lunatic’. It doesn’t matter where on the image he looks, it is full of words. Her left arm read, ‘disappointment’, ‘dishonor’,  ‘bitch’. and ‘hateful.’ Her right arm  is marred by, ‘ugly’, ‘damaged’, and ‘a mess.’

Her legs are decorated with various synonyms and the red ink drizzles down them pooling at her watercolor feet. Her chest is censored with two words, ‘heartless’ and ‘unlovable.’ The background is made of more words still but these are all overlapping one another so much that he can’t make out any of them. He doesn’t have to, to know that they are just as demeaning.

He looks back into those gold ink eyes. The sorrow within them is so complete that it is overwhelming. He hears footsteps and hustles to put the sketchbook back in its place. And pretends to be observing the dragon mural hanging at the other end of the room.

“What do you want, Zuzu?” She grumbles. Her hair is dripping, she smells like the bath she’d just taken. He might have mistook the grumble for an argumentative growl, but now it only seems dreary.

“Just to check on you.”

“For what?”

He shrugs. “I just. I know that it’s hard to try to fit in with a group of people that you hurt.”  He wants to bring up the sketchbook, but he isn’t sure how without rousing her temper.

She shrugs and sits herself back on the bed. Her eyes look nearly as vacant as they do in her portrait. “Are you okay.” He hears her insist that she’s fine in his head before she opens her mouth.

“Are you?” He asks with a pointed stare to her nightstand.

She goes very tense.

“I told you not to...we just fought over…” Her voice seems to catch. “You shouldn’t go through my things.”

“You left it on the nightstand…”

“You shouldn’t be in here at all.” Her demand lacks its usual sting.

He takes the sketchbook, “it’s not true, we don’t think those things about you.”

“You do think them.” She insists. “You just don’t say them. Not to my face. But I overhear Mai and Suki. I overhear the palace staff. Iroh…” She pauses.

His mind runs in circles trying to figure out which thing Iroh had said. Perhaps heartless...or crazy, he’d heard his uncle call her crazy before.

“I doesn’t matter anyways because even if you don’t, I…” she stops herself. Her eyes seem to go hollower still.

He rubs his hands over her face. “It wasn’t just about the flowers today, was it?” He asks.

“No.” She replies.

“What was it about?”

She waves her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”  Her head seems to droop ever so slightly. He’s going to lose her if he doesn’t do something.

“Will you come downstairs with me?”

“No.”

He takes her by the wrist and she flinches and pulls her hand out of his grasp. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I forgot that you don’t like to be touched.”  He furrows his brows. “What happened?”

.oOo.

She doesn’t resist as he takes her hand again to inspect it.

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “No. Don’t don’t do this.” He gestures to the burn marks.

Usually when she makes him cry it is because she’d hurt him. She always imagined that he would be delighted to see her hurt. She isn’t sure why he isn’t thrilled. This is what he wanted, to see her fall and hit the bottom so that he could have the top.  

She doesn’t know why he is babbling apologies to her. He never did anything wrong. That is her job. She’s the cruel one. She’s the one who hurts people. She is hurting him now and all she had done was hurt herself.

He gives her a light shake. “Answer me?”

But she hasn’t much to say. He can pretend to care...he can actually care but it makes little difference when everyone else  hates her. When no one else does. In time, he’d be better off anyhow.

But he doesn’t let her go, Agni she wishes that he would. He only releases his hold to let her lie down but he doesn’t leave. Hours go by and he sits there quietly, occasionally nodding off. It makes her feel teary all over again, but she can’t distract herself with pain with him watching so closely.

Azula squeezes her eyes shut as the first few tears free themselves. She must have made the smallest noise because his hand now rubs small circles on her back. She tries to force herself to stop crying but his hand on her back only makes her weep harder.

And then harder still when she hears footsteps heading their way. She doesn’t know who it is, it doesn’t matter. One person seeing her like this is bad enough. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Zuko glances down at her. “I hope so, Ty.” He gives her a small nudge. “I want her to be okay.”

She swallows. She wants to be okay. But she isn’t, there isn’t one okay thing about her.

.oOo.

He can’t seem to get her to move, not for the first week. For the first week she stays in bed. During the middle of the second week is when she emerged. She was sluggish and untalkative, a silent presence at the breakfast table.

But he was thankful to see her at least up and about. He wasn’t sure exactly what had motivated her to finally leave her room. But, Agni, was he relieved. If he’d known she’d be joining them for breakfast, he would have had them cook her favorite, pancakes with mango slices mixed into the batter. An eccentric choice if he must say. He’d requested it for her the next morning.

Still she didn’t talk. She sat with them but her presence was like that of a specter or a doll. It is her sixth day of not speaking a word. He sits the pancake before her. This time she finishes a little more than half of it before staring blankly at it.

“Hey, let’s go for a walk?” He offers.

“To where?” She speaks up for the first time in ages. He never thought that he’d be so relieved to hear her voice.

“Just out back.” He smiles.

She looks around the table, “where is everyone?”

“Come on.” He helps her out of the chair and leads her outside.

.oOo.

She squints against the sunlight, she wants to go back to her room. Instead she lets Zuko lead her towards the palace gardens. They are all there; Mai, TyLee, the Avatar and his gang, and Iroh. The smell of tea, jasmine, she believes, dances on the breeze.

“What is this?” She mumbles.

The little crowd parts and she sees them. A dozen or so vividly orange fire lilies. She looks up at Zuko in both confusion and a sudden wave of distress. He must sense it on her because his hand is on her back again, “sit down and let Iroh pour you some tea.”

Azula feels shaky, she thinks that she ought to sit down. She lets Zuko lead her to the foldout table that Iroh has assembled. He pours her a cup and she takes it in her hands. She wishes that her hands weren’t trembling so obviously and that the tea cup in them didn’t make them tremble moreso.

“I’m sorry about the flowers.” Sokka says, “I didn’t realize that it bothered you that much.”

She shakes her head, “it wasn’t just about the flowers…” She pauses. She has already made herself plenty weak, they haven’t taken advantage of it yet. And so what if they do, they can’t make her feel too much worse than she already does. “They helped me wake up in the morning. To see them out there. And then I woke up and I didn’t see them…”

A little thing to latch onto. To keep her going and she couldn’t even have that. She rubs the petals of a new one between her fingers. But she does have that. Yet they aren’t the ones that she planted.

She swallows. They are the ones that were planted for her though. Maybe the thought that went into them has more weight. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t been okay for a long time and we want you to be okay.” Zuko says.

She hopes that she hasn’t told them about the sketchbook.  She stares into her empty tea cup. Iroh offers her a refill.

.oOo.

Things were different after that. Azula still didn’t talk very much in the beginning but she would tag along when they went out to eat or to see a play. She wouldn’t necessarily part take, but at least she was getting out of the palace.

He is surprised to see her on the beach, digging her toes into the sand. Every now and then she scoops a handful of it and watches it slip from the space in her fist to reach the ground it had come from.

He takes a seat next to her. “I can get you some ice cream, if you want.”

She stands up and brushes the sand off of the back of her legs. “It’ll melt by the time you get it back to me.” She lets him lead her to the stall that is selling all of the cool beverages. She decides that she wants a pineapple drink instead.

He watches her drink it down, it is hard for him to gauge how she feels. Over the next few days, they talk to her, mostly sharing stories that have no relevance to the war. Sokka tells the most horrendously unfunny jokes. She finally opens up, near the end of the week. She is more sociable and her eyes have more life in them, tired as they still are.

He catches her firebending once or twice and on another occasion he sees her teaching Aang some techniques. After that he suggests that they each have some one on one time with her. An idea she protests but goes along with.

.oOo.

Azula still feels awkward and out of place. Her stories don’t seem to have the right amount of lightheartedness, they all have somewhat of a dark edge or undertone to them. Yet they listen to her anyhow. Mai, with the faintest trace of an amused smile. The same one she always gives when Azula shares the flaming apple and fountain story.

TyLee and Katara weave hibiscus into her hair as she talks. The shell bracelet around her wrist tinkles in the breeze. Sometimes she catches one of them staring. She follows their gaze to her lightly scarred arms.

“What are you staring at?” She asks crossly, without thinking.

“Same thing I always stare at.” Toph shrugs. “Absolutely nothing.”

She manages a small snicker. It feels so normal. It all just feels so normal. She thinks that she needs normal.

.oOo.

Azula is painting different things now. He opens the door to her beach house bedroom to see several larger canvases. Most of them are recreations of the sunset. One of them is a painting of a pineapple drink.

She isn’t in her room but she has been recently. There is a scatter of seashells on her nightstand that hadn’t been there a few hours ago.

He peers out of the window and finds her playing kuai ball with Mai, Tylee, and Suki. On the other team are Aang, Toph, Sokka, and Katara. He makes his way down to the beach and waits for them to tag him in.

Their month on Ember Island is coming to a close. In just a day or so they will be making their way home. Azula, decently taken by cactus juice, has fallen asleep not quite on the couch. He hadn’t taken her for a lightweight. He especially hadn’t taken Toph for one. But the two of them are out for the night and the others aren’t far behind. Zuko doesn’t know how he has become the designated babysitter.  

Their final day on Ember Island is coming to a close. Zuko finds himself on the balcony, looking out at the sun as it casts its warm glow on the waves. Sparkles dance across the surface bathed in pinks and oranges.

“Zuzu.”

He turns around and smiles. ‘I’m glad your trip ended up going well. It did go well, right?”

She doesn’t say anything, simply pushes her sketchbook into his arms before padding away, presumably to help Mai and TyLee start their bonfire.

He opens the book to find several familiar pages of artwork. He cringes to himself as he turns to the first of the new pages. The inkwork is much lighter, less aggressive now, but the image is still melancholy. The ink rendition of Azula is laying on the ground with her hair swept out in front of her, five small burn marks are the only color on the page.

The next one over shows a familiar broken and beaten body. But this one has little plants sprouting from the cracks and insufficiently small bandaids patching them up. The next few pages to follow don’t pertain to Azula at all, not without context anyhow; there is another pineapple drink, a very lifelike shell, and an elaborate door knocker--the one they pounded furiously with at Chan’s house before running away. Of course she would draw that.

He flips to the final page. He sees another figure. Like all of the others, its resemblance to her is unmistakable. More so now that there is life in the golden ink eyes. This image exudes as much cheer as her old ones had exuded sorrow. This one has color too; bright orange watercolor paint makes a crown of fire lily around her head.  He realizes that there are a few figures in the background, little yellow blurs that glow on the page where he is used to seeing deep dark shading. He finds a single word at the bottom.

‘Reparied.’

[jesswsc1]

Initially, I wasn’t overly sure how to interpret our title of ‘black books and black holes’. I’ve felt awfully low for a while, and it’s been heavy on my mind, so I figured I’d take this project as somewhat of an opportunity to reflect on the past, troubles i’ve had as well as using it as a kind of venting of current frustrations. These low points act as my own personal black hole, as I fall down into them for some time. Similarly to how black does, they absorb any kind of light surrounding. To me, at times, this has meant not enjoying things I’ve adored prior - such as spending time with loved ones, music and hobbies. Growing up there were several black holes, but amongst them I have fond memories with my cousins, siblings and childhood friends. Somebody who has always been there for me (whether it be through choice or not) has been my brother. I decided to incorporate pictures of us throughout my little black book as homage to him as he is truly one of my favourite people ever, despite the troubles I don’t think our bond has ever gone away - it’s merely taken small redirections. I have such admiration for him and know I can rely on him and speak free from judgement. Years ago, I believe it was 2013, he fell ill and this meant he had to be hospitalised for a couple months. It was really hard for my family and was of course even more difficult for him. Seeing as he was hospitalised, this meant regular trips to the hospital, on the car journeys we’d always have the same Passenger CD playing in the car. I guess we just never got around to changing it. On this CD was a particular song that we’d all sing along to, which funnily enough is called ‘holes’. Hearing this song now makes me feel so safe and hopeful, knowing it got me as well as my family through a rough period in time. I made sure to incorporate some of the lyrics into one of my book spreads. One line reads, ‘but we carry on’, which has definitely stuck with me.

The constellation element of our project had me reflecting on space and the universe, and what exactly it means to me. Although I’m not too into space, I’m definitely fond of the moon. After my parents divorced, I was left in custody of my mum for a while. A teacher told me to look at the moon, because she’d be looking at it too at the same time and thinking of me. During this time I was living in a troubled home (I made this house the exterior of my book*) and would be heavily supported by her in school. She’d give me notebooks to express myself in and explain what was happening, as well as a departing gift when I inevitably left to go live with my dad here in Bury. Despite being a small part of my life, she still means a lot to me and has a place in my heart. Though not physically present with me anymore, she cared enough to find me years later and reached out to make sure I'm doing fine. It's reassuring knowing there are people as pure as she is. Because of this I dedicated a small section of my book to her that looks like a slither of the moon when the pages are flipped back onto it. 

My black book was titled ‘Wailing Ghosts’ by Pu Songling, containing 14 tales of various monsters and creatures, which is fitting to my work revolving around numerous burdens I have that seem to act as these little monsters also, creeping up every now and again. I did consider creating my own ‘chapters’, one for each black hole of mine, but didn’t want to structure my book in that way as I didn’t want to disrupt my creativity or force things.

          I say ‘was’ because I actually decided I wasn’t all that keen on how i’d layed my pages out. I instead took a second black book and collaged, reworked and inserted pages into a new one. I’m really glad I did so, as I now have a book I much prefer over the first. An aspect I did keep relatively whole was the swirly, illusion-looking front cover with a hole burned through the centre, almost like a little entrance to another world. Stanley Donwood inspired this page through his swirly seas he often features in his works, as he uses a bold thick line against white ones. I opted to put this page underneath my front cover so it still got to be showcased - only cutting a part off the corners to make sure it fit. 

Featured in my book are a few small self portraits, in varying cartoon-y styles. Some are only inspired by my face whilst others were drawn whilst staring into the mirror, then back at the page. Having struggled with low self esteem, there have been times where I don’t even want to perceive myself let alone interpret that into a drawing. Meanwhile doing my book work, I realised I have never drawn a self portrait - not since being a kid anyway - and had even actively avoided doing so during GCSE art. Over the past year or so, I’ve overcome an array of issues I’d had, so found myself able to draw these little portraits. It sounds pretty insane to me now that I would’ve found it so hard before, knowing I enjoyed coming up with various ways to put me in my book, even wanting to print pictures of me (sadly our printers decided to act up so I was not able to implement these). I feature my bathroom mirror on one page as it’s been the target of over-analyzing and although I have come far in self love, it still remains a deadly weapon. 

Claude Heath’s sketchy, rough portraits inspired me to create my own. I really enjoy how reckless his style is, as I'm trying to escape the ‘this has to be perfect’ mentality, Heath is a great example of how you don’t need to overthink your work. It can just exist and look cool. It’s fine. This was also encouraged in Thursday drawing sessions where we did blind drawings. I kept this mindset whilst doing my book as I tend to either overwork myself trying to create ‘perfect’ or do absolutely nothing, so I went with the flow of how my book panned out. 

Seeing as my work theme is a little on the darker side, I considered subduing the colours or perhaps even going full black and white. However, I love utilising colour in my art and felt this would make me feel unmotivated and uninspired. Especially seeing as this book is about me, it’s not insensitive to anybody to make it colorful and exciting. So, I have. Plus, despite everything I’m still smiling so I wanted to convey that somehow. Sort of, making the best out of bad situations. Damien Hirst’s usage of colours influenced me to just have fun with it, in the same way he does when creating his works. 

Throughout my book I have experimented with oil pastel, paint, staples, collage, rorschach ink blotting, screen printing, spray paint, photocopied pictures, flip book, tracing paper, washi tape and i’m sure there’s more. Point is, I wanted to cover a wide range of techniques seeing as there were many pages. In doing so I believe this was the best way as it meant there was a flow of ideas coming as I worked. I’ve learned that I love a range of ways of working as it keeps my brain ticking, meaning the work doesn’t feel stagnant and dull. Sadly there were lots more ideas I had for what to do into my book, but due to various reasons I couldn't. Such as wanting to sew using a sewing machine into my book, I tried to set my sewing machine up but when I would go to sew the thread would snap. But I believe it’s definitely something worth trying another time, as I was intrigued to see how it’d turn out. I also wanted to make a better flip book from the corner of my little page (see animation on blog) as it’s really simplistic. But drawing the little stick men alone took me an hour or so, and I didn’t see that being of much importance compared to getting actual pages filled out. Thus, I left it as a simple stickman. That being said I think the stick man illustrates the cycle of being in a slump, which is relatable to how lockdown is feeling and fits well with my book contents. I felt inspired by an artist who goes by ‘inhalerqueen’ (Amanda) on tiktok, who draws a simple, silhouette-like figure repeatedly. She calls this figure ‘void’ and i’d consider her work to be vent art, expressing how she feels. Originally I wanted to make my stick men look like void, however I don’t think that would be all that beneficial/change the effectiveness and would only take up more time.

If I were to have a soundtrack to my work I would opt for ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay. Reason being, regardless of my state of mind I return to this song and feel the same listening through every time. It’s such a lovely song and just feels like peace, as cheesy as that may sound considering Coldplay is very much dad music. It reminds me of my yellows, and how much they mean to me. Even with the black, I have my yellows. Lyrics to the song can be found in my book also. 

Overall, I’m relatively pleased with my work. There’s no doubt things I would do differently, but I’m glad I’ve had this experience and was able to vent a little similarly to how Amanda does. In future I hope to perhaps recreate this book and treat it as kind of a ‘rough’ or ‘plan’ for a more refined and thought-out version, perhaps this time with chapters like I'd considered and with ideas I didn’t get to delve into.  There are pages I’m not so keen on, but I’m proud of myself for just leaving them as opposed to overworking them and/or scrapping them just because they aren’t what I like. I love the pictures of me and my brother, if I could I would’ve collaged more into my book however our printer simply wouldn’t allow it. As well as the exterior of the book, as I think it adds a personal element as opposed to being left as it was. 

[random-bnha-aus-and-uas]

Freaks(AU): Part 3

As we run down the streets, we found that kid the news was talking about, same blond hair and blue eyes. We lost the shopkeeper for a bit, but I have a feeling they aren't to far behind and might catch up soon but we couldn't leave him behind. He looked up before passing out, and the dark rings around his usually flawless skin were etched around his eyes. He hadn't slept in days... I grabbed him as gently as possible, but we were still on the run from the shopkeeper, causing me to bruise his arm when i grabbed him. He winced as a result, but he didn't wake up. We started run within the dark concrete jungles, eventually losing the shopkeeper.

Soon after confirming it, we climbed to one of the many rooftops we lived upon, laying Neito upon some old clothes. He slept relatively peaceful after settling him down, Tenko and I talked quietly until he awoke. I smiled widely, he wasn't dead!

The first thing that he said was "Where I am?" in which I responded. "You're atop a rooftop we sleep on regularly! I'm Deku, he's Tenko and you're Neito right?" I sounded a bit too cheerful, but everyone needs a happy friend to counterbalance the things going on here. "Yea... Um... Deku means someone who can't do or achieve anything, are you sure you want me to call you that? Not to sound rude-" he asked a Tenko slowly felt a bit on edge, as he didn't know. "Yeah, it does but I don't want anyone to say my old name... Anyways do you have a quirk?" I cut him off before he could end that sentence. It doesn't matter to me anymore, its the last of that life that i had before he threw me out... "Yeah, I do have a quirk and it's called copy. I can copy people's quirk!" He answered honestly. Tenko had that look whenever I found out about other people's quirks, that 'you where suppose to say no but-' face. I immediately yoinked out my eighth notebook from my backpack and questioned him a bit to much about his quirk. He eventually asked me for my quirk and I offhandedly replied like it was nothing, "I'm as quirkless as can be!". He was surprised and amazed, before Tenko asked a question. "Where did you get that bag from? I don't remember either of us stealing that..." "I found it on the streets and I think I need a new notebook..." Neito peaked over my shoulder in hopes to see what I had written. "How can you write so much about me? My quirk isn't that powerful, you know?" "I've got no idea, I've been doing this ever since I was able to write. Also, don't put yourself down like that, you quirk has so much untapped potential! You could become a really great hero with it too!" He was near tears as I ended my sentence, making Tenko and I panic, as I apologized profusely. "No, no. You didn't say anything wrong, its just that no ones said I could become a hero with such a quirk like mine..." I pout angrily, knowing what that felt like, looked at Tenko and he nodded at me. We knew right then and there what he was going to be when he was with us. "You're now our brother!" We said as I gifted him red shoes and Tenko gifted him a black hoodie.

I remember that day well, sighing at a simpler time. We were playing in the parks with out hoodies up so no one could recognize or report us. Food was getting harder to steal, we were getting older and more suspicious as a result, so we'd only steal food amounting to the next 2 days of no stealing. We had stolen 2000 yen over the months which was able to get us an apartment somehow, the landlord was renting it for a low price and not giving a shit on who has it so long as he got money. It wasn't in a very nice part of the town nor was it far from where we were. Today we stole a lot from an unsuspecting rich kid, which meant we didn't need anymore money for the next couple of weeks. We stole 5 brick phones too, it wasn't that hard too and it made tracing us down much harder. It did the job as a result, even though we only really use 3-4 of them. Our birthdays had passed, celebrated with a bottle of cheap alcohol and cuddling.

As we played near-carelessly, a toy seemed to have made its way to us. We were too old for it clearly, so we looked for the owner, that was until we saw a man with turquoise hair and brown eyes holding... dirt??? He was trying to entice the child into coming with him with a handful of dirt? Something was off, he was using his quirk and we all felt it. Eventually, they both got to a quiet part of the park, we hid in a bush in hopes we weren't reading the situation wrong. It was then when we heard the child asking for their toy, the same one Neito was holding, did things click. He was trying to kidnap the child, who knows why, but we all had the same idea: intervention before a family lost a child.

I launched out of the bush and punched him, hard. He was on the floor, surprised that he was hit, Neito held out the toy as he talked to the child about strangers, Tenko went for his hands, not letting go until the man's hands popped off his arms, his wrists were disintegrated from Tenko's quirk. Neito called the police soon after telling off the child, as i held Tenko back from doing anymore harm. The man had lost consciousness as soon as he saw his hand pop off, so we didn't need to hold him down.

The police were coming, bad news for us considering we stole so much. Thankfully, we were in luck, as the child's sister came running over in tears, thanking us for saving her sibling. We told them to stay, as the police sirens neared, and ran away from the scene, not caring about evidence as both the child and the sister had seen our faces. The blaring sirens soon stopped, it was clear the police had gotten to the scene, but they where too late in catching us.

Finally, we went back home, and watched the news report on something new.

|~~~|--No One's POV--|~~~|

"Three children named: Izuku Midoriya, Tenko Shimura and Neito Monoma, took down Shinta Date that has been wanted in three years. His crime was kidnapping children using his quirk is Manipulation using illusion; he can make object turn into something else and has manipulated many children and gained a lot of yen by selling them. We thank the three missing children for saving the child but you broke the law, as one of you used your quirk, evident by Shinta's lack of hands."

|~~~|--Bakugou's POV--|~~~|

As the news played on repeat in my head, I looked at the board of red strings and printed paper. They made contact as I had predicted, but when they did is beyond me. Neither Tenko nor Deku had a quirk, Neito couldn't have done it either because he would've needed to touch someone with a quirk, so how did that child trafficker's hand go missing? Either, Shitty Deku got himself a late quirk or they somehow came into contact with a quirk that could do that... I looked at Deku's ugly mug and the papers surrounding him with the recurring question. 'Does he have a quirk?' and 'Did he become a vigilante?'.

As much as I'd like to theorize about him and his other friends, the old hag started screaming up the stairs at me. "KATSUKI! It's fucking dinner! Get you ass down here!". I'll just have to think about it later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

these footer notes are getting emptier as we go! sorry this took so long, we were out doing some arson ;)

Hope you enjoyed! Make sure you read out other stuff too!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beginning: Part 1

Previous: Part 2

Next: Coming soon!

[merlins-hurt-comfort]

I’ll be here until you’re okay

Fandom: TS Sanders Sides Warnings: parental emotional abuse, talking about violence (only talking, though), food mention, Roman swears once, Remy’s mother is kind of transphobic and sugarcoats anxiety. Pairing: Remy/Emile Characters: Remy Sanders, Emile Picani, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders and Roman Sanders Wordcount: 3511

A/N: so first of all, this is for @shut-up-emrys​, i love you lots. the thing with this fanfiction is that it’s kinda personal, i basically put my mother in this story and made Remy go through some of the things i had/have to go through and have them comforted in the end. because that is what hurt and comfort fanfictions are for, isn’t it. whatever. i do feel better after writing this, though.

The early morning sun shone through a little window in Remy's room, lightly waking them on this mild Tuesday morning.

After a few times of turning around, trying to get ahold of the sweet warm sleep, Remy stretched their body and slowly sat up, leaning against their bed's headboard.

They rubbed their eyes and blinked a few times to get their eyes used to the bright rays of sun, lighting up their room- or more accurate- their mess of it.

Remy breathed in deeply but the heavy weight on their shoulders didn't ease. They felt their throat hurting, warm anger rising as they remembered last night's events.

No surprise their mother was involved. Remy remembered trying to open up to her, telling her about yesterday's therapy session. Not to get them wrong, they loved their mother. And their mother loved Remy. At least that's what they were sure of. But sometimes Remy couldn't think of her anything other than hurtful, then again they immediately felt guilty about thinking that way. Their mother was a good mother. She was. Even though Remy felt like her hatred towards certain groups of people outweighed her love for her child.

Remy didn't want to get up. Not this day. A long work day was ahead of them and their motivation non-existing. But since not coming to work due to emotional issues was "just being lazy" and "not going to happen", according to their mother, they slowly got out of the warm bed to get changed while thoughts about other events, similar to last night came crushing down. Like that one time, years ago, when they took all the courage they got. They wrote their mother a letter, explaining being non-binary in all it's details.

Remy started shaking, just as they had been shaking back then, as if they were reliving the whole scenario instead of simply replaying it in their thoughts. They didn't get support. They didn't get thrown out either but that could not be where the bar for acceptance was. Instead, after getting interrupted, their mother tried to talk Remy out of it, brushed it off as a phase and neither of them brought up the whole conversation ever again. That day Remy swore to never come out to her ever again.

But their mother was a good mother, she let them visit a therapist to manage their anxiety issues. After six months of all of their professors talking to her, she finally agreed. She didn't like her child going to therapy. It would not look good on college or work applications, she said. They would never get an "actual full-time job", she said. It would ruin her good reputation, she said. Almost as if that was more important than Remy learning to deal with their anxiety. Almost. She loved them, Remy knew it. They just didn't feel it. But she was a good mother, right? She was. She had to be.

Remy shook their head, trying to get rid of all the memories as they dropped the clothes they slept in on the floor. After last night's argument, Remy didn't manage to do anything else other than walk into their room, slam the door shut and lie down on the bed hoping to fall sleep before the growing heartache would tear them apart.

They picked a blue jeans and a white shirt from The Chair™, put them on and turned around to look in a mirror hanging on the wall to fix their sleep hair. One look in the mirror made them stumble back in shock. All those thoughts, racing and stumbling through their mind, made them forget that this day was their eighteenth birthday.

Usually, they didn't care about their birthdays. What's so great about them? Remy was glad their friends respected their feelings and didn't bring it up. And every other birthday would have been just another ordinary day. But not the eighteenth. On one's eighteenth birthday they would get a black mark somewhere on their body where their soulmate would touch them first. Or next- if they already knew each other.

After a few seconds, Remy stepped closer to the mirror, carefully touching their left cheek with their fingertips. There was a black handprint on their face covering half their chin and lips and the cheek they were so delicately touching right that second. In awe and confusion Remy traced the print of the thumb to below the left eye and the other four fingers just below their left ear. All those thoughts about their mother disappeared, that stain was the only important thing in this moment, until-

Remy was outraged. So their soulmate would slap them? Was that what was going to happen? They scoffed, of course other people got friendly touches and they were left with this.

"Seems like, it's just what I deserve," they mumbled to themselves. For a short moment they considered covering the mark with make up but they decided not to do such thing. If people knew, people knew. And they would know- one way or another.

They put on their black leather jacket and grabbed their phone to leave the house, not bothering to say good morning or goodbye to their mother. She didn't bother either.

On their way to work Remy put in their headphones and let the music take over, trying to ignore the strangers looking at their face, now decorated with a black handprint.

A few miles away Emile stared at his right hand. Today was his eighteenth birthday as well and he couldn't help but overthink it. When he woke up this morning, his right palm was all black.

Emile's thoughts have been creating dozens of possible scenarios already. It could be a handshake, or a high-five. It could be a mark from holding someone's hand. Nonetheless, he worried a little bit. What if he would slap his soulmate? Could happen, right? Less likely than all those other possibilities but with his luck, that's what it was going to be.

He just took a shower and got dressed, a black jeans, a light blue sweater and his brown coat. He then grabbed his phone and backpack and left for uni, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Halfway there, Emile stopped at the local Starbucks and entered the café. It was a busy morning but to see his best friend Remy behind the counter brightened his mood. Somehow, Remy, as the most sarcastic and pessimistic, also unquestionably short-tempered person, always managed to cheer him up. As a psychology major, college took a lot of Emile's time and Remy covered many of their coworkers shifts, but they still managed to spend time together. Remy was working on one of the coffee machines with their back to Emile but their coworkers already noticed him.

From the other end of the long queue Emile watched Patton say a few words to Logan, then take a paper cup from the counter and make his way through the café to the psychology major.

Patton was older than Remy and Emile and already got his mark months ago. Two fine black lines on his forehead, looking like someone would touch him while brushing some hair out of his face. Logan didn't have his mark yet.

"Good morning, Emile. Remy already prepared your daily order!" Patton pulled them in for half a hug and light pats on his back before handing Emile the cup.

"Patton, hey! Thank you for bringing me my hot cocoa." Patton smiled so brightly, it was literally contagious, then pushed up the glasses on his freckled nose.

"Always my pleasure. We wish you a very happy birthday! Let's see your mark!" Emile took his right hand out of the pocket of his jacket and opened it, showing Patton the black palm.

The café employee was fascinated. "That is so cool!!" His eyes widened. "I bet it's a high-five! Or you shake their hand." Emile chuckled lightly, stepping out of the way for some customers exiting the Starbucks. "I hope you're right about that."

"You should see Remy's mark. But I feel like it's not my place to tell you about it." Patton's voice got softer. "They wish you a very happy birthday, they said they will text you after work." Emile raised an eyebrow in confusion. Where could Remy's mark possibly be? He was tempted to just walk over to the counter but even the fact that they're his best friend didn't change that right there and then would not be a good place or time to talk about soulmate marks.

Patton interrupted him spacing out. "Now off you go or you'll be late for your first class." He stopped while making his way back to the counter, turned around and made finger guns, pointing to the hot beverage in Emile's hands. "The cocoa is on us, by the way. As a birthday present."

Emile left the café, thinking about soulmates.

Remy's shift took forever. Even though they had a lot of work, time still refused to pass. They knew every customer at some point stared at the fresh black soulmate mark. And no one said it out loud but Remy knew they all shared the same thought. Their soulmate would hit them in the face. They tried their best to get on with work as if it was any other given day and forget about the handprint adorning their face but with every single new customer looking at them, they got reminded of what would inevitably happen.

After a long day of serving people all different kinds of drinks and cleaning more tables than they could count, they finally registered the cash and Patton locked the store. Logan's shift had already ended earlier that day.

The freckled boy put the keys in one of his pockets, then encouragingly looked Remy in their eyes. "Don't worry about the mark too much, Remy. It does not look like a slapping hand to me." Patton gave them a soft smile. "It's your soulmate, it will be alright."

Remy sighed and buried their hands deep in the pockets of their leather jacket. "I hope you're right. I don't think so, but I hope."

"Kiddo, you need to tell me as soon as you meet them!" Their customers couldn't exactly tell but Patton, Logan and Remy weren't only coworkers, they also were good friends, knowing each other almost as long as Remy and Emile knew each other.

"Of course I will. But only if you'll tell me about yours, and don't kiddo me, you're only a few months older!"

Remy put in their headphones after the two Starbucks workers said goodbye and went their separate ways.

At home Remy carefully walked into the kitchen, stopping close to the door. They watched their mother cutting some carrots for dinner before quietly speaking.

"Mom? I wanted to talk-" Their voice failed them.

Their mother put the knife down and sighed. "Speak, Remy. I don't have all evening." After eighteen years with their mother, she still managed to take away all of their courage the moment they tried to talk about something that was important to them.

"I-" Remy started, but it felt like all the sentences they formed on their way here were gone as if they didn't know any words, as if their head was empty, making room for anxiety to slowly fill their body limb after limb. Remy's heart raced, their body was so cold they felt it in their bones. They already regretted trying to get their mother to make up for last night.

She turned around, impatient of their child's silence, but of course noticed the mark before anything else. She raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like someone's gonna get slapped."

Remy started fidgeting with their fingers, took all the energy their racing heart provided them with to say it as quickly as possible. "I wanted to talk to you about last night." This was supposed to be about last night, not about the mark.

Their mother sighed again, crossing her arms. "Remy, there is nothing to talk about. I get it, your therapist diagnosed you with an anxiety disorder." She took a deep breath, like what she just said had cost her all of her energy. "Listen, we all get nervous sometimes and I could help you just as well, I don't see why you have to see a therapist for that."

Remy tried their hardest to not show their hurt as it climbed up their throat.

"But, mom-"

Their mother cut them off. "Well, thank you for the conversation, I was not done talking. I taught you better than speaking out of turn." She massaged her temple and closed her eyes, letting out an exasperated sight. "You don't understand my situation. What will people think? I need to get used to this."

She turned around, picked up the knife and continued cutting the carrots. A few seconds passed. By now Remy's chest felt like a rattling nest full of angry wasps, their breathing short and uncontrolled. "Don't tell me you're crying."

Remy was close to crying. But they knew their mother- crying was for weak people and they were not weak. They couldn't be weak. They tried to swallow the hurt, pushing it all down to wrap the angry wasp nest.

"I am-", they cleared their throat, taking a deep, long breath. In a voice, as steady as possible, they continued. "I am not crying."

"Good. Adults don't cry." Their mother put the cut carrots in the pot on the oven. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?" she asked, in a tone implying that this whole conversation didn't happen. Remy knew she simply couldn't stand the atmosphere she created. They wanted to cry.

"Actually, I am going to meet Emile."

Remy's mother aggressively grabbed the tomatoes. "I am doing everything for you, Remy." She almost threw them in the sink. "And I ask for help one time, just once, but no." She washed them quickly and started cutting. "I have to do everything myself. You're making me break down, do you hear me? I'm going to break down. You don't ever help me."

"Gee," Remy wondered while closing the kitchen door on their way out and leaving the house. They wiped their teary eyes, then pulled out the phone to text their best friend. "I wonder why."

This didn't go the way they planned. But then again, with their mother, things would never go according to plan.

Emile sat on his favourite table in the local library when he got a text notification. He tapped twice on his dark display to wake it up and read the message.

"Hey, can we meet?" Remy. Emile got excited. So their shift was finally over and they got to spend some time with each other.

He leaned back in his chair and typed. "I am in the library. Do you want to come here?"

It only took seconds for Remy to answer. "On my way."

Emile often came to the city's local library, sometimes to read but most of the time to study for an exam. Just like this day. He shifted in his chair to get comfortable and continued reading and making some notes.

After another ten minutes, he heard the big front door opening and quietly closing. A distant. "Hello, Remy!!"

Emile looked up from his book. Remy was here and that made him so incredibly happy, even though it was kind of late already and he was exhausted from hours of studying after a complete day at uni. He heard a weak "Hey." in response to Roman's greeting.

Emile's heart dropped. That did not sound good. The bad feeling in Emile's gut got confirmed when Remy appeared in his vision.

Head down, hands in the pockets of their jacket, walking with slow, tired steps. As if something had drained them for everything they had- or someone. Emile knew about their mother, she was something Remy had been dealing with their whole life, much longer than Emile knew them.

He stood up and walked around the table to Remy, softly pulling them in for a hug. Remy slowly put their arms around Emile as well and buried their face in the taller boy's neck, holding him close. Emile carefully put one hand on the back of Remy's head as he slowly rubbed their back with his other hand. Neither of them moved.

Remy was safe now. They could cry now. Feeling Emile's beating heart so close to theirs, his warm-sunshine presence all around them, feeling his hands holding them, his steady and calm breathing, Remy finally felt like they could give in to the hurt stinging in their chest, poking the angry wasp nest everytime they breathed in.

The words just spilled over. "Emile, you need to know that I love her. I do." They paused, getting quieter with each word they said. "She just makes it so hard for me. And- and I think she loves me. I mean, she has to, she just has to-" Their voice cracked as tears filled their closed eyes. Remy was glad their face was hidden, that no one could see them this vunerable, even though Emile kept telling them, crying was healthy and human. "I just can't- I just can't feel it."

Emile closed his eyes, fighting back his tears. This was Remy's moment and he knew they didn't get many of those.

"Remy, it's alright. You're here with me now, only with me." Emile's reassurance was nothing more than a quiet, soft whisper, and that was all Remy needed.

"I'll be here until you're okay." As Emile felt their shoulders trembling, he pulled them even closer, holding his sobbing friend in silence. Minutes after minutes passed, neither of them knew how long they stood there, until Remy had cried all that there was for them to cry.

"Thank you, Emile." Remy mumbled, definitely sounding like they were feeling better. Emile slightly loosened up, not enough to break the comforting atmosphere, but enough to have their foreheads almost touch. He cupped their face, carefully wiping away the tears. "Always, Remy."

"Heeeyyy, guys. I just wanted to tell you it's almost closing time."

Emile waved Roman hello as Remy turned around, startled by the librarian who popped up out of nowhere as he continued talking.

"But if you want to stay a few- uh more minutes that's- that's not a-." Roman's words failed him, leaving him speechless for a few seconds.

"Woah. Those are fucking magnificent marks." Helpless faces stared at him, as if he just spoke in a different language. Roman cleared his throat and gestured at the stains. "Yea, your soulmate marks, don't tell me I am the first to see them!"

Emile looked at his hand, the palm no longer black but instead looking like white marble. At the same time Remy carefully touched his face, right where Emile's hand was just a moment ago while they turned around to their best friend again.

They looked at each other. Emile's heart grew warm as he saw the young adult standing in front of him. His best friend with not only a clueless look on their face but also a handprint in the most beautiful blue Emile had ever seen.

Roman was sure, at this point Emile made actual heart eyes at Remy. He smoothly stepped forward and handed them a tiny mirror. He believed it to be of great importance to always carry one with you. Roman then left them alone to put a few more books back in the shelves. It appeared this day he could not close on time, but it didn't bother him at all.

Remy couldn't trust their eyes as they saw their reflection. The hand print that shocked them so much this morning, that made them so angry, that they slowly knew they would grow to hate was now as blue and deep as the sky.

They looked back at Emile, delicately waving his right hand, the palm like white marble. He had a smile that bright, it could easily compete and win against the bubbly-sunshine Patton.

Emile raised his hand and carefully put it on his friend's face. That touch alone was enough to make Remy burst into tears of happiness as they fell into a tight hug. They could have spent hours standing there, holding the other as close as physically possible, if it weren't for Roman.

"Guys, I am having a Déjà vu here." They let go of each other, just then being able to stop laughing.

Emile looked like he would pass out from excitement any second as he very proudly declared: "Well, looks like I have the best freaking soulmate on this planet, huh?"

Remy took Emile's hand in theirs, tracing the grey lines. "Emile." They cleared their throat as they met their soulmate's rich chocolate brown eyes. "I don't need fate to know we're meant to spend our lives together."

[miracleboiz]

Hectic

Life is hectic. People need to run everywhere and be in different places, no one ever just sits down and relaxes anymore. Kenma knows life is hectic, and with two boyfriends it means his life is twice as crazy. It also means it’s twice as loving and Kenma doesn’t mind waiting a little bit for those moments.

Words: 8.5k

Chapters: 4

Relationships: Kurokenyaku

Warnings: None

Read below or on AO3, Don’t forget to reblog!

Mornings are hectic. There’s no nice way to put it, no matter how many times Kenma thought it over. There’s no peaceful awakenings like there had been when his boyfriends were in college. Sometimes, if he was lucky, one of them would have the day off and no morning plans and he could relax with them at least while the other ran off.

Already he could hear their voices from the kitchen. Mori was arguing with someone, probably over the phone. Tetsuro was calling out jovially, the barest hint of Sawamura’s voice drifting through the wall. Their two cats were calling angrily for their food bowl, the last one on Kenma’s back. Docosahexaenoic just curled up tighter when Kenma shifted, uncaring about the bright white hair she was shedding or the claws in his skin.

Kenma sighed, pulling the blankets further over his head. He could still feel the warmth of Mori’s spot behind him, could smell the rich scent of Tetsuro’s fruity shampoo, and his chest ached. He wanted them here, with him.

Sure, he knew they had their jobs and his was easier. He did what he loved every day, with only occasional meetings for his company and the rest was done over Skype or email. Yet he wanted nothing more than to just wake up with his clingy and snoring boyfriends and lay with them.

“Kenma~” Tetsuro’s voice came through with a crack of the door opening. “Hey, hon. Get up, you have a meeting today at three and you need to eat.”

“No.” Kenma pulled the blanket down just enough to stick his tongue out and covered himself back up.

“I can tell you’re a very mature and grown up adult.” Tetsuro said dryly and Kenma immediately rolled himself tighter into the blanket, more then well aware that Tetsuro would rip the blankets off otherwise.

“Make Sawamura go to my meeting. He’s mature and grown up.” Kenma grumbled. It was the new year, which meant it was payroll time which meant he was going to have to keep himself from firing everyone who wanted to give themselves raises without offering raises to anyone else.

“Sawamura~ has to keep people safe in Miyagi, he can’t come all the way up here because a certain Kitten doesn’t want to get out of bed before noon.” Tetsuro hummed, fingers poking around Kenma’s wrapped form, looking for a weakness in the blanket. The cat hissed before submitting herself to Tetsuro’s petting and jumping off the bed to join her siblings.

“It’s seven am, the meetings not till three.” Kenma complained.

“Yes but Morisuke won’t be back until late and might have to spend the night at work-“ Tetsuro started, pulling back as the blanket monster started to wriggle free.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Kenma sighed, slipping out of the blanket and reaching out for Tetsuro to take his arms and pull him the rest of the way from the bed.

“Why does that work? I have literally begged and pleaded and you’ve refused to get out of bed. I can’t believe this entire time Mori was your favorite.”

Kenma gave him the driest look he had in his arsenal. He didn’t stand even as Tetsuro had to shift his hold to keep him up at head height. Even five years out of highschool, Tetsuro’s bed head was still untamed and Kenma wondered if he’d be upset if they shaved his head in the middle of the night. Not too much, maybe an undercut… Or copying Yamamoto’s mohawk.

“I thought it was obvious from the beginning.” Kenma said, rolling his eyes at Tetsuro’s gasp of betrayal. Kenma finally pulled his legs under him, standing up and pulling away from his taller boyfriend and making his way to the dining room.

Morisuke had four papers in his hand, his phone pressed in his ear as he tapped away at his computer. His brow was creased in genuine annoyance as he growled out a response and tried to fight the cat food bag at the same time.

“I don’t care if I have the copies, you need to be more responsible with the paperwork or else it will be your ass I’ll be handing to Hanamaki Eiichi when he comes looking for someone to fire when we lose this case.” Mori glanced up at the sound of their footsteps. His gaze softened, lips twitching up into a gentle smile. He put the papers down and leaned up to press a kiss to Kenma’s forehead, arm moving up to lead the sleepy head onto his shoulder. He stroked through his long hair, tilting his head to kiss Tetsuro gently.

“Look. You take what I just emailed you. You print them. Get them signed and if you’re not done by the time I get there then I’d better not see you until you are.” Morisuke hung up without waiting, gently scratching at Kenma’s scalp. “I swear Sato-san lives to make my life hell. Go sit down Kenma, I’ll grab breakfast.”

Kenma groaned comically, lips twitching slightly at the chuckle he got from both of them. Tetsuro’s hands moved to his hips, leading him over to the table as Morisuke disappeared behind the wall. He returned a moment later, one plate held up where the curious cats couldn’t jump to try and eat it before Kenma could.

Tetsuro took the plate and slid it in front of Kenma before turning and tilting Morisuke’s chin up. Kenma leaned back against his chair, head on his hand as he watched, carefully feeding a piece of chicken to one of the cats. Kirby’s giant mouth reminded Kenma a bit of Lev, and he considered officially changing the Russian Blue’s name to Lev.

“I’ll bring dinner by later, ‘round seven. So let me know if you start craving anything. I gotta go already, school waits for no man.” Tetsuro hummed, kissing him lightly before Morisuke reached up and cupped his face. Mori didn’t let go, dragging out the kiss before finally letting him go, a smile on both of their lips.

“Bento is in the fridge, actually eat it this time. Don’t forget to text your dad and tell Bokuto we’ll see him next week and stop calling Sawamura just to harass him, he has enough shit to deal with.” Morisuke grumbled, straightening Tetsuro’s shirt. Tetsuro just laughed, kissing his head and moving closer to Kenma.

“Were you watching us kiss? You pervert.” Tetsuro gasped, snickering when Kenma swatted at his face. He caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before leaning in and kissing him fully on the lips.

Kenma melted, kissing back and wanting the moment to last forever. Medical school was Tetsuro’s dream, well other than somehow making his own fungus that was a rainbow that he could name himself but Kenma wasn’t holding out on that dream coming true. He knew Tetsuro had to go, and yet... he kissed a little deeper, a little needier before Tetsu’s hands both folded over his own and he pulled away.

“I’ll see you later Kitten.” Tetsuro murmured, eyes gentle and warm as he leaned in to kiss his forehead once. He let go, looking like he didn’t want to leave anymore than Kenma wanted him to. Then he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening and closing before Kenma and Mori could hear him leaving. One cat watched him before turning back to her other humans, curious as to why they still weren’t being fed. Kenma didn’t really know how to explain that the other food bowls were filled it was just the one in the kitchen that was empty but he doubted they would care even if he could explain.

“You gotta go too?” Kenma asked, burying his chopsticks into his rice. Of course Mori did, but sometimes he’d stay at-least until Kenma was done with breakfast. Mori’s face dropped slightly, reaching out to cup Kenma’s face and gently cradle his cheek.

“Unfortunately. I’m sorry love. I’d stay home if I could, but this case is major. It took us two years to prove the cyber attacks came from our competitor and if we don’t get everything taken care of we’re going to be out who knows how much money and they’re just going to do it all over again. Once this case is over though, I am taking a vacation. Me and you, get to hang around and do absolutely nothing and mock Tetsuro for having to put effort into things.” Mori teased, thumb gently tracing his bottom lip before Mori leaned in and kissed him. It was shorter than Tetsuro’s, Morisuke actually had self control and wasn’t as easy to distract, but it was soft and Mori peppered three more across his cheeks and nose.

“I have to go, Kenma.” Mori murmured, fingers finally dropping off his face. He turned away, grabbing papers and closing his laptop.

He hesitated in the doorway and turned back to Kenma, looking at him affectionately. He tilted his head and smiled softly at him, a gentle one that had Kenma feeling like putty even in a chair. How long had they worked together for this? Mornings together and laced with love instead of heartbreak trying to stay apart from each other.

“I love you, Kenma. I’ll see you as soon as I can.” Mori said, then he was hurrying out the door, leaving Kenma alone with the cats. Two caterwauls rose up and Kenma sighed, burying his hand in the bag and pouring a small handful into the dish. Immediately all three of them rushed over... and then walked away.

Yes mornings were hectic. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Chapter 2

“Kenma~ Kenma~ Kenma~” Tetsu’s voice came through the house, getting louder and dripping with annoyance though Kenma could easily hear the smile on his face. The sound of the refrigerator closing echoed through the house and Kenma turned to face his probably smiling boyfriend. Sure enough, Tetsuro was grinning when he poked his head into Kenma’s computer room.

“Are you aware,” Kenma drawled, leaning back in his chair to look at his boyfriend, “that just because you get more annoying does not mean I’m more likely to pay attention?”

“Weird, because I’m pretty sure I annoyed you into being my boyfriend.” Tetsuro snickered, a hyena like cackle coming from him before he was stepping up behind Kenma. He tilted his head and planted a kiss on Kenna’s forehead, sticking out his tongue when Kenma glowered at him.

“Perhaps you did.” Kenma rolled his eyes, making sure to accent it to annoy his boyfriend. Tetsuro didn’t seem to care, however, simply stepping more to his side and leaning down to kiss him.

Kenma grabbed onto his arm, fingers sliding over the rough material of his sweater, and used him to swing the chair around. He wrapped his legs around Tetsuro’s waist, arms reaching up and around his neck and resting them there as their lips brushed.

Kenma relaxed after a moment, pulling Tetsuro as close as he could and burying his face in his neck. The sweet scent of cherries still lingered on his skin from his late night shower and Kenma couldn’t help but nuzzle closer. Tetsuro grunted and put out a hand against the chair to stop himself from falling, but he didn’t push away. Instead, Kenma felt his nose on his hair gently brushing against the bleached strands moments before a gentle kiss was being pressed there.

Kenma missed this, missed having one of his boyfriends just an arms length away. He ached for the days of walking through the apartment to cuddle against one of their sides when it got to be too much to be alone.

He didn’t mind being alone, in fact he loved it. Leave him alone with his games and some food and he’d be fine for hours, content with his own company and the occasional text from Shoyo or Tora. It was the day after day loneliness that got to him, when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud or heard someone call his name. When his boyfriends rose before him and returned after he was asleep and all he had for proof of their existence was bentos in the fridge and well fed cats. When his skin prickled from lack of touch, craving the heat from another person and the gentle stroke from hands in his hair.

“You okay, kitten?” Tetsuro murmured softly, his free hand moving to run soothingly up and down his arm. Gentle kisses, barely brushes of lips against his scalp, peppered themselves over his head everywhere Tetsuro could reach without dislodging him.

“I’ll be fine.” Kenma muttered back, tightening his hold for a moment. He would be. In a few minutes he’d be perfectly fine again, ready for another week of stolen moments between the hours of solitude and work.

“Not what I asked.” Tetsuro pulled back slightly, feeling Kenma’s hold lessen in response. He ignored the legs around his waist and straightened, both hands moving to cup Kenma’s face. He brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes and gently smiled at him.

“ Are you okay? Right now.” Kenma melted into the hold, letting his body relax until Tetsuro was holding his face up. He understood why the cats did this now, it was very nice.

“Yeah… I am now.” Kenma said, lips barely moving enough to get the words heard. Instantaneously, Tetsuro’s face blazed red to the tips of his ears. Kenma’s lips twitched in a smile nearly giving him away but he managed to squash it, wanting to tease him a little longer.

“Keeeenma.” He whined, dropping his head down until their foreheads were pressed against each other. “Why do you have to do this to me?”

Kenma let out a soft snort, twisting his wrist so he could gently stroke the hairs on the back of his head. Tetsuro hummed, pressing harder against his forehead to encourage it.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“ I’m ridiculous? You’re the one being… being…”

“Being?”

“Geh. Forget it. All that matters is… that I love you. Even if you’re a big bully-bully.” Tetsuro said, rubbing their noses together. He pushed gently, knocking their heads together like an over affectionate cat and Kenma loved him even more.

He kissed him, gently scratching through his hair. His chest warmed as Tetsuro kissed back, leaning back in the chair until Tetsuro was pinning him down again. Tetsuro’s breath was hot against his lips as he pulled back minutely, teeth tugging at Kenma’s bottom lip before he was kissing the smaller man harder. His tongue slipped into his mouth and Kenma let out a soft groan, pulling his legs in tighter until Tetsuro was flush against him.

Then Tetsuro pulled back, breaking free of his hold easily and kissed his forehead. He grinned, managing to kiss his nose before Kenma came back to himself and swatted him away.

“Sorry kitten, but as much as I would love to spend the day with you, you have a meeting.” Tetsu reminded him, making Kenma groan again this time with frustration. “It’s until seven and we need to leave in the next forty five minutes and you’re still in your pajamas ... actually I think those are actually Mori’s pajamas that started out as mine.”

Kenma glanced down. He was right.

“What’s your point?”

“.... I…. don’t have one, but get up and go put clothes on. I have a job shadowing that starts at three so I need to drop you off a little early to make it on time. I should be off by the time you’re finished.” Tetsuro patted the legs around his waist, chuckling when they slid off with an annoyed groan. “C’mon baby, you love starting discourse at work and you know it.”

Kenma glowered at him, allowing himself to be harassed out of his chair. Just because it was true didn’t mean Tetsuro had to point it out.

He made his way to the bedroom, eyeing the three cats splayed out on the bed who opened an eye at his entrance. He debated joining them, snuggling under the blankets and letting them drown him in fluffy affection especially after someone decided to leave him hanging.

“Don’t you dare lay with those cats.” Tetsuro called and Kenma flipped him off despite knowing Tetsuro couldn’t see him. “And put down that middle finger, there are children in the house.”

“The only child here is you,” Kenma called back, ignoring the fake gasp of offence. The cats settled back down as he stripped and pulled his clothes back on, well aware they wouldn’t get any attention during this routine.

Kenma tugged on his work shirt, finishing the last button when he heard steps behind him. Strong arms wrapped around his waist and tucked him against a muscled frame. He leaned into it, head tilting back against Tetsuro’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you.” Tetsuro murmured softly, affectionately nuzzling his cheek. “I know it’s not much comfort, but this will only be a little while longer. Mori-kun is almost done with this case and then his hours will be more stable and he’ll have time off. I have a little longer but once my internships are over and I’m a full pediatrician I can settle in the hospital and have a set schedule and we can be together more.”

“... Tetsuro.” Kenma said softly, turning his head to run his nose on the underside of Tetsuro’s chin. “It’s the most comforting thing of all. Knowing we’ll all be happy and together.”

Kenma leaned his head comfortably against his shoulder, smiling softly up at him. It would take time, but he was patient. He waited three years to get both of them within reach, he could wait a while more for things to finish falling into place. He didn’t care how long it took, as long as they got there.

He turned and reached up to cup Tetsuro’s face, his chest warm and feeling soft at the dopey affectionate look on Tetsuro’s face. Tetsu was a nerd, a big giant, adorable nerd and Kenma didn’t want to live a moment without him. Kenma leaned up and brushed his lips against his cheek.

“We have to get to work, stop distracting me.” Kenma drawled, letting go of his boyfriend and escaping the room. Tetsuro spluttered behind him, calling Kenma’s name in a drawn out cry before Kenma heard him cooing at the cats. He rolled his eyes, wondering how he’d managed to get stuck with this doofus for all eternity.

He grabbed his laptop bag while waiting for Tetsuro to leave the cats alone, slipping into the game room to grab his phone and send a quick response to Shoyo. Apparently, he’d run into Oikawa again and Ushiwaka tried to arm wrestle both of them. If the photo was anything to go on, Atsumu had his hands full trying to hold Bokuto back while Shoyo was trying his best to get Kageyama to join in.

“Kenma?” Tetsuro asked, probably wondering if he ran off.

“Sorry, I’m coming…. Tell Bokuto to stop bullying Atsumu, I think his arms are going to fall off and if that happens Shoyo’s going to come bother me about it.”

“Shrimpcake is going to bother you either way. Is it even bothering when you prefer him to me?” Tetsuro hummed as if genuinely thinking it over as he tugged out his own phone and sent a message to Bokuto. Kenma just rolled his eyes at his words and tugged him out of his room, pushing him towards the door.

Kenma paused to dash into the kitchen and grab Tetsuro’s bento from the fridge where he’d put it after returning home. He pushed it into his chest with a half glare.

“You forgot to eat it again.” Kenma accused and Tetsuro’s cheeks flushed light pink.

“I was busy…” Tetsuro mumbled, looking partly ashamed of himself and Kenma sighed. Tetsuro had always been that way, no matter what he said about Kenma, when it came to being too distracted to eat Tetsu was a hundred times worse. If he got it into his head he had to finish a book or essay or quiz, he wouldn’t stop unless someone took away his pen and put chopsticks instead.

“I know, now eat. It’s only a twenty minute ride to my work and a ten minute walk to your hospital, so we have about ten minutes for you to eat. Less than that if you keep staring at me like a weirdo.”

“Kenma.” Tetsu breathed, hand moving over his heart. Kenma smacked it back down and shoved him towards the table. Tetsuro laughed and listened, unwrapping the bento and digging in with a hum.

Kenma leaned against him, waiting for the outcome of the impromptu arm wrestling match when a message came in from Kai. Kai was backstage with… Ushiwaka and Shoyo?

I think you should see this . Was Kai’s message, followed by another photo of a familiar taller man with dark skin and a buzzcut under a thick top of hair who was shaking hands with Bokuto. Atsumu was nowhere to be seen but Kageyama and Shoyo were both attempting to squeeze between Bokuto and the other guy.

I just wanted to see Silver Swan backstage, I wasn’t aware it was going to turn into a reunion. Kai sent another photo, this one a selfie with someone else Kenma recognized from Fukunaga’s posters. Semi Eita, lead vocals and song writer for Silver Swan and ex-volleyball player from Shiratorizawa.

I thought Hinata’s head was going to explode when he saw me and Oohira waiting back here for Semi-san. Apparently Oohira and Ushijima always come to visit Semi after a show, they’re quite sweet. I would say they remind me of you three, but no one’s tried to bite anyone yet (^-^)

Kenma rolled his eyes, removing his weight from Tetsuro as he finished his bento and went to lay the container in the sink.

You may act cute, but I know you’re evil Kai Nobuyuki . Kenma sent back, though he knew it didn’t mean anything. Kai was the sweetest person he knew, which was saying something because Kenma knew both Shoyo and Shibiyama.

If that’s how you want to think of it, I won’t argue. I have to go, I’ll try and keep Hinata out of trouble for you. Don’t tell Fukunaga, but I’m getting Semi to sign a bunch of merch for his birthday. I can say some of its from you if you’d like, I know you’re busy and the others have been working non-stop. Let me know if you have any free time this week or next, we can get lunch! (◠ω◠✿)

“If I didn’t love you and Mori,” Kenma said as Tetsuro looked up from tugging on his shoes, confusion clear, “I would marry Kai right now.”

“.... I mean, who wouldn’t? The guys like, an angel. And I know Shibiyama!” Tetsuro snorted, holding out his hand for Kenma to take as he shoved on his own shoes and let himself be led out the door.

Chapter 3

Kenma didn’t move as the house shook with the front door closing. His fingers slid over the controller, deftly moving his character behind a rock to avoid being seen. He glanced at the time, 3:18 a.m. The only one who would be moving around that early was-

“Kenma?” Mori’s voice whispered, scratchy with exhaustion before his head poked into the room. He glanced at the game on the screen, then Kenma curled up in his chair with one cat on his lap and the other on the top of the chair.

“No, I don’t see it.” Kenma said into his microphone as one of his co-op players called out to him. “Give me a second.”

Kenma flipped the switch on his head phones, turning to look at Mori better without losing sight of the game.

“Lev abandoned me for Kuro.” Kenma said, glancing forlornly at the spot the gray cat had vacated a few hours ago. Mori snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Stop calling him Lev, you’re going to confuse Tetsuro when the real Lev comes to visit.” Mori said, eyes moving from Kenma to the game curiously. “Midnight release? Mind if I sit in with you?”

Kenma shook his head. “Charity stream, making people pay to listen to screams.” He hummed, turning his eyes over to the couch as he flipped his microphone back on.

“Kodzuken? Are you playing with your cats while I’m dying? I’m deducting this from your pay.” Sandixie called into his ear, echoed by ArcadeFox.

“No I am not being distracted by my cats… You don’t even pay me… You don’t pay me either! None of you pay me, go away or I’m leaving you all to die.” Kenma winced as three screams echoed in his head set as his team members found themselves being chased. “That’s why you don’t fuck with me… dammit now I have to bleep that out… I hate editing streams, you all suck.”

Morisuke laughed softly, careful to keep his voice too low to be picked up by the microphones. He made his way towards the couch, scooping up the orange tabby from the back of Kenma’s chair. Carolina Reaper meowed pitifully before Morisuke sat down and lowered him into his lap. Immediately the cat snuggled up, purring loudly at the presence of her favorite human.

Kenma glanced back at him, watching Mori’s eyes droop and sink before flashing open again. After a moment Mori noticed his gaze and stuck out his tongue, fingers buried in Reaper’s fur.

Kenma hummed, turning back to the game and heading away from the stalking Mike. He turned behind a house, pausing his movement to look up at his struggling companion, Zebstrikah. Through the headset he could hear complaints and the other two players laughing.

“Now, next time you want to harass me remember, I can and will leave you to die.” Kenma purred, then tapped the button to help the character down to his feet. “I’ll distract him, he’s about to hit stage three and I’m the only one of you who hasn’t been hooked yet…”

Screams erupted from his headset as Mike appeared behind them, scaring the rescued Zebstrikah. Kenma sighed, shaking his head and running his character towards the killer just as the music hit. Like he thought, the other player took the bait and downed him, quickly hanging him on the nearest hook and letting the other player go free.

“The things I do for you people.” He grumbled, gently flicking Docosahexaenoic off his lap. The white cat hissed as she landed, flicking her black tipped tail and strutting out of the room to join a less moving human. Sighing and keeping his eye on the screen so he could see who was coming to save him, Kenma stood up and moved the chair away from him and made his way to the couch.

He was free a second after making himself comfortable and quickly turned to run in the other direction, hiding away in a dark corner and healing himself before making a beeline towards the last generator they needed to get done. From the sounds of it, Zeb was getting hooked again, but it was his third time. No use saving a dead man. Morisuke shifted until he was leaning against him, easily falling into place as the screen lit up with the finished generator, two orange lights in the distance showing where both exits were.

“I should have played Monster Hunter,” Kenma sighed, listening to the frustrated shout of “Oh come on! A Mori?! Really?!” as one of his companions died, Sandixie if his cursory glance at the bottom left of the screen was any indication, though he was more focused on opening the exit door. “Then I would be able to play in peace .”

“You don’t talk enough as it is Kodzuken, your fans would fall asleep if you played alone.” ArcadeFox chirped into the microphone, loud enough for Mori to hear and nod in agreement despite Kenma’s glower of annoyance.

“I talk enough… Also Mike’s here at my gate, hope you know where the hatch is.” Kenma’s voice was almost sing-song as he crossed the border to freedom.

“SON OF A-” ArcadeFox cut himself off with a yelp as he ran straight into the killer on his way to the exit Kenma had opened, the game quickly ending with Kenma as the only survivor.

“Oops.” Kenma snickered, stretching. “I can’t believe we still have two more hours of this stream.”

“Let’s do it for charity,” Zebstrikah mocked, “It’ll be fun Zeb, so much fun. No one bothered to mention it’s the most terrifying game ever!”

“It is not, you’re just a baby.” Sandixie snorted and Kenma let out a snort.

“He’s not wrong, you are the biggest baby.” Kenma said into the microphone, flipping the switch to turn it off while waiting for the game to find another killer for their group. He turned to Morisuke, nuzzling his temple.

“You sure you don’t want to crawl into bed with Tetsu? He has Doco and Kirby.” Kenma murmured softly, one arm moving to slide small fingers through Mori’s hair. “And he won’t be talking like I will.”

“No, I want to hear you talk. I miss your voice.” Morisuke said softly, eyes already closed at the gentle stroking of his hair. Kenma’s chest bloomed with warmth as his face turned red and he was suddenly grateful he didn’t have a camera on him right then.

“Why don’t you lay on my lap then, c’mon, you can rest while I play.” Kenma scooted further down the couch and carefully directed Morisuke’s head to his lap and waited until his feet were comfortably on the couch before returning to the game. Still another thirty seconds. He flipped on his microphone.

“Hey, do you think people would pay more to watch Zeb’s face when he gets attacked?”

Kenma slid out from under Moriske to turn off the system as the charity stream finally came to an end, humming softly as ArcadeFox chattered in his ear.

“You’re really ending the game already? Usually you’re the one streaming for another few hours, you feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend got home from an eighteen hour day and I have to make sure he takes care of himself. Otherwise he’ll drag himself into work again and work himself to death.”  Kenma sighed, looking fondly over at the passed out lawyer.

“Uh… Kodzuken… we’re still live.” Zebstrikah coughed into his ear. Kenma’s face warmed as he realized he’d just accidentally outed himself to the entire internet. Well…

“This is my last stream, goodbye forever, all of you.” Kenma groaned, face palming. That was great. Actually, he supposed it didn’t matter, he doubted he would actually lose many viewers and would probably gain some by being out and even if he did, he made enough money from his company to be perfectly fine.

“Don’t worry Kodzuken, we still love you, forever and ever.” Sandixie laughed as Kenma hovered his hand over the exit button.

“It’s still embarrassing… I’ll see you guys later, bye.” Kenma mumbled into the microphone before turning it off completely. He sighed and leaned back, letting his spine crack as he tried to work through what just happened. After a moment he shoved the thoughts away, well aware he couldn’t do anything about it now.

He let his gaze travel over the room, sliding over Morisuke’s frame as the shorter man curled around Reaper and Kirby started to climb his way onto Morisuke’s hip and lay as spread out as he could. Kenma stepped closer until he could kneel beside the couch and gently stroke through Morisuke’s hair, leaning in to press a kiss onto his forehead.

It had taken Kenma a while to admit it, but he couldn’t help but be more physical with Morisuke. With Tetsuro it was different, they knew each other so well  that Kenma could show his love in smiles or actions or even in calling him out on his nerdiness. But Morisuke… Being so close to losing him not too long ago just made Kenma want to hold onto him until Morisuke knew beyond a doubt that Kenma loved him, would continue to love him, wanted him around.

Kenma and Tetsuro were a rhythm written for each other, crafted to complement and support. Morisuke was a later addition to their rhythm and Kenma knew Morisuke felt that bridge was sometimes too big a gap but Kenma could never go back to just him and Tetsuro. Morisuke was the heartbeat to Tetsuro’s spine and Kenma’s brain, an integral part of who they had become.

“Kitten?” Morisuke mumbled, breath ghosting along Kenma’s neck. His eyes still weren’t open as he mumbled the nickname again and Kenma kissed his forehead again.

“Keep sleeping, I’ll be right back.” Kenma murmured, watching Morisuke’s shoulders go lax as he fell asleep again.

Kenma straightened and moved back to his feet, slipping into the kitchen and flipping on the rice cooker. If he was up, he might as well make breakfast for once.

He debated on waking Morisuke up, happy to see him sleep peacefully for once instead of tossing and turning and searching for a few minutes of restfulness. Kenma sighed, leaning down to push Morisuke’s shoulders gently. Morisuke hadn’t eaten, Kenma had to make sure he did, after all his boyfriends both went out of their way to make sure he had eaten all the time.

“Mori? I have breakfast ready.” Kenma said, laughing when Mori tried to swat him off but couldn’t move his arm far enough. “I made bacon.”

“...Not fish?” Mori hummed, cracking open an eye. Kenma wrapped his arms around Kirby, letting the cat shift until he was hugging Kenma’s neck in a move Kenma still wasn’t sure how Tetsuro had taught him.

“No fish, if Tetsu wants to cook himself fish he can but I won’t do that.” Even Kenma knew Tetsuro ate way too much fish and it was probably his way of pushing his agenda that fish is better than meat.

“Thanks Kenma.” Morisuke mumbled, hand dropping onto the carpet and eyes sliding shut.

“Should I bring it in here?” Kenma asked after a minute passed, curious if Morisuke was even still awake.

“Am.. I not moving?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Son of a…” Mori sighed, sucking in a breathe before opening his eyes and sitting up. Reaper jumped off, pouting up at them before flicking her tail and walking out of the room, probably to stare at the food bowl and hope someone gave her a treat.

Kenma held out one of his hands, the other cradling Kirby, and took Morisuke’s and twined their fingers together as he pulled him up. Mori’s face pinkened when he realized Kenma wasn’t letting go but he just gave him a fond smile and allowed himself to be led to the kitchen and sat at the kotatsu.

“You’re being clingy.” Morisuke commented, not an admonishment, if he thought it was bad he would have told Kenma to stop doing it. It was a comment, especially when Kenma pouted at having to release Morisuke’s hand in order to hold the chopsticks. Kenma waited until he was nearly finished eating before answering.

“Well, I just outed myself to the entire internet as gay, and also you’re like a heater and my hands are cold.” Kenma said, finally letting Kirby go free in order to shove both hands under Mori’s shirt. Morisuke jolted in surprise, the bacon slipping from his grip.

“Outed yourself- are you okay?” Mori put the chopsticks down but Kenma just shrugged. He shifted until his feet were sticking out from under him instead of sitting properly on the cushion and could heat up quickly. He snuggled against Mori’s steady side, pulling the blanket a little higher up so they could both be comfortable and give Kenma time to think of a response.

“I’ll be fine. I just forgot the stream was still live and mentioned my boyfriend, you. It was a surprise and I’m… trying not to worry about it. I mean, logically I know that I probably won’t lose viewers and will actually probably get more and that I have more than enough money if I get suspended… But I never really ever meant to come out and I just hope no one figures out I mean you or Tetsu, I don’t want to put your jobs at risk.”

Morisuke’s arm wrapped around him a moment later, his free hand moving to tilt Kenma’s head up. Morisuke’s hands were warm as his brown eyes searched Kenma’s for any sign of upset or panic.

Strangely enough, there wasn’t any. Thinking on it, Kenma knew his highschool self would have cancelled his account and hid under his blanket until Tora or Tetsu came to drag him out. It’d been a long while since then and part of Kenma still wanted to hide himself but a stronger part, the side that had grabbed both Tetsurou and Morisuke and held them together, refused to let himself be shamed for what he was. He wasn’t a child afraid of rejection anymore, he was an adult with his own house, friends who didn’t care about his sexuality, two boyfriends who were amazing in so many different dorky ways, and more than enough money to live his life without any homophobic viewers.

Kenma tilted his head, bumping their noses together as Morisuke’s face softened and he tugged Kenma into his lap. Morisuke nuzzled against his back, pressing a kiss down and trailing a few more over his neck and jaw before finally resting his chin on his shoulder. Kenma shivered slightly as the breath rolled over his ear before wiggling to get more comfortable.

“Kenma, don’t worry about us. Hanamaki-san wouldn’t fire me for being gay, he already knows Sakusa-kun and Issei-kun are and he doesn’t care. As for Tetsuro, I highly doubt he hasn’t already told multiple people because he loves talking about you and he would rather be out then struggling with a homophobic boss. He’ll probably just have to be careful not to let the patients’ parents know and he’ll be fine… Then again… He loves talking about you.” Morisuke hummed, nuzzling Kenma’s cheek obnoxiously as Kenma groaned. He’d definitely been living with Tetsuro too long.

“Don’t remind me. I’m starting to think he might be in love with me.” Kenma sighed, fluttering his eyes purposely at Morisuke as he picked up the chopsticks and snagged a piece of rice to feed him. “What are we going to do if he confesses?”

“Mm… I suppose we could always kick him out.. Maybe give him a chance? He is attractive…” Morisuke hummed, taking the bite and kissing Kenma a moment later. Kenma smiled softly, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting as he kissed back, leaving a teasing nip on his lip as he pulled back.

‘Yeah but all those cat puns… Are they worth it?”

“Oh that is true… and his bedhead is the worst… If we kick him out, then at least Doco will go with him and stop being a bitch-”

“I cannot believe you just said that about my princess.” Tetsuro gasped, said cat curled in his arms with her usual grumpy scowl on her face. He was only half hidden but easily seen in the doorway from the reflection on the TV.

“I can’t believe you just sat there watching us, you pervert.” Kenma said, not even bothering to look back as he picked up another bite and fed it to Morisuke.

“I can’t believe he was more offended about the cat than his bedhead.” Morisuke said, leaning on Kenma again and nuzzling him affectionately.

“No I can, we all know he fails the mirror test.”

“Oh true, failed the one test Lev can actually pass.”

“You two are the worst boyfriends, Bokuto wouldn’t do this to me.” Tetsuro whined, making his way into the dinning room and taking a seat on the other end of the kotatsu.

“Keiji would.” Kenma said, reaching over to grab the bowl of bacon before Tetsurou could.

“Keiji would.” Morisuke agreed, taking a piece as Tetsu groaned.

“You two are the meanest people ever… Are you leaving me already?” He pouted when Mori finished the rest of his bowl. Kenma and Morisuke both stuck out their tongues, grabbing the dishes and making their way to the sink. Kenma returned a moment later as Mori washed them out.

“Mori just got home a few hours ago, and I was doing that charity stream. I’m keeping him at home today.” Kenma said, leaning down to kiss Tetsuro’s pouting face and pat his head teasingly.

“You two need to sleep more, doctor’s orders.” Tetsuro said, poking Kenma’s side and snorting when he got slapped away from the ticklish area. He grabbed Kenma’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, leaning backwards to snag Morisuke as he tried to sneak past. He tugged the shorter man closer until Morisuke gave in and kissed him.

“Sure thing, Dr. Bed Head.” Kenma sighed, grabbing Morisuke’s hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Do you know what the word respect means Kenma?” Tetsuro asked good naturedly, watching them head to the bedroom. Breakfast would be quiet this morning, but at least he would know they were getting enough rest. He glanced down as his lap got heavier, Kirby’s mouth already hanging open and ready to yowl, it wouldn’t be quiet after all.

“Nope.” Kenma called, holding out his middle finger before Morisuke pulled him down the hall with a laugh.

“You can be such a brat.” Mori laughed, face bright even with the dark lines under his eyes. Kenma fell back on the messy bed and pulled him over. He smiled up at the amused face and leaned in to kiss him.

“You love it.”

“That’s not the point.” Mori pointed out, smiling softly and kissing him sweetly. Kenma melted before finally pulling away and sliding under the blankets, moving to the middle so Morisuke could move in behind him.

Strong arms wrapped around him, Morisuke’s face tucking itself behind his back as they got comfortable. Kenma tugged the blankets up further, listening to Morisuke’s breathing until it finally smoothed out and he knew his boyfriend was asleep. Then he finally relaxed, drifting off.

Chapter 4

Kenma woke up alone. The blanket behind him was cold, though Kirby was doing his best to warm up Kenma’s head as he licked at his hair.

Kenma shifted, leaning up to glance at the clock against Kirby’s mewled wishes. Six in the afternoon blinked on the alarm clock, he’d slept for nearly twelve hours.

He sat up more, reaching up to scratch the tangles out of his hair. Hopefully Mori had probably managed to get four or five hours of sleep before waking up, he was never able to sleep in. He looked around the room, wondering if Tetsuro was passed out on the floor somewhere when a voice came from the kitchen followed by a laugh. Kenma slipped out of the bed, padding towards the kitchen curiously.

Tetsuro was standing against the fridge, holding a bag of sugar above his head despite Morisuke’s growled orders. The med student just laughed and leaned down, making kissing noises and Mori let out a groan.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.” Mori snapped but his glare softened as he grabbed Tetsuro’s shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. Immediately both of them melted against each other, laughing softly as they broke apart and Tetsuro bumped their foreheads together. Tetsuro tilted his head, stealing another kiss as Mori managed to get the sugar. Twice more, Morisuke kissed back before he finally turned away towards a bowl filled with peeled apples.

Kenma’s heart warmed at the sight, the gentle look in Mori’s eyes and the glee in Tetsuro’s. They way they leaned into each other without hesitance, moving around each other on instinct. Something that would have been impossible three years ago, but now was becoming an everyday occurrence.

“Hey Mori, try the stir-fry.” Tetsuro hummed, snagging a knife as he switched places with Morisuke to grab the cutting board. He pressed play on the speaker above the fridge and music filtered in, making Tetsuro wiggle as Morisuke laughed at him.

“Needs more flavor, tastes bland.” Morisuke said, gasping when Tetsuro stuck his finger in the apple pie filling.

“Needs more flavor, tastes bland.” Tetsuro mocked back, easily moving out of range of Morisuke’s kick before making his way back to his side to slice the meat. “What’s wrong with my sauce?”

“It’s sweet.”

“Oh so you mean it tastes good.”

“I mean it tastes absolutely terrible, who taught you to cook? Bokuto?” Morisuke laughed, bright and clear at Tetsuro’s mock gasp of insult. They leaned in together naturally, kissing before going back to slicing.

“How was school?” Mori hummed, easily dicing the apples and popping one into his mouth.

“Ugh, I was a practicum all day, which normally I love but it was Nishimoto-sensei today and that guy could put even Kai to sleep. I’m not even sure what we talked about, it’s just a fuzzy gray memory.” Tetsuro groaned, slicing through the beef before tossing it in the simmering pan.

“Oh that’s not worrying at all, I hope you’re not trying to become a doctor.” Morisuke laughed, shaking his head as Tetsuro stuck his tongue out at him again. He held up an apple bite and Tetsuro leaned in, snagging it with his teeth and chomping down on it noisily.

“Why must you bully me, why must you harass and demean and be supercilious and-”

“I love you,” Morisuke hummed without looking up from mixing the filing with the apples. A yelp slipped out from him as Tetsuro wrapped his arms around him and spun him around.

Tetsuro dropped him back on the ground and turned him so he could pick him up again and kiss him in the air. Morisuke’s fake anger rant was cut off and he laughed softly, reaching down to cradle Tetsuro’s cheeks. Both of them ignored the sugar on Morisuke’s hands as the smaller man wrapped his legs around Tetsuro’s waist and leaned down to kiss him, teasingly squishing Tetsuro’s cheeks together.

“I love you too.” Tetsuro said, tongue flicking out and catching a bit of sugar on his lip. “Oh, have you thought of adding salted caramel?”

“Hm? Oh no I haven’t… That does sound really good, I don’t think I’d need to change the recipe much for that… Craving caramel?”

“Oh, am I that obvious?” Tetsuro gasped and grinned when Morisuke kissed him again. “Cravin’ you too, Mori-kun.”

“Don’t be perverse Kuroo,” Morisuke admonished but his eyes softened as he rubbed their noses together. Another gentle peck landed on Tetsuro’s lips, slowly morphing deeper and slower as Tetsuro lowered him back to the ground. Morisuke’s fingers finally moved from Tetsuro’s face, leaving handprints of sugar that Morisuke couldn’t help but laugh at as he flipped on the water and grabbed a towel.

Tetsuro watched him, lips turned up in a soft smile as Morisuke cleaned his hands and turned back to him. The med student bowed down as Morisuke approached, letting Mori gently brush off the mess. Morisuke paused, gently stroking Tetsuro’s cheek.

“I missed you too, Tetsu.” He murmured, smiling at the dramatic gasp that broke from Tetsuro. “You’re a brat. Of course I missed you, I miss you even when you’re only away for a few minutes. I miss waking up with you when Kenma crawled into bed at four in the morning and we’d hug him until he whined and settled down to sleep. I miss going to the zoo with you to take pictures of owls to fuck with Bokuto. I miss coming home and watching tv together or brushing Reaper, or reading. I miss you Tetsuro, I love you.”

“Mori...” Tetsuro said, voice barely above a whisper before he leaned down and pressed a kiss against Morisuke’s temple.

“Mm, we should finish cooking before Kenma wakes up, he’ll be hungry.” Morisuke said softly, smiling up at him before finally slipping free and moving to grab the caramel in the fridge.

Tetsuro stepped behind him, humming along to the music as he leaned down. One hand moved to his waist before brushing along the edge of Morisuke’s hair and dropping a featherlight kiss against his skin. Morisuke shivered before his shoulders relaxed and he tilted his head, inviting more.

Tetsuro gave him what he wanted, kissing his neck again and again, pulling him closer as Morisuke put the caramel on the counter. He sucked lightly, just enough to make Morisuke gasp and groan his name softly.

“You’re a terrible influence, we have to cook.” Morisuke said, but he didn’t step away even when Tetsuro’s teeth scraped over his neck. He moaned softly, turning to wrap his arms around his neck when he caught sight of a blur.

“Tetsu! Cat!” He yelped and Tetusro spun, grabbing Docosahexaenoic as the cat landed on the counter and was already trying to eat the raw beef.

“No! Bad! Raw meat is bad for you, princess. I’m sorry baby.” Tetsuro cooed, dropping the cat back on the floor. Instantly the white cat spun and hissed, tail fluffing out before strutting over to Kenma and curling around his legs.

Kenma was doing his best to hide his laughter but it broke out when he caught sight of Tetsuro’s pouting face. Tetsu just let out a low whine, pointing at Kenma when Morisuke just rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“You’re cute.” Kenma purred, a slow smirk growing on his face when Tetsuro’s cheeks flared red and his tongue stuck out.

“Why does Kenma make you blush, but when I say I love you you just get handsy?” Morisuke snorted, raising an eyebrow at Tetsuro’s whine as he turned to look at his other boyfriend.

“I’m being harassed, it hasn’t even been a few minutes and you two are already double teaming me.” Tetsuro complained and both of his boyfriends rolled their eyes together. Morisuke grabbed the caramel and turned back to the pie filling, lifting the lid from the cooking vegetables.

“Might want to throw that meat in soon, otherwise they’re going to go soggy and be even grosser than your sweet recipe.”

“ You’re grosser than the sweet recipe.” Tetsuro mocked, spinning back to the meat and picking up the knife again. “Kenma, watch the cats.”

“Yes sir, captain, sir.” Kenma said sarcastically, bending down to stroke Doco’s fur as the cat purred loudly. After a few moments she finally relaxed and turned to walk down the hall away from the cooking.

A few steps further and Kenma stepped between them to the sink, flipping on the water and grabbing the brush. He started scrubbing at the dishes already used, grabbing the cutting board as Tetsuro finished and the mixing bowl as Morisuke did.

A hand descended on his hip moments before lips pressed against his cheek and the mixing spoon joined his dishes. A moment later his other side grew warm as Tetsuro leaned against him and nuzzled his forehead, knife being passed over with a kiss.

The kitchen was warm between the three of them, cats scared off with flicks of water from Kenma’s hands. They nestled together as the music rambled in the background, effortlessly switching between jobs and letting Tetsuro drag them into more than one dance. Laughter and sweet kisses filled Kenma’s awareness and he smiled to himself as he pulled the pie out of the oven, listening to Mori and Tetsu tease each other over movies.

Mornings were hectic and so were nights, but Kenma wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[statistically-unlikely-monster]

Secrets No More

Chapter 4: Long Awaited Arrival

We’re winding down to the end guys! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others since this is mostly for leading up to the final chapter. Edd only left Matt and Tom for five seconds, and everything goes wrong.

Edd sat at his desk, head cradled in his hands and staring down at the mess of papers. As soon as the monster appeared, it disappeared again without a trace. It had been days since the police chief assigned him to the job, and he had nothing to show for it. All he had was old evidence and the word of a few witnesses. No matter what he did, all the information led him to a dead end.

“There’s got to be something missing.” He grumbled, chewing on the end of his pen. Ringo hopped up onto the desk with a purr. Her little tail swished from side to side, knocking papers down to the floor, “Dang it Ringo, these are important.” 

Ringo just mewled. As Edd reached down to clean the papers up, the cat used his back as a springboard and ran over to the door. She scratched at the door with her little paws.

“What?” Edd asked her, forgetting the papers to see what she wanted, “You want out?” He opened the door for her and jumped back in shock, “Gah! Tom what the heck?!” Tom was standing just in the doorway, leaning against the wall. The bags under his eyes were so dark he looked like a panda. His disheveled pajamas hung baggily over his body, and for some reason they carried a strong scent of lavender.

“Morning,” Tom groaned with a yawn, “...Sorry. Did I scare you?”

“Judging from the heart attack you gave me, yeah, you did,” Edd grumbled, straightening himself, “Better question, are you okay?”

Tom absentmindedly nodded, staring off at the corner rather than looking at Edd, “Yeah...yeah I’m good...just a bit tired.”

Edd folded his arms, “When was the last time you slept?”

Tom just made the “I don’t know” sound before rubbing his eyes, “Can’t sleep if I wanted to...Personal stuff.” 

“Riiiight. And what’s with the lavender?” Edd inquired, starting to consider forcing Tom into bed.

“Matt said it keeps you calm. I need to be calm and awake. That’s how I stopped myself from transf-” Before Tom could finish his sentence, he passed out for a split second, about falling over, “AH!” He jolted himself awake.

Edd took Tom firmly by the shoulder, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to sleep. You look awful.”

Tom shook his head before stumbling down the stairs. Soon after Edd heard loud banging all the way down the stairs, followed by a pained groan.

“All the grace of a vacuum cleaner,” Edd sighed, heading after Tom to make sure he was okay. Tom laid at the bottom of the stairs. The way he landed made him look like a marionette that just had its strings cut, “Tom, are you okay?”

Tom slowly pulled himself up, giving Edd a thumbs up before flopping onto the couch. Matt, who was sitting on the other side, flew up like he was on a trampoline.

“Okay, well, I’m going to work,” Edd said, slipping his book bag on over his shoulders, “Matt’s in charge. Matt, make sure Tom takes a nap or something.” He stepped out the door, but then poked his head back in, “Oh, and you two better not break anything else while I’m gone.” 

Matt and Tom nodded as Edd left, leaving them to their own devices.

“Welp, you heard Edd, it’s nap t-” Matt started to say, looking over at Tom to see he fell asleep again leaning against the arm of the couch, “Huh, looks like you beat me to the punch.” Hopping up, he lifted up Tom like a little kid, and carried him back to his room.

Tom’s room was as messy as ever. Sheet music, empty bottles, and dirty clothes carpeted the floor. Blue walls were filled with boards and posters that poorly hid holes that Tom swore he didn’t cause. Most of his furniture had a checker print pattern, including his bed. Matt laid Tom down, slipping Tomee Bear into his sleeping friend’s arms before covering him up and quietly creeping out of the room.

Left to his own devices, Matt went back downstairs and watched some Professor Why with Ringo. It was rare for him to be left on his own. Mostly because anything he touched would magically break or just get lost, only to be found again in the most bizarre of places. The last time Matt was on his own, the couch somehow got on the roof. 

“I’m in charge,” he repeated to himself with a big grin on his face. He kicked his legs up onto the coffee table and folded his arms above his head, “King of the house. Master of the home. Lord of the abode.” he listed off, gently stroking his own ego.

Meanwhile, Poweredd was soaring above the city, looking for anything remotely suspicious. With it being so early in the day, most people were just starting to come out. The daily crowds milled about the shops and sidewalks.

“Must be nice,” Poweredd grumbled, “They get to relax, and here I am on a wild goose chase.” He perched up on top of a building, looking down at the people below, “For all I know it skipped town.”

He sat there mulling it over. There had to be a clue he was missing. Something he skipped; a footprint, a hair, anything. Without that last little puzzle piece he was left with nothing. 

He pulled out his phone and tapped on the video the police chief sent him from the last time it appeared. In the very corner the date was marked in white letters. The video was all in bright greens like night vision since the chief ripped it from a traffic camera. He watched it over and over again for clues and never found anything. 

Slowing it down, he picked through frame by frame, trying to pick out any tiny detail he missed. At first, everything was the same, but then he noticed something. The monster was only attacking things when it had the strange light in its eye. Anytime the light stopped, it stopped. These moments only lasted a few seconds, so it was no wonder why he didn’t pick that up.

“It’s being controlled?” he wondered to himself. Suddenly his train of thought was derailed by someone calling to him. Looking down, there was a little kid staring up at him. 

“Are you a real superhero?!” She called up, cupping her hands so her tiny voice could be heard.

Poweredd sat up, “Yeah! Watch this!” He stood up on the ledge, and dived. The little girl shrieked in fright. She covered her eyes in fright.

Just before hitting the ground, Poweredd stopped himself by hovering just over her head, “Look,” he chuckled with a giant smile on his face.

The girl peeked out from her hands, looking up at the hero flying over her. Her face lit up with pure joy, “COOL!” She bounced up and down, pigtails bobbing along with her body, “What else can you do?!”

Poweredd landed on the ground, “Well…” He scanned around, and found some cardboard boxes in the alley. Stacking them up, he looked back at the girl, “I got a little something I call the Power Punch. Here, watch this.” Radiant green light collected around his fists and eyes. Reeling back his arm, he punched the cardboard boxes, blasting the one he hit into pieces and sending the other boxes flying.

The little girl cheered, “THAT WAS AWESOME!” She was bouncing so much he was sure she was going to start flying herself, “You’re the coolest! Who are you?!”

Poweredd chuckled, “Name’s Poweredd. The best superhero around...in this city at least.”

The girl got his autograph from him before running off to meet with her friends, “Thank you mister Poweredd!”

Poweredd waved her goodbye, resting his hands on his hips and feeling much better about the situation. His brief moment of pride was cut off by the phone ringing, “Hello?”

The police chief was on the other end, “Poweredd, that you kid? Listen up, I just got a whole bunch of reports on that monster of yours. It’s finally showing itself.”

“Really?! Where?!” Poweredd questioned.

“Some little neighborhood on the outer part of the city. This first one said it was on Dubrary Lane.” The police chief replied. Something was shuffling around on his end.

Poweredd’s heart skipped a beat. That was the same street he lived on, “Dubrary Lane? Are you sure?”

The chief just grunted in reply, “You better get over there. I got reports saying it’s attacking a civilian. I think it said the guy was a uh...redhead.” The chief hung up on him.

“Oh god, Matt!” Poweredd shouted, barreling off toward home. A sinking feeling in his gut came out of nowhere, made by not only stress, but his powers reaching their limit. He used up so much just trying to find the monster that he didn’t let himself recharge, and showing off to that kid helped by no means.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Forty-One → in which Beatrice leaves the island

As we suspected, we are to be castaways once more. The others believe that the island should stay far from the treachery of the world, and so this safe place is too dangerous for us. We will leave by a boat B has built and named after me. I am heartbroken, but I have been heartbroken before, and this might be the best for which we can hope. We cannot truly shelter our children, here or anywhere else, and so it might be best for us, and for the baby, and for Lilac, to immerse ourselves in the world. 

If our second is a girl, we will name her Violet. If it is a boy, Lemony. 

“Excuse me?” Lilac gasped. 

All eight children burst into laughter, and Bea, sitting on Sunny’s knee, let out a happy shriek. 

“Lemony?” Violet repeated. “They would have named me Lemony?” 

“That’s not even your fucking Dad!” Lilac elbowed her. “How awkward would that have been?” 

“Lemony Baudelaire.” Sunny said, and they all laughed again. 

“You’d think Mother would know better than to curse someone with that name.” Klaus said, pouring them all some more fresh coconut milk. 

“Do you think they found out he was alive?” Nick asked. 

“Who knows?” Lilac shrugged. 

“Do you think my Father knows I’m alive?” Friday asked. 

Sunny smiled at her. “Maybe you’ll find him one day.” 

“Or maybe I won’t and don’t care cause he ditched me.” Friday giggled. “You’re all stuck with me- ha!” 

“Oh, what ever will we do?” Nick laughed. “How will we feed this many children?” 

“Well, maybe we only have to last a year until Lilac turns eighteen, and then we spend our fortune on pop tarts and Pokémon cards.” Solitude said. 

“What the fuck is a pokémon?” Friday said. 

“Well, first we have to make sure we don’t get arrested.” Lilac said. 

“Those papers said that the arson wasn’t blamed on us.” Klaus said. 

“Newspapers aren’t reliable, dipshit.” Nick said. 

“We’ll have to come up with fake names.” Solitude giggled. “I’ll be Sensible.” 

“You will not, I called dibs!” Sunny shouted. 

“We’re not doing that, first of all.” Violet said. “Second, first thing we’re gonna do is find a house where VFD can’t fuck with us.” 

“Cheers to that!” Nick raised his glass. 

“I thought ‘cheers’ was used for alcohol.” Friday said confusedly. 

“Not always.” Klaus assured her. 

“Oh my God,” Lilac said, “Nick, if you let the coconut milk ferment again-” 

“No, no! God, I was just being funny. Stop being a killjoy.” 

“Stop being a bad influence.” 

“You’re a bad influence!” 

Violet jumped up. “Excuse you! I’m the worst influence!” 

They laughed, and Bea raised her arms in a cheer, and Sunny said, “She’s right! She’s the worst influence!” 

“On who?” 

Sunny shrugged and hugged the baby. Lilac watched with a happy gleam in her eyes, and then she turned to Violet. “Um… is everything packed?” 

Violet pushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Most everything’s in the boat. We still need to move in Babbitt’s habitat-” 

“You added the lid, right? So they don’t get hurt in storms?” Solitude asked. 

“Yes, lid’s on. And I added a strap so you can attach it to yourself, like you asked, in case of wreck.” Lilac nodded. “How’s Babbitt doing?” 

“Sleeping.” Solitude beamed. “I suspect Baby Babbitts by the time we reach shore.” 

“I still wanna know how Babbitt had-” Nick began, but Klaus slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Let’s see…” Violet thought. “We replaced the sail, we packed enough clothes and food for a month, some fishbait just in case, storm prep, books-” 

“Cake!” Bea cheered. 

Violet laughed. “Yes, we packed you birthday cake, lil bean.” 

Friday smiled, but Sunny frowned. “Are we sure?” she asked. “That we want to leave? We have everything here.” 

The other Baudelaires shared a look, and then Lilac ran her hand over baby Bea’s hair, which made her burst into giggles. “We can’t hide from treachery forever.” she said. “We can’t hide from the world. We have to face it head on.” 

Sunny considered, and then nodded. “I’ll get my kitchen stuff.” 

“What about this?” Nick looked over at the book their parents had written, and that they’d added to. 

Klaus smiled and ran a hand over the cover, and said, “We should leave it. Some other castaways may need help someday.” 

Lilac ran her hands over the title. “Yeah. Let’s leave this behind.” She smiled and said, “Time to go. Sound off! One!” 

“Two!” Violet cheered, pulling her hair back with her ribbon. 

“Three!” Nick picked up Solitude, who giggled. 

“Four!” Klaus grabbed a few extra books and adjusted his glasses. 

“Five!” Friday called, playing with her bracelet and jumping up to spin her new dress. 

“Six!” Solitude cheered from where Nick was spinning her. 

“Seven!” Sunny shouted, also tying her hair into a ponytail. 

And Beatrice laughed, threw her arms up, and said, “Eight!” 

They pushed the boat out to the edge of the coastal shelf, and glanced at the nameplate, with scratchy writing that had somehow lasted a year. “Yeah,” Nick said, “I ain’t setting sail on a boat named The Olaf.” 

“I think there’s something under it.” Lilac said. The siblings knelt and took the board off, and smiled at the name revealed. 

“Well, look at that.” Klaus said, and he traced their mother’s name. 

Nick put a hand to his necklace, and Lilac to hers. 

“Where’s our little Bea?” Violet asked. “I want to test our life vests.” 

“She’s saying goodbye.” Friday said. “At the graves. She’ll be right back.” 

The Baudelaires nodded; they’d all said goodbye to Kit that morning, while Friday helped Beatrice pack her teething rings. 

“Last chance.” Lilac sighed, looking at the horizon. “We can always stay another year. Or two. Or three.” 

“Fat chance. I’ve been cooped up long enough.” Nick said. 

“Are we really ready? Are we sure?” Lilac asked. 

Violet smiled. “If we wait until we’re ready, we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives.” 

Lilac smiled and nodded. “Friday, you get your little sisters in while we set it off.” 

Friday nodded, picking up Solitude. “Come on, frog-girl.” 

Solitude giggled, before settling Babbitt’s tank underneath a seat. “We’re all ready to go!” she cheered. 

“Freedom!” Nick shouted, causing them to laugh. 

“Wait!” they turned, smiling, to see Bea crawling down the slope as fast as she could. 

“Li!” she called. “Vi! Nick! Kla! Fri! Sol! Sun!” 

“Oh, come here!” Klaus held out his arms, and lifted her up, swinging her in the air. “We wouldn’t forget you, we never could.” 

“You’re a Baudelaire forever, just like the rest of us.” Nick said. 

“Get in the boat, you little thing!” Sunny called, using a term of endearment she’d made up herself.

Bea nodded, and then looked down at the nameplate of the boat. She frowned, and said, “Beatrice.” 

The Baudelaires grinned. “Yes.” Lilac said. “That’s our mother’s name, and yours. Now come on, we want to set sail while the day is still light.” 

The boys all climbed in the boat, and Klaus pushed aside a bowl of apples to make room for Bea’s seat. Lilac and Violet gave each other a grin, as they pushed the boat off the beach. 

Lilac smiled and said, “Let’s go find something new.” 

They climbed in, and the Beatrice set off. 

Perhaps there was a reunion in their future, on Briny Beach with four children they thought they might never see again. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps there was a way for them to have a normal life, or even an extraordinary one that wouldn’t cause them so much pain. Perhaps Lilac would have a repair shop, and Violet an inventing studio, and Nick a journal to write in for his travels, and Klaus a library, and Solitude her very own Reptile Room, and Sunny a giant kitchen. Perhaps Friday would have a research center, and Duncan a printing press, and Isadora a space to write her poems, and Quigley a room to make his maps, and Fiona a mushroom garden. Perhaps Beatrice would have a very large family. Perhaps, in ten years, Beatrice would have a much happier message for her uncle than he expected. Perhaps there would be none of that. Or perhaps there would be more. 

But right now, all they knew was that something was ahead. 

And all eight Baudelaires looked towards the horizon, and knew that, whatever happened, their story wasn’t over yet, and that was the best they could hope for.

[dearduende]

DID

this all really happen? the way it’s written, no— scratched into the spiral bound, composition, college-ruled everything. each waking moment and fights and fears. and the dreams. including those crushes from afar with code names that I must piece together from hints over months and years, and then tracing back cryptic love notes tucked into lockers now pinned as if evidence pointing to the mens rea— the furtive phone calls in hushed tones from my bathroom as if my parents didn’t notice me flush and steal myself away from the dinner table and the nightly status reports. the secrecy (and the hormones) (and the embarrassment of my existence) (but mostly the hormones) blooming acne across my chin, my forehead, my nose within the grooves of its parentheses willing its contents—each pore—to shrink into an afterthought. I remember now how I had prayed to God to absolve my skin problems and to solve my boy ones. even bargained with Him in bed that I’d stop touching myself— or at least a bit less—as if these whiteheads were His chosen form of punishment. a dozen constellations across my shoulders from which my mother would weave the story of her same hidden shame, shared scars and bumps across our backs like labels in Braille of all the parts I want to hide, she promised: it’ll lessen and pass with time.

yet it still manages to haunt the next generation.

pull out the red string and the pins to map the evidence, the eye witness accounts, the threats and the retaliation and the heartache onto the faded bamboo floors of my parents’ house. the times I willed myself not to cry, stone woman as my mother avalanched again over the granite before me her voice booming and crumbling daring to swallow us. the way I stoically thrilled in the lust of our mutual destruction, first: the sticky salt of our wounds lashed by sharp tongues and second: the umami of it seared and grilled to perfection. still bleeding. medium rare. or when my father stampeded the room. seeing red. throwing a metal water bottle, denting it permanently against the wall then landing on the cold tile. how their swear words were only ever in English (that’s when I knew shit was serious) a rare violence uncondoned by both their mothers’ tongues.

I’m just realizing now: no wonder my brother and I, or I’ll just speak for myself, why I still burst into tears in the middle of their war zone, or whatever else might feel remotely like it. I now know instead of acting as an unsolicited diplomat caught in the crossfire it’s safer to seek asylum in the Switzerland of the next room, one ear still wired to their rising voices (I can’t help it) and their talking points, only to draft peace treaties for a civil war where they’ve long forgotten what it is they’re really fighting about anymore. but back then, this was the only way to snap them out of self-destruct mode by overriding their programming with the parental unit fail-safe. their child crying.

I could walk backwards through it with my eyes closed and show you exactly how the sun slants through the windows. how in late spring afternoon the crystals hanging in the dining room explode a universe of rainbows, little galaxies of light scattered among our dark matter, across the white walls and the floors and the crumbs on the pale table cloth. I could point out all the favorite sun spots of Tiger and Lily (may he rest in peace) and somehow always end up back at the grand piano. there is a tenderness only fingertips know.

dig out the mental blueprints from the archives. the different schools. the cliques and the quacks. the start of another year. short shorts and sweaters. (refer to your diaryjournals for the details).

and then another new journal. how they all somehow begin with the just-after-waking subtle scent of short stories germinating in my mind. they seem to disappear just before I can finish transcribing them and then I’m left empty handed, dumfounded, foolish and doubting and then writing the only kinds of stories I do know, the ones I’m still learning to place in the light sprouting tender roots between sheets of paper, pressed tightly like all those flower petals— if only I could preserve their bright pigment tones. but even imagination fades. and seemingly so do memories. these spines loosely bound and knees and elbows now cracked, scuffed, and crinkled. just a bit creased and water damaged. over the years. but mostly tears—watermarks from another era. once, an errant sprinkler jet from the lawn tap tap tapped against my bedroom window just barely cracked open, as fate would have it. waterlogged stacks of books my pillars now pink and black and blue with mold and flooded the bamboo floors. trying to put out the wrong fires a decade too late, or maybe the right fires as in the written ones, to destroy the evidence. I now keep them sealed in a plastic box.

I plead the fifth. there must be some limit after all these years, when it’s way too late to apologize anyway— I’ve considered, and then talked myself down, from texting or DMing all the people I have wronged. and memory serves no one now. if my handwriting has changed at least a dozen times does that mean I’ve lived a dozen different lives? the Hubba Bubba gum tape chewing preteen blowing bubbles over every i and j and under each ! and then there’s the jagged purple glitter pen cursive as if going slower helps it turn out better— one of those things you realize later in life isn’t always true. there’s the one seemingly always in a rush, skinny and slanted and caffeinated (there are coffee spill stains to prove) always as if she’s just about to topple over. breathe, I want to tell her, no need to move so fast. you will concuss yourself doing so. and two weeks later also topple down the stairs. (both true stories.) life will force you to slow down. I almost forget the one more rounded and grounded printed in ballpoint extra fine so as not to bleed but what’s the cost of living for the sake of perfection? what even is my handwriting now? I had to dig out one of my scrap paper lists to figure out how its a blend, less measured and more movement without being driven purely by entropy.

loosely held together.

and now, how often do I write, like with pen and paper the letters carved and inked their ghosts passing through the walls between pages bumping up against other memories. these lives and voices call out to me across the decades, some more familiar than others almost like specimens in a museum glass box too fragile for the dust or the humidity or the air or the light of day. I’m an archeologist glowing at her simple discovery which really just involves showing up onsite and digging and dusting and continued search over and over into the pits of my being delicately brushing away at the dirt around my bones, the silt and sediment compressing into a cross section of history held in my hand. look! here it is.

so I write again, if only for this moment to leave my future self some clues (in no particular order): the return of my freckles. Craigslist apartment daydreams. I’m building my callouses learning a new landscape of metal strings and broken chords. say a little prayer. tonight, I made choong yao bang from scratch with Mom. I’ve been staying up way too late (it’s 4:35am right now... why?) and then falling asleep to ASMR videos (specifically, Emma). Mom and Dad are actually not fighting much these days despite spending all day under the same roof (find your Google doc, love in the time of quarantine).

my younger self might not even recognize these people inhabiting our same house.

Mom and Dad are both still here. and I’m trying not to take it all for granted, I promise. we’re together for now but he’s gone again (eerily, much like 10 years ago but this time on his own terms) or at least he’s far away, who knows, who’s to say. we’re giving him time and space. and we’re learning how to hold each other while we fall apart, sometimes all at the same time. usually in different ways.

how I’m scared and excited for my life to unfurl one leaf at a time. allowing myself the gift, the anticipation, the surprise, and then counting the splits.

reach for the sunlight, keep reaching.

and I still don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up but when have I ever had it all figured out and what fun is that.

and a note to my younger self: PS—not only will you continue to write for emotional release (reference my pure bewilderment of this cathartic power in diaryjournal dated February 10, 2007) you will also connect with other humans in your words and we’ll play in our world and revel in theirs too. keep writing, for yourself. and dare to share it with others.

gather what others refer to as the weeds, make a bouquet, blow and scatter the dandelion seeds.