#twin tiger t shirt

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Tiger Club (part 1)

Steddie || ~2.1k words || rating: M || tags: single-dad steve harrington, teacher eddie munson, teacher chrissy cunningham, eddie and chrissy are best friends, steve harrington is dustin and max's dad, dustin and max are twins, meet cute, humor and fluff

~~~

Eddie’s not usually a teacher to bitch about his job. He loves getting his little kiddos excited about reading and story-telling, and surprisingly, teaching is just as fulfilling as he’d hoped it’d be.

This year, however, he drew the proverbial short straw for extracurricular activities. When he was asked to coach soccer he supposes he could’ve politely declined instead of gagging in the middle of the teacher’s meeting, embarrassing the new Principal and causing the history teacher to actually vomit. Empathetic vomiting– Eddie’s a teacher and he’s still learning something new every day.

Does he really seem like the kind of guy who coaches sports? No, of course not. He’ll leave that to the gorgeous and talented math teacher Ms. Cunningham, and the unbearable meathead Phys. Ed. teacher Mr. Carver, who won’t stop drooling over her like a jock peacocking for the head cheerleader. A relatively adept assessment since Chrissy coaches the Little Tumblers gymnastics team and Jason coaches Tiger Cubs basketball.

Regardless, because of Eddie’s little stunt, he’s been relegated to alternating his after school hours between Tiger Club, and detention. The two most boring extracurriculars for kiddos and teachers alike. All he does is wait for parents to pick their kids up, and they’re either too busy demanding to know why they’re child is in detention, or screaming for them to get in the car, to stop and say well hello Mr. Munson, thank you for watching little Joanie today. The small consolation to his predicament is he alternates each week with Ms. Cunningham.

When Chrissy started at Hawkins Middle last fall, Eddie knew exactly what to expect: an ex-high school jock turned girl’s sportsball coach, hoping to relive the glory days. Someone who’d be cocky, self-righteous, and bitchy.

To his surprise, she turned out to be quiet and withdrawn, separating herself from the rest of the staff. He’d thought she’d warm up soon enough, but when she still hadn’t made any friends by winter break, Eddie decided to do something about it.

He adopted her as one of his sheep– a practice of gathering misfits he’s continued into adulthood. She looked skeptical when he first invited her out for happy hour, wary after weeks of Jason’s obnoxious flirting. 

Two margaritas later, he’d learned Chrissy had come out to her family who’d then promptly disowned her for her sinful ways. She moved out, got her degree, and took the first job offered to her at Hawkins Middle.

Eddie couldn’t be more grateful for her presence in his life. Chrissy is his other half and she seems to feel the same. She’s not cocky or arrogant, although she’s definitely bitchy, but in a way which perfectly matches him. Chris knows how to take him down a peg, and he knows how to lift her up. They balance each other inside and out.

The other staff, however, see them as an odd pair solely because of their severely opposing aesthetics. Where Eddie’s etched in hard edges and dark colors, donning leather jackets and a myriad of old concert t-shirts, Chrissy flows in soft lines and pastels, garnered in sundresses and cardigans with the occasional jersey for game days. 

Many of the staff also love to gossip about a possible secret relationship between the pair– opposites attract and all of that nonsense– which actually works well for them. Better for everyone to think they’re sleeping together rather than the rural people of Indiana discovering queers working around their young, impressionable children. 

From their first happy hour, they’d started the Friday tradition of swiping dating apps and bitching about their love lives over margaritas and nachos. It’s one of the best parts of Eddie’s week.

And it’s Friday, which means they should be huddled in their corner booth right now, one shot of tequila each under their belts. But here he is, standing outside next to the jungle gym at 4pm waiting for the twins to be picked up by their dad. 

Go figure the guy’s late. Again. 

According to Chrissy, this guy Steve has been late every day this week– and it’s only the first week of school. He’s probably one of those parents who thinks teachers work to serve them, like they don’t have their own lives outside of school. It’s Friday for shit’s sake, he’s hungry and he needs a smoke.

“Chris, this is ridiculous. Detention ends at 3:30, same as Tiger Club. Are we just going to keep letting this guy get away with this?” Eddie’s fingers twitch towards the vape in his back pocket. Obviously he doesn’t smoke in front of the kids, but they’re supposed to be gone by now.

“Eddie, just relax, okay? He’s a nice guy, and it sounds like he’s a single dad with a chaotic job. Try to cut him some slack.” She gives him a reassuring smile, knocking her elbow into his side. “Don’t worry we’ll get some salsa in you and you’ll be good as new,” she snarks.

He shoots her a seething glare but she just smiles at him and smoothes out her sundress against the summer breeze. As Eddie crafts the perfect retort– it was going to be a really good one too– a maroon BMW SUV pulls up to the curb.

Fucking finally, Eddie thinks. If Chris isn’t going to say anything to this guy about his chronic tardiness, then he will.

They both start towards the car when a tall woman with a dark blonde bob and a pale freckled face steps out of the driver’s seat. She’s wearing a cropped Hozier t-shirt and oversized cotton overalls covered in pins. Eddie notices a small white, pink, and orange flag next to a pin of a cartoon ghost with boobs that just says “boooooobies”. He likes her already.

Eddie turns to ask Chrissy who this mystery woman is, but it seems she’s also clocked the pins.

“You’re not Steve,” Chrissy shouts. She winces as the woman arches her brow at the abrupt outburst. “I just mean that Steve has been here every day, and that’s his car, but you’re not Steve. I mean, obviously you’re not Steve, you’re you. You know you’re not Steve, you don’t need me to tell you that.”

The following silence is solid and impenetrable. Eddie’s never seen Chrissy this flustered before. Her bambi eyes shine wide and bright, paired with a hot pink flush climbing up to her ears. She’s fiddling with the buttons on her lavender cardigan and it seems like she can’t decide if she should stare directly at the woman in front of her, or very intensely in absolutely any other direction.

Not-Steve’s growing smile and matching blush tells him maybe he’s not the only one who’s noticed Chrissy’s little crush.

Interesting.

Just as Eddie steps in to save his friend from mortal anguish, he’s interrupted by high-pitched screeches from the playground.

“Auntie Robbie,” the twins cry in unison. It’d be creepy if they weren’t so goddamned adorable. 

“My munchkins!” The kids crash into her, the three of them falling to the ground in a heap of limbs. “Oof okay let’s make sure you don’t take me out before I can get you twerps home.”

He only knows of the twins from what Chrissy has told him this week, since she gets to see all of the incoming sixth graders, whereas Eddie teaches seventh and eighth grade. Working with younger kids is great, don’t get him wrong, but the available reading material for his literature units only gets better with age.

The curly-haired boy scrambles up to collect his Minecraft hat from where it’d fallen off in the scuffle. He’s small, hyperactive as all hell, and missing his front teeth, which Eddie can only tell because of the kid’s unbridled megawatt smile. 

While the boy raves about his school day, the young red headed girl rolls her eyes at his antics, but it’s easy to spot the fondness underneath. Her two copper braids are adorned with small butterfly clips, matching the fake butterfly tattoos on her left wrist. In contrast to her more girlish accessories, she’s wearing a Hawkin’s Hospital softball team shirt which has to be a men’s medium, at least. It’s been tucked into her hot pink shorts, but it drowns her nonetheless.

In short, they’re both absolutely adorable.

When Eddie turns his attention from the kids, Chrissy’s finishing gently explaining the pick up times. Thank God.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Robin sheepishly replies. “His shifts have been really hectic this week and he’s on call today so–”

“Wait,” the girl interrupts. “Does that mean he won’t be home for dinner?” She moves to stand away from the mess of tangled limbs, scowling to hide the obvious hurt in her eyes.

“Max, honestly I’m not sure. I know he’s trying really hard to change his shifts, so hopefully it won’t be forever. Okay?” The reassurance seems to ease a bit of the tension in Max’s shoulders and scrunched brow. “But to make up for it, we’re going to have dinner at Aunt Nancy and Uncle Johnny’s house. I think the Sinclairs will be there too.”

“Ooooooo,” the boy teases, a shit-eating grin on his face, “Lucas will be there!”

“Shut up, Dustin!” Her fingers reach up to fidget with the small heart pendant on her necklace, while a light blush coasts across her freckles.

“Okay kiddos that’s enough, let’s get you out of here so your wonderfully patient teachers can actually start their weekend,” Robin replies, smiling while coaxing the twins towards the car. “I’m sorry again for being late, I swear it won’t happen again.”

“Totally cool, don’t worry about it,” Chrissy replies, a little too casually. The scarlet that invaded her chest and ears has receded to a dusting of pale pink on her cheeks. Robin’s smile grows wider as the two women stare at each other, cartoon hearts and flying babies in diapers wielding bow and arrows floating around their heads. 

Eddie clears his throat– loudly.

“OH, right,” Robin starts. She reaches up to fiddle one of her many pins as she finally notices Eddie’s presence. “I should let you get back to your, to your uhh, him, I mean.”

“Mr. Munson! He’s just Mr. Munson.” Eddie can actually see the wheels in her brain spinning faster than they can take off. It’s cute, he’s just trying not to feel a little slighted. “He’s my coworker. My friend, actually, he’s my best friend, Eddie.”

“Oh,” Robin says again, more relaxed this time. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry if you’ve had to wait for Steve too.”

“No, I’ve been doing detention, but I’m sure I’ll get to meet him next week. I’ve heard a bit about him from Chrissy. Chaotic work schedule, single dad, twins,” Eddie says, gesturing to Max and Dustin talking amongst themselves.

“Yeah,” Robin absently draws the word out, eyes roaming over Eddie top to bottom.

Surprisingly, he feels himself blush. He’s not even into women but damn has it been awhile since he’s been checked out so blatantly. One of the many queer struggles he and Chris have bonded over is how difficult dating is in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA. So other than the occasional weekend fling in the city for Eddie, and one five-month long-distance relationship for Chrissy, neither have seen any recent action.

Sue him for getting flustered at being so obviously ogled, even if she is clearly into Chrissy. That just leaves Eddie wondering why he’s being visibly raked over by a random lesbian.

“So, Eddie, you said you’ll be here next week, yeah? When Steve’s here for pick up,” she asks, with innocent curiosity in her voice but a glint of something suspicious in her eyes.

“Umm yeah,” he says, very eloquently, “I did just say that.”

“Good! I’ll make sure Steve’s definitely here next week to grab the kids. He should meet all of his kids’ teachers.”

Before Eddie can correct her– he’s not their teacher– Robin shoots him a coy smile and a wink while turning to leave. The kids say their goodbyes, scrambling into the car, and as it pulls away from the curb Dustin rolls down his window to wave as they drive off.

Eddie stands in stunned silence next to his unusually quiet best friend, the two slowly processing the whirlwind of whatever the fuck just happened.

“Well,” Chrissy says, a shell-shocked smile on her face, “I guess we have something to talk about over margs.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, still reeling after the odd interaction, “I guess we do.”

~~~

Part 2

full story on ao3

thank you @carolperkinsexgirlfriend for all the beta work!!

[miynt0012]

[SIMS DOWNLOAD] Tomlinson Twins

raiden (on the left) & charley (on the right) maxis mix | two outfits each | full cc list

hehe twins.

they pretty.

please don’t share my sims / pictures of my sims on the gallery or on any other platform

DOWNLOAD: mega

cc list:

genetics (both)

yooniesim - imperfection teeth set | divinecap - gaia skinblend | remussirion - eyebrows 07 | PYXIS - about face (skin details) | poyopoyo - eyes n17 | okruee - misc face details | 

genetics (charley)

NSW - cartoon style genetics set part II (rose skinblend B full body) | NSW - bodycare kit (cleavage mask n6 mm overlay) | squeamishsims - booboo blush | spookysims - lip masks | kijiko - 3d uncurled lashes

hair (both)

sleepingsims - bobbi braid buns (v1) | the kusnstwollen - tiger cub hair

makeup (charley)

NSW - fox soul set (eyeshadow n2) | pralinesims - sweet cat eyeliner n02 

makeup (raiden)

NSW - female new year collection (eyelighter n3)  

clothes (charley)

gorillax3 - cropped ruffle turtleneck weater | elliesimple - baggy denim jeans | miwksowp - garage hoodie (needs mesh, marigold - L9 hoodie) | trillyke - el dorado denim shorts 

clothes (raiden)

okruee - a set of cc i forgot about (undone overalls) | simandy - drown in the night set (nights pants) | plbsims - butter t-shirt | gorillax3 - v-neck sweater & shirt |   

accessories (charley)

nickname - airpods max (v2 HQ) | pralinesims - stigma earrings | trillyke - angel eyes socks | pralinesims - trouble piercing set (nose left)   

accessories (raiden)

pralinesims - shine forever glasses 

shoes (both)

serenity - luna set (joona boots) | aretha - november collection (alex sneakers masc frame) 

extras (both)

kijiko - ea eyelashes remover | NSW - male asian collection (lips preset m n11-18) | evoxyr - bad memory nose presets | jiumiQAQ - jaw presets | luumia - presets and sliders (ear presets) | saruin - androgynous male presets (n2) | euno - body preset 9-12 | hellfrozeover - hip dips slider

+ cc I couldn't find online, included in the sims' folder (3 files)

a preview of their outfits:

please take a look at my TOU before downloading!! thank you!

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Baby and the Bees: Leveled Up

Yang: Blake! Blake! Blake! Look! The shirts finally came in!

Blake: (nursing the twins) That's nice, Yang... Wait... ShirtS???

Yang and Tian (Cubby) enter the living room wearing t-shirts that say "Leveled up to Daddy/Big Sister" respectively. The shirts have videogame controllers on them.

Yang: Well... Cubby wanted one too...

Tian: We also got ones for Aunty Ruby and Aunty Weiss! (Holds up shirts that say "Leveled up to Aunty")

Blake: (sighs) How long have you been waiting to get those?

Yang: Years, Blake. YEARS!!! (picks up Tian and smothers her and hugs and kisses) Ever since we got this little bundle of love! Mwuah! Mwuah! Mwuah!

Tian: (squeals and screams while laughing and struggling in Yang's grasp)

Blake: (laughs and feels the twins detach) Well, how about you put our Little Tiger down and help me burp the twins?

Yang: Got it, Baby! Wanna help, Cubby?

Tian: Yeah!

[pin-crusher2000]

Character file 021: Otho-Ra

StarChild is a young superhero who is the adopted daughter of Superman, & one half of the Super Twins.

Appearance: a young white girl with brown hair that’s design in a bob cut, & brown eyes.

Outfit: a red shirt with blue long sleeves with a red & yellow S on the chest, yellow belt, black pants, brown gloves & shoes. (Same outfit in comics)

As StarChild in my universe, she wears a purple long sleeve shirt/T-shirt with a white star on the front, & a purple & yellow S on the back, black jeans with stars on the side & on the back pockets, white sneakers & a beanie with a star on the side & a yellow S on the back. She also has chains around her wrist.

Personality: kind, naive, intelligent, “punch first, ask questions later” type of personality.

Powers: she is a phaelosian, a evolutionary offshoot of kryptonians, which means she has all the powers of a regular kryptonian but a phaelosian can shoot blasts of blue (red for males in my universe) energy from their hands & eyes, can create constructs like swords & axes, & create force fields. In my universe, she is a descendant of the original StarChild, a demigod, which allows her a transforming state with sky blue spiky hair which doubles her power.

Trivia/FunFacts

Her favorite brother is Phantom-Wing (Chris Kent)

Likes to dye a little bit of her hair purple & paint her nails red & pink.

Likes to play baseball with her brothers; got a mean throw.

Besides her family, her favorite hero is Wonder Woman; she’s also a honorable Amazonian

Likes Pokémon, favorite is pikachu.

Favorite animal is a tiger.

[seoafin]

exposure therapy

pairing: fushiguro toji & reader / gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru word count: ~5.0k warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms with the bottle, unresolved trauma, fushiguro toji as a teacher??, protective stsg, crack rating: T n: for additional context about the au (read on ao3)

s: in the span of three hours you learn several things about the man that (nearly!) killed you. also alcohol makes for funny misunderstandings.

You join Shoko on the grass, eyes never leaving the three figures sparring on the training grounds as you hug your knees towards your chest. Her shoulder fondly bumps into yours as she snubs out the cigarette in her fingers on the grass and raises an eyebrow.

“I thought Yaga-sensei excused you from training,” she exhales, blowing out the remnants of cigarette smoke. Her eyes flit down to your covered wound, freshly bandaged by your practiced fingers this morning.

“Just for a little while,” you reply.

Satoru and Suguru movements are fluid, their movements tightly entwined, merging together with a synchronicity that could only come from years of boundless trust and an intimate knowledge of the way the other's movements. Weaving in and out, the other taking the other’s place as soon as the other retreats, leaving the opponent no room to advance. They fight together like you’d expect; two gears perfectly slotted against each other, constantly turning. 

It’s a detriment when they spar each other, but together they are almost unrivaled, and it’s breathtaking to observe. 

Any normal opponent would be overwhelmed, immediately on the defense from a non stop barrage of attacks, but Fushiguro Toji is no regular opponent. 

Your newest teacher fights with the prowess of a tiger and the swiftness of a cheetah, deftly dodging, blocking attacks, and receiving their punches with his own. Twin expressions of ferocity and exertion are written in Satoru and Suguru’s expressions as the two of them unrelentingly attack. Shirts have been discarded beneath the almost oppressive sun, and you can see the cuts and scrapes lining their torsos and arms. The gleam of sweat lining their bodies. Measured breaths. Narrowed gazes. Concentrated intensity in every action. The air is tense, a fuse seconds away from sparking to epic proportions. 

Fushiguro-sensei hasn’t managed to escape completely unscathed. There’s a thin cut on his face, and a large bruise blooming over his ribs. You wouldn’t be surprised if it meant a few broken ribs. But you also aren't sure he's going all out.

Despite that, there’s a ruthless grin cut across his face. He’s enjoying this.

Her gaze is suspiciously blank, almost apathetic. “Then why,” Shoko finally says, gaze also locked onto the sparring scene below, “do you have your katana?” 

The world is silent except for the sound of flesh striking flesh. Fushiguro-sensei's movements seem almost discordant next to your classmates’. Less strategy, more animalistic instinct; years of experience and training has honed his body to unimaginable heights. He is a dissonant note against the orchestrated symphony that is Suguru and Satoru, and it is almost jarring to see him fight with his bare hands.

After all, there had been a weapon in his hands when he nearly killed you.

You can see the exact moment Satoru is lulled into Fushiguro’s rhythm. A single missed step, the strike of a fist a split second too late, and the grin on Fushiguro’s face widens into a cutthroat smile. In a blink of an eye, Satoru is laid out flat against his back, facing the sky with a wheeze that makes even Shoko wince.

Suguru lasts four minutes before he too, joins Satoru on the floor. 

Since the mock spar has reached the end, you stand, adjusting the katana on your shoulder. Shoko narrows her eyes, immediately disapproving. You resolutely stare at anything else but her.

“Tell me you aren’t.”

“I want to,” you reply earnestly, looking down towards where Fushiguro is standing triumphant, water bottle grasped in his hands. You’re not close enough to hear what he’s saying, but he’s no doubt pointing out the weaknesses in their defenses, proven by the scowl on Satoru’s face and the unusually peeved look on Suguru's. He gathers his hair back up, irritation coloring his face.

“You’re crazy." She is wholly unsympathetic. "He left you for dead. You’d be dead if Satoru and Suguru hadn’t gotten you to me in time, or do you not remember?” With that final statement, she pointedly stares at you, fingers clenching against her skirt, as if itching for another cigarette.

You sigh. “I know,” you say quietly, staring at your feet. “But this is something I want to do." You don't say anything else. 

"No," she says. "You don't." You know she's only concerned about you, but you think this is something that even Shoko can't comprehend. Something you yourself can't. You are under no illusion that you'll win.

Sometimes, you wake up in a fit of terror, sweat drenched and trembling. 

“I can move around just fine,” you say wryly. You’ve already been on a few missions since then. Jujutsu sorcerers are in short supply; you couldn’t be spared too much time off a demanding schedule despite what Shoko had termed a grievous injury. “It’s just a practice spar.”

“ Practice ,” she scoffs. “As if that was just practice .”

You can’t deny that. Even an outsider could have clearly seen that Satoru and Suguru had been aiming for serious bodily harm, their agenda evident. You suppose they’re still nursing bruised egos and anger at Fushiguro-sensei's new position as your teacher, as dictated by the higher ups and elders who had sought to humiliate him. A fitting punishment, they had said, threatening a death warrant at any sign of rebellion.

You have observed your newest teacher for a month already. You're still unsure if punishment means anything to the man called Fushiguro Toji.

“I’m not Satoru or Suguru,” you say firmly, despite the rush of blood to your ears threatening to topple you over. “I know my limits.”

She eyes you blankly. There's a grumble on the tip of her exhale, and she stands. “Alright, but I’m watching at a closer distance. I’m going to be there with you.”

You smile.

The sun beats down on you as the two of you make your way down the hill. Shoko seats herself on a bench off to the side, legs crossed, expression casual but eyes discerning.

“And you,” Fushiguro-sensei thrusts a thumb in Satoru’s direction, “are too impatient. You underestimate your opponents and rely too much on the expectation that you’ll end things quickly. You might be able to bullshit the average jujutsu sorcerer, but those careless mistakes add up.”

Satoru makes a face from the ground, no doubt recognizing what Fushiguro-sensei is referring to. “Yeah, yeah, Zenin -sensei.”

Fushiguro-sensei bares his teeth in a smile.

The second you step onto the level training ground, three gazes turn to you. Satoru glances the katana slung over your shoulder, and shoots upwards at the same time Suguru’s lips thin, displeasure written into the lines of his face. 

“The hell?”

Suguru’s disapproval is a heavy feeling, and your stomach turns. It almost makes you hesitate.

“Well, well,” Fushiguro eyes you with an imperceptible nod, and you swallow the shaky feeling back down into the pit of your stomach. “Look who decided to finally join us.”

“Yaga-sensei excused her from lessons for the time being,” Suguru says in a pleasantly ugly voice. “The injuries she sustained were life threatening, after all.”

“My bad,” is your sensei’s nonchalant response, and Suguru glowers.

“You’re insane,” Satoru hisses, in front of you now, glasses long discarded. His eyes are exceptionally bright and you don’t think it’s the sun. “Did this geezer give you brain damage when he almost killed you? Do you need to get checked by Shoko again?”

He actually killed you , you want to say, but instead you shrug off his comment, turning to face your sensei. 

“Fushiguro-sensei, I’d like to spar too if you don’t mind.”

Protests jump off two lips but you pay them no mind.

His dark gaze bears into you, and you are momentarily blinded by tunnel vision, thrown back to the deep bowels of Jujutsu Tech, the inverted spear of heaven embedded in your stomach as blood spills, rushing up past your throat, pouring out of your wound, as your vision blinking in and out. You tense, body locking in place. You squeeze the sheath of your katana so tightly your hand pales.

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you." His eyes glint in anticipation. You wonder if his weapon of choice is the inverted spear of heaven.

You slide your katana off your shoulders, but Satoru’s hand comes up to the handle, stopping you from pulling it out. You frown, but he doesn’t budge, grip unyielding.

“Sato—”

Frustration contorts his features. “Do you really think you’re in any condition to be asking for a rematch?”

Not a rematch, you want to say.

“I’m fine ,” you insist, the two of you on opposite ends of your katana, pulling. The audacity of it all. You won’t win against Satoru if he’s serious, but you will make sure he knows you disagree with him to the end. Fushiguro only watches the exchange, amused. 

“Let go—”

“I’m sure you want Zenin-sensei to be at his best,” Suguru interrupts, and you glance at him, confused. There’s a smile on his lips, but it's cold, and directed towards the aforementioned male instead of you. “You’ll want to get some of those ribs looked at, sensei.”

Fushiguro-sensei shoots him a nasty look, remembering. He rubs at the reddening skin. “I went easy on you both.”

Satoru’s mouth snaps open.

You weren’t expecting to fight him injured. That's not fair at all. Your resident healer is only a few feet away.

Turning you say, “Shoko’s right over—” 

The bench is empty, her previous presence gone without a trace.

“...There.”

Damn it.

  The steps of Jujutsu Tech overlooking the city of Tokyo offer you what you think is the best view of the city.

Another sleepless night, staring at the lights of the skyscrapers and buildings until it all blurs together into a misshapen smudge. If you’re lucky, exhaustion will overtake you, and you’ll get three hours of sleep tonight.

Footsteps sound behind you, and you rise. Shoko’s done earlier than usual. Before you could confront her earlier today, two bodies had been rushed into the infirmary, and you lost your chance. Ultimately, there’s no use. You could never really stay mad at Shoko for more than a couple of minutes.

You turn, body involuntarily flinching in a split second reaction. Your hands reach for the sheath of a katana that isn't there. You close your eyes. There is no weapon, no inverted spear of heaven, you tell yourself. Riko is still alive. Satoru and Suguru are healthy and safe. That's all that matters. 

“Fushiguro…sensei.”

In the encroaching darkness of the night, he seems half man half shadow, becoming one with the silhouette of the large trees that line the entrance.

He squints at you. “It’s late. Don’t you kids ever sleep?”

You don’t answer.

In the silence he sighs, a hand raking through his hair. “Can’t sleep?”

“...Something like that.”

He’s thinking, finger tapping at his side in a way that reminds you of Satoru. “Alright,” he says. “How ‘bout a nightcap?”

You look at him blankly. “I’m too young to drink.”

“Funny that. The alcohol that Ieiri hides in the infirmary seems to have gone missing then." He nonchalantly passes you, starting down the steps into the base of the mountain. He doesn't stop, he doesn't even look at you. "Coming?"

You hesitate.

It lasts a second.

You take a single step, and then: "Wait."

He stops, glancing at you over his broad shoulders.

You take a deep, shuddering breath as you meet his gaze. It's odd seeing him below you. The memory of his blade has been engraved onto your very being. You are scarred for life. When he almost killed you, he seemed grander and taller than even Satoru.

"I won't forgive you," you say. "You almost killed Satoru and you hurt Suguru." No matter what, you'd never forgive that.

Face illuminated by the bustle of the Tokyo skylights, you think you see something akin to approval highlighted on the sharp angles of his face.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

  You are in Kabukicho, observing neon lights that spell out Fancy Love Kiss. The sign is accompanied by large red lips right next it. 

It's...bright.

“This is…” you tilt your head. “A hostess club?”

Fushiguro only beckons you in with a wave of his hand.

The interior is dimly lit, velvet chairs both decorating the spacious lounge and separating the area into four different areas. One area is filled as three women crowd the businessman luxuriating in the middle of the loveseat, bathing in affections of the many hostesses, a bottle of champagne in his loose hand. Empty bottles of alcohol are crowded on the glass table. The three women look up upon your arrival, faces brightening with a familiarity that can only be directed towards the man behind you.

Your sensei walks in just as a glamorous woman approaches, looking remarkably put together at two in the morning. 

“Toji!” She squeals, easily throwing her arms around his neck. “It’s been a while, I was starting to think you’d moved on!” 

“From you? Never,” he replies with an easy smile, hand brushing her cheek. You stare at him. The woman flushes, hands immediately flitting to adjust her curled hair.

“Good for nothing flirt,” she grumbles goodnaturedly, “Acting like I’m one of your—” catching your gaze, she straightens, a brief second of surprise and calculation crossing her face before it schools into something more controlled.

“And this is?” She looks from you to Fushiguro-sensei, and snorts. “A little young for you, don’t ya think?” She raises a delicate hand to her lips and clears her throat daintily. “It’s nice to meet you, darling.”

“Same here,” you say softly, still trying to comprehend Fushiguro’s relationship with the hostesses in the club. Customer seems the most likely answer, but the fondness in the woman's eyes is genuine.

“What kind of man do you take me for?” Fushiguro responds, looking thoroughly amused. “She’s one of my students.”

The woman lets out a decidedly undainty chortle. Instead of questioning the veracity of Fushiguro’s claim of being a teacher like you’re sure many would, she says: “Usually you’d bring your male students to a hostess club, wouldn’t you? What were you thinking? Bringing a nice looking girl to this kinda place.”

Fushiguro looks at you. Raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind, do ya?”

You wordlessly shake your head. 

She studies you. “Got a boyfriend?”

You shake your head.

She beams. “There’s a host club next door, you know? I know a few of the boys and I bet they’d love to—”

“Quit it Marie,” your teacher says with a grin. “Not this one, trust me.”

She raises a perfect eyebrow. “Oh?”

The two of them share a look, and her eyebrows shoot up even higher. You watch them in silence.

“Popular girl,” she hums, eyes bright and mischievous as she looks you up and down. You’re not quite sure what she means. You’ve never been popular in your life.

“Now!” she announces, clapping her hands. “I’m assuming drinks are in order? Any reasons to celebrate?”

“Nothing in particular,” he replies, as the two of you are quickly ushered to the empty spread bar in the middle of the establishment where impressive rows of liquor and alcohol and sake are displayed by ambient lighting.

Marie slides behind the bar, grabbing several bottles of alcohol and a mixer with practiced movements. “Any requests?”

Before you can say anything, or even think about it, Fushiguro speaks up. “This one’ll take the strongest thing you’ve got.”

You shrug when Marie looks to you for confirmation. “I could go for something strong.”

“My kind of woman,” she grins, immediately getting to work mixing various alcoholic substances. A long pour of Japanese whisky. She hums a pretty tune.

“How do the two of you know each other?” You speak up, curious.

She winks at you. “Acquaintances of the trade.” The implications don’t take long to settle. You look to your side, at your sensei who only gives you a lazy smirk.

“Surprised?”

“Not really.”

He is as unbothered as you thought he’d be. “Ouch.”

Fushiguro Toji. Former Zenin. Mercenary. Gigolo. Teacher. You can’t help but think it’s an odd, almost fated progression of events that led to this exact moment.

“You’re a teacher now, aren’t you? If honest work and a steady paycheck can’t straighten you out, nothing can,” Marie says with an affectionate sigh. In the next second, a bubbling concoction is placed in front of you in a tall mug.

“Careful now,” Marie says, “Most of it’s hard liq—”

You down the drink, savoring the burn as it slides down your throat easily. Marie’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets while a low whistle escapes Fushiguro’s lips.

The drink is down to less than a quarter when you place it back down again. Weightlessness settles into your bones, lighter than air, as the humming of all the background noises play in your ears. You suck in a breath, and open your eyes. 

“That’s a first,” Marie comments, eyes still wide.

“Still standing?” Fushiguro-sensei asks, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

You nod, head feeling more lucid than it has in weeks. You know that doesn’t mean anything good, but the buzzing has started, taking all your nerves and lethargy and sleepless nights with it, where it will all lie dormant until tomorrow morning. The dissociated fragments of yourself slowly meld back together for a brief respite, granting you a clarity that has the tension slipping away from your shoulders. 

The entrance swings open and a couple more businessmen walk in, drunk, judging from their jerky, uncoordinated movements. “Marie!” The oldest one of the group yells, red faced, loosening his tie. “Where’s my darling?”

Marie sighs, wiping her hand with a cloth on the counter. “Well, I need to take care of the Mizono group. Buzz if the two of you need anything,” she reaches over and squeezes your hand with a charming smile. Your face warms, when her thumb runs over your hand. “My treat for an old friend.”

You watch as she greets the group, and the man who spoke up earlier swings an arm around her shoulder as she giggles and guides them to empty couches in the corner.

Your gaze swings back to Fushiguro, whose eyes are eagerly glued to the small tv on the side. Horse racing. Their colored saddles and numbers flash as they gallop towards the finish line. You observe for a few more seconds.

“Number 7,” you murmur, leaning back in your seat and making yourself comfortable. “Number 3 is going to be the runner up.”

The only indication he heard you is when he narrows his eyes at the screen. It doesn't take long. Just as you predicted, the purple saddled horse who had been slated to come fourth overwhelms Number 3 at the last second, narrowly passing the other horses and reaching the finish line.

He clicks his tongue, a sullen look settling on his face. He takes a long gulp of his orange juice. “I’ll bite. How’d you know?”

You shake your head. “In the end it’s all just a guessing game. I couldn’t really tell well from the screen but you ideally you should keep in mind the horse's condition and temperament, the weather, the state of the track...Number 7 seemed as if it was conserving its strength for a final burst towards the end. I just compared its size relative to the other horses and made a measured estimate." You shrug. Then take another sip of your drink.

He stays silent.

When he finally speaks, there’s a glint in his dark eyes, “Any interest in horse betting?”

“No thank you.”

“One day.”

Instead of replying you stare down into your nearly empty cup. There’s a silence, and you can hear raucous laughter and demands of more alcohol while the hostesses giggle and make small talk. There’s no pinprick of pain in your abdomen, no murkiness of thought clouding your head, no drowsy movements as if you’re wading through resistant tides weighing you down.

You think about dying, and what you had thought to have been your final moments. Suguru’s shaking hands, against your wound, cupping your face, his unintelligible murmurs. The frantic pulse of Satoru’s heart against your ear, right before your vision went dark.

“Why did you take the job?” You ask quietly, staring at particular brand of umeshu on the shelf.

There’s a long, heaving sigh, both expectant and unusually contemplative.

“Almost dying makes a man think. Re-evaluate his priorities.” He doesn’t look at you, but the hand connected to the arm slung across the end of the empty seat between the two of you curls into air, an action that says nothing in itself. “Lover boy almost killed me. Probably would’ve if he hadn’t been…well,” he scratches his cheek, entirely unrepentant in a way that makes you want to laugh. “Preoccupied.”

Right, you had been bleeding out on the pavement by then, gutted open like a fish, and losing consciousness.

“Lover boy?”

“The Gojo brat. And the bangs brat.”

“Both?”

“Yep. Lover boy 1, Lover boy 2.”

“Oh.” You forget that you aren’t the only one who had been on death’s doorstep that day. Satoru had revived as a new person, the perpetual cling of infinity like second skin since that day. You are only human, just as the man next to you is.

You wonder what a man like Fushiguro Toji prioritizes. “What kind of priorities?”

“I’ve got a boy.”

You blink. While you aren’t entirely sober, you don’t think you’re drunk enough that you'd mishear his words.

The man who almost killed you has a son. Logically, it makes sense. But it also doesn’t. A son? He’s a father? Of course he is. He’s a person, just like you. If Fushiguro Toji had been killed by Gojo Satoru’s hands on that fateful day, a child somewhere would have been without a father.

The thought is sobering. 

A huff of laughter. “No needa look like that.”

“How old is he?” You can’t help your curiosity. 

“By now? He should be what—five? Six? There’s a girl too. She’s…seven now?”

Okay, two children.

You stare at him some more, and he scowls. “It’s been a while.”

You can tell.

You remeet his gaze. “If I were your son I think I’d hate you.”

It's not just the alcohol speaking.

He throws his head back and laughs, hearty and loud. It’s a bold noise, just like his very existence. You don’t hate him. It’s not as surprising a thought as you would have thought. “Not one to pull punches, are ya?”

There’s a momentary lull. “I saw his face.” Fushiguro says, voice low. ”It made me remember something important.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t ask him to.

You stay silent, wondering if you could call Marie over to make you another drink, or pour one yourself. As if hearing your thoughts, Fushiguro reaches over the counter, down below, and pulls out a nearly full bottle of whisky. It slides your way until it lightly hits your mug. 

“Knock yourself out.”

You unscrew the bottle and pour yourself a generous amount. “You don't drink?”

He lifts his empty glass of juice. “Can’t.”

“That sucks,” you say lamely. Then lift the glass up to your mouth.

“You’re tellin’ me.”

Even now, there is a complete lack of presence next to you. Around you, you can feel the limited cursed energy emanating from the few people still inside the establishment, the feather light touches of cursed energy brushing and closing against your skin. You take another swig, squeezing your eyes tight. From Fushiguro-sensei, there is a nothingness that feels as gaping as a wide cavern and empty as air. For all intents and purposes, he is a ghost, and it is as unsettling as it was when you were originally facing him, katana in your hands.

For jujutsu sorcerers as reliant on sensing cursed energy as you, it had been a futile match from the beginning. The flow of life you had been so used to sensing and predicting had gone cold, and he had taken full advantage of it.

You exhale, closing your fist around the handle of the mug. “I thought it would be fine if I died.” The alcohol is making you a bit more loose lipped than usual. “But when it came to it, I was a little…” your downcast gaze settles on the wheat colored liquid. “Sad.”

You didn’t want your idyllic days with Shoko and Suguru and Satoru to run out. You wanted to see them again, wanted to be with them more than you knew. The three of them had spoiled you rotten with their friendship. And now you’re reaping the consequences; risking dying in regret that you didn’t do more, like telling them how much you loved them. You’d never watch the sunset on the rooftop, never read the newest Yamada Amy novel, never try coaxing another one of the shrine cats into your arms.

You slump over, forehead pressed against the cool counter, relieving your face of the omnipresent flush.

“I know I’m just a single person who can’t do much in the grand scheme of things,” you mutter into the countertop. “I know that sooner than later I’ll die and it’ll probably hurt a lot and there’s nothing I can do except accept it, but still…even I have things I cherish…”

“Man,” comes Fushiguro’s voice, shaking his head, an entertained tilt to his lips that has the scar cut above it stretching wide. “You are one depressing drunk.”

You lift your head, blearily blinking your eyes. “Am I?”

“The worst I’ve seen. You’re gloomy as hell.”

You frown, straightening. “I guess. What do other people talk about when drunk?” If not the constantly looming threat of death in your line of work. You wouldn’t know. Are you drunk? Maybe you are, considering how the shelves of alcohol in front of you seem to be slowly shifting to the side.

“Normal people,” Fushiguro corrects, twirling a finger, “Talk ‘bout problems. Money problems. Life problems. Relationship woes.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Got any relationship issues?”

You stare at him, unimpressed and he shrugs. You think about Satoru’s restlessness, his hand perpetually wrapped around your wrist tugging you this way and that, usually in the direction opposite of the person next to you. Suguru’s constant hovering, indirect as Satoru’s worry is direct, accompanying you until you wonder if it had been your decision to move in the first place. Shoko’s nightly checkups—

Oh. You pat your pockets. Realize you left your phone back at the school. Oh well. 

“I’m not in a relationship,” you mumble. “I’m a jujutsu sorcerer. It’ll only end badly.”

He snorts. “Lotsa things end badly whether you’re a jujutsu sorcerer or not. That’s life. 'sides there has to be someone who’s caught your eye.”

Like… that? You don’t think he’s implying…

“Satoru? Suguru?” You frown. “I don’t think…that’s…impossible. They’re my…best friends. Besides…they like…their types are…”

“Are…?”

Satoru did have that Waka Inoue wallpaper on his phone, didn’t he? You recall the two of them crowded next to each other, Satoru presenting his opened phone, and Shoko scoffing. You don’t blame them, she is really pretty… “Big breasted women…?”

Actually you’re not sure. Maybe you should ask them. You don’t think they need help, least of all your help, getting dates though. They can manage on their own just fine.

A bark of laughter escapes Fushiguro’s throat, and he’s grinning. 

…Did you say that aloud? 

You would ask them. Tomorrow, you resolve. How could you call yourself a friend and not know the type of person they were romantically interested in? Then you’d ask Shoko and—

You wilt, face falling. You don’t want to hear about the type of person Shoko’s interested in. You could make her happier than some faceless, nameless person she probably hasn’t even met yet! But in the end you don’t have any right to protest. Ultimately, you wanted the each of them happy with their chosen partners, taken care of, in your death.

Ugh…the thought has you wanting to curl up on the floor and die.

Your face is burning, head spinning, and you gain another thumb. You take another mouthful of the alcohol. Oh wait… 

“There is someone though…”

“Oh?” He slaps his hand on the counter, leaning in. “That’s more like it.” 

“He’s really…” you’re struggling with your words now. “Cute.” 

“Good start,” he says approvingly.

“He has light eyes and he’s…” your hands open and curl into fists, imagining jet blakck fur and a warm, purring body. “Soft. Really soft. I want to…take him into my bed and just…” you cool your face against your palms, “Spend the day cuddling with him…”

The other day, one of the shrine cats you secretly named Yoru had nuzzled into your waiting palm, tongue flicking out to happily lap at your knuckles. You had contemplated taking him right there and then. Before you could act on any selfish desire, Yoru’s ears had pricked upwards before darting away back into the darkness.

“He used to bite me,” you muse, absentmindedly rubbing the spot right below your right index finger where Yoru’s teeth had sunk into flesh. Your fault. You had surprised the anxious cat. “But I think he’s warmed up to me now…I hope…”

“This guy,” Fushiguro starts, “Isn’t exactly a guy , is he?” 

You tilt your head. “Yoru is a cat.”

Your sensei claps a hand over his face as he bows over, shoulders shaking.

When he rises, he wipes a tear from his eye. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. Forget being a jujutsu sorcerer, you should be a comedian.” 

You don’t understand.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. The smile drops from his face.

“...”

You unsteadily lean over, and stare at the phone in his hand. “You have a lot of missed calls.” Ninety four to be exact. “Your lovers?”

He snorts, turning off the phone and tucking it back into his pocket. “Not me anymore. Gotta get ya back to the school before I’m the one with a bounty on my head.”

“I’m not done the bottle.”

“Take it with you,” he says, standing with a grunt. At the noise you look at him, eyes zeroing in on the thin cut above his cheek, and it clicks.

“Shoko didn’t heal you?”

He pulls you up. “People love holding grudges. You’re the weird one.”

You blink. Bottle in hand, you feel pleasantly buzzed. You could fall asleep like this, and you doubt the nightmares would follow.

You follow him as Marie yells a goodbye from the loveseat and blows the two of you a kiss. The businessmen are passed out on the couches, one of whose head is on her lap. You wave. 

You step out into the night, blinking as the brisk air sweeps against your cheeks. Your eyes flutter close. Your sensei tells you he’s called a taxi, and the two of you wait outside a hostess club in Kabukicho as billboards and store lights flicker off for the night, as the sky lightens with anticipation for the sun.

Your eyes are still closed, fingers curled around the neck of the bottle of whisky. “What’s his name?”

There’s a silence. You open your eyes.

“Megumi.” Fushiguro’s gaze is planted somewhere far away, as if indulging in a memory. “It means blessings.”

You look straight ahead. See the first of the sun’s rays chasing the darkness away. “That’s a nice name.” 

Nothing more needs to be said.

this fic is dedicated to the anon that started the entire exposure therapy au and the one that coined its name ❤️

i know toji was a horrible father but i still like to think that had the HI arc happened differently, toji would have (semi) cleaned up his act and gone back to megumi. as of this fic, toji has not gone back to megumi (yet!!!) but he will.

toji gets rip!mc addicted to betting on horses much to everyone’s dismay. in his defense, you’re actually really good at it.

geto was mentally signaling to shoko to get out while you were none the wiser.

unfortunately, the rematch eventually happens. but this time you’re actually prepared.

[inthehytes]

Here’s the first installment of the bratpack childhood friends to lovers fic! Fair warning it is a bit of a monster chapter but also its full of baby brat pack on their first day of school! I promise to name this later but for now here is the story!

                                      ~ One ~

Synthia meets Kendall when she’s five. It’s the weekend after her birthday party when a moving truck appears in the cul de sac and a little girl only a few inches taller than her appears with it. Synthia’s in her front yard coloring the cement of the sidewalk with her brand new chalks when two jelly sandals appear in her line of vision, taking care to avoid her little doodles. 

“Hi!” The owners of the shoes squeal out and Synthia takes a moment to look up from her bright purple kitty cat to smile at her. 

“Hi! I’m Synthia! Are you moving here?” Synthia cocks her head to the side as she takes in the sight of her maybe new neighbor. The first thing she notices is how pretty the girl is, big brown eyes and long legs poke out of the bright green shorts she’s wearing. Her t-shirt has a cat riding a unicycle on it and Synthia immediately wants to draw it. 

“Yeah! I’m Kendall. What are you drawing?” She crouches next to Synthia, balancing on her heels to stare down at the cement. “Is that supposed to be a cat?”

“Yeah! I’m not too good at drawing yet, but Momma says I’ll get there!” Synthia chirps her mother’s constant encouragement, turning to flash Kendall a bright smile. She didn’t mind not being good at it, it brought her joy and that’s all that mattered. Or so her Momma said, and Synthia thought her Momma was never wrong. 

“I think it looks great! Can I draw with you? Mom and Dad are taking forever with the boxes.” Kendall sighed, throwing a slightly impatient look at the back of a very tall man. Synthia supposed it was Kendall’s father. 

“Here! You can have the pink chalk! Momma’s making cookies, I’ll share them with you!” Synthia gasped remembering the chocolate chip cookies she’d helped her mother roll out before coming outside. 

“Okay!” Kendall grinned back at her, throwing scrawny arms around Synthia’s shoulders, huffing a soft “let’s be best friends forever!” into her ear. 

They sealed their pact with a pinkie promise over crumbly warm cookies courtesy of Mrs. Kiss who had taken one look at her daughter and Kendall and knew that they’d be inseparable. 

Synthia and Kendall’s summer passed in a blur of activity, afternoons spent with their heads bent over the sidewalk with chalks and giggles. Kendall’s parents take Synthia with them to the zoo and the girls bond over their love for the lions and tigers and penguins. They split an ice cream and fall asleep with their heads pressed together on the way home. 

They tackle the summer together, even going as far as picking out coordinating backpacks at the mall where Synthia’s dad helps them flip pennies into the fountain. Synthia doesn’t tell anyone, she takes the superstition of wishes very seriously, but she wishes for a good year at school and that Kendall will be in her class. 

Synthia’s mom walks both of the girls to school on the first day, they’re hand in hand as they skip down the sidewalk with Synthia’s little sister perched on her mother’s hip. Synthia had begged her mom to let her wear her new pink corduroy overall dress and the matching pink trainers she’d gotten for her birthday. Her mom had pulled her blonde curls into twin perky pigtails, little puffy pom poms clipped in at the elastics. She felt so pretty and was excited to spend all day with Kendall. 

“We’re going to spend all day together okay Synnie? We’ll lay near each other at nap and I’ll push you on the swings at break if you want me to!” Kendall’s keeping a steady stream of chatter up in Synthia’s ear, not allowing her to get nervous again about leaving her mother for the day. Synthia was very close to her family, never really spending more than a few hours away from her mother at a time, and had spent the night before all but glued to her gnawing anxiously at her lip. 

“Okay.” She agreed, squeezing Kendall’s hand a little tighter as she threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure her mother was still there. 

The rest of their walk was filled with Kendall chattering away about all the fun things she hoped to do with Synthia that day in an attempt to make the smaller blonde feel better, but Synthia didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t really working. When they reached their classroom Kendall darted off immediately for the two little desks they’d picked out at open house the weekend before, beginning to unpack her brightly colored supplies while Synthia shied away at the door. 

Her little hand was fisted in the fabric of her mother’s skirt, eyeing the bright room with trepidation as it teemed with parents and children alike getting settled in. She picked out her new teacher immediately, her bright smile hard to miss but Synthia didn’t move. 

“Momma, I don’t want to go.” She whispered, her chest tightening uncomfortably the longer she waited in the doorway. 

“Synthia sweetheart, we talked about this baby. You’ll have tons of fun with Kendall and Momma will be here at exactly two fifteen to pick you up. Remember?” She crouched to Synthia’s height, comforting her as best as she could with Synthia’s little sister in her arms. 

“But I’m scared Momma.” She sniffles, fighting the panic and tears that well up, she didn’t want to be labeled a cry baby on her first day of school but she couldn’t help it. 

“Oh come here dollie, don’t cry my love.” Her mom cooed softly in her ear, drawing her scrawny frame into her arms. 

Synthia buried her face in her mother’s chest and sniffled through her next few breaths. Her mom smelled like flowers and vanilla and all the things Synthia associated with comfort and warmth and she didn’t want to leave her arms ever again. 

Her luck runs out however when parents begin to filter out and suddenly Synthia and her mom are the only family still left in the doorway. The room is still bright with chatter but the sudden lack of grownups makes it a little easier to breathe. Her teacher is quick to sweep over to them, eyes kind as she took in Synthia’s scared expression. 

“I’m only missing one last little duckling, you must be Synthia.” Her teacher crouched to her level and stuck her hand out for Synthia to shake. The little blonde frowned at the appendage before hesitantly sticking her much smaller hand out. 

“I’m sorry we’re sticking around so long, she’s a little anxious.” Her mother’s warm hand rubbed Synthia’s back as she shook her teacher’s hand. 

“That’s alright, there’s always a couple in the bunch. Would you like to come color with the others, Synthia? I promise we’ll have loads of fun and if I’m not mistaken your friend Kendall is waiting for you.” Synthia leaned around Miss Hytes’ lean frame to find Kendall watching worriedly from their desks, her coloring page not even touched. 

“Go on baby, I promise it’ll all be okay.” Synthia’s mom sent her off with one final hug and a sweet kiss to her forehead, letting Miss Hytes lead her by the hand back to her desk. 

The older woman stuck around to help Synthia hang her bag on the back of the chair and even let her pick out the coloring page she wanted to do. Kendall held her hand the entire time they colored even though it meant she had to color with her non dominant hand and the picture got a little messy. 

They sit next to each other at circle time and Kendall even lets Synthia sit next to the wall so she isn’t squished next to someone she doesn’t know. By lunchtime Synthia’s having more fun than she thought she ever could and has even made another friend, a little girl called Julia who insisted she be called Juice though Synthia didn’t like her as much as she liked Kendall. 

She sits with Kendall and Juice at lunch and shares her dinosaur gummies with them both and gets half of Kendall’s oatmeal cookie and three pretzels from Juice. When playtime outside comes around Juice leaves Kendall and Synthia to go play on the slides with some of their other classmates and Synthia worries for a moment that Kendall is going to do the same until she grabs Synthia’s hand and totes her over to the sandpit. 

“Stay here okay and I’ll go get us some buckets from Miss Hytes! We can build a sand castle like we’re at the beach!” She squeals over her shoulder, already darting toward the top of the hill where their teacher is standing with other teachers. 

Synthia perches on the border of the sandpit and waits for Kendall to get back, content to watch a little ant crawl around on the ground until unfamiliar shoes crowd her line of vision. 

“Hey!” A harsh voice barks and makes Synthia jump and dart her head up. 

A little boy stands in front of her, a cruel sneer painted across his face as he reaches out to yank at one of Synthia’s pigtails. 

“Ow!” Synthia yelps, pushing at his hand to get him away from her. 

“Why’s your hair do that? You look like a baby! I bet you’re gonna cry for your Mommy now like this morning!” He reaches for Synthia’s curls again when a scrawny arm darts out and punches him in the nose. The little boy jerks away immediately and stumbles back a few paces, face reddening as he tries to hold back tears. He scurries off towards the top of the hill though he gets stopped halfway there by his friends. 

“Hey! Why are you crying? He went away.” A chipper voice huffs from beside Synthia and she turns with glossy eyes to see a little girl standing next to her with a grumpy expression on her face. 

“You punched him!” She squeaks, wiping at her eyes as she shifts anxiously in her spot. “You punched him and I don’t like fighting. Momma says it’s not nice to use actions instead of words.” 

“He started it, he pulled your piggies and called you names. Don’t cry anymore, I’ll keep you safe.” Scrawny little arms wrapped tight around Synthia’s shoulders and hauled her into a hug that was a bit too rough for her liking but she went along with it. “I’m Gia!”

“I’m Synthia, Kendall’s getting us buckets to make sand castles with do you want to help us?” Synthia blinks wide eyed up at them, her tears quickly being replaced by a grin that matched Gia’s wide one. 

“You got it!”

Kendall returns with buckets and shovels and a broad grin and the three set off on their castle building, chattering away as if they’ve known each other forever. Halfway through their castle building Miss Hytes marches down to the sandpit, the little boy Gia had punched in tow now holding an ice pack to his nose. 

“Girls, I need you to stop playing for a minute please. Gia Robbie says that you punched him, is this true?” Miss Hytes was no longer smiling brightly, her glossy pink lips were twisted into a frown. Synthia, in an abundance of courage, reached out to grab Gia’s hand tightly. 

“No Miss Hytes, Gia was playing with me the whole time. Criss crossed my heart!” She draws a little X on her chest with her free hand and squeezes Gia’s hand with her other. 

Miss Hytes frowns down at them long enough to make Synthia want to take it back and tell the truth before she gives in with a little smile and leads Robbie away with a warning to be nice to each other. 

“Synthia! You told a lie? Your Mommy won’t let you hit people but she lets you lie?” Gia gasps at her once Miss Hytes is far enough away. 

“No! But you stood up for me so I needed to stand up for you!” Synthia doesn’t feel good about lying but she didn’t want Gia getting in trouble because of her. “Can we finish our castle before we have to go back in?”

“Of course Synnie, here’s your shovel back!” Kendall hands her her shovel and squishes her into a hug before letting the blonde go back to their giant castle. 

Together they manage to build the castle high and even knock it down and screech like dinosaurs before Miss Hytes’ whistle blows and they have to go back inside. Their little cots are all laid out on the floor and Kendall and Synthia immediately push three together for them all to lay on. Gia looks unsure if they want her there until Synthia flashes her best puppy eyes and Gia gives in immediately. Miss Hytes puts on soft music and dims the lights and once Synthia kicks her shoes off and snuggles into the blanket her mother packed for her she’s out like a light. 

When they wake up Miss Hytes lets them listen to music and have a dance party while they learn their alphabet and before Synthia knows it her mother is at the door to collect her and Kendall. She feels bad for leaving Gia all alone to wait but Gia sends them both off with tight hugs and a promise to see them the next day which makes her feel better. 

“Well dollie, how was your first day after all?” Her mom crouches down to hug her tight and help her into her backpack while Kendall gets her coat from their desks. Synthia considers telling her mother about Robbie and how he pulled her hair but decides not to and spends the walk home hand in hand with Kendall and chattering about Gia. She had just left but couldn’t wait to go back. 

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

It Takes A Village: Chapter 17

Chris Evans x pregnant!daughter!reader

Series MasterList

Series summary: You find out that you're pregnant. After being kicked out of your mom's house you go to live full time with your Dad who you only saw once every few months. Will he react badly to you being a mom at such a young age?

Chapter Summary: seeing your family after multiple months.

Series Warnings: swearing, fighting with a parent, teen pregnancy, speak of abortion.

Chapter Warnings: Teen Pregnancy

The door opened and in came running your three cousins followed by your aunt and uncle. You smiled at your family giving your cousins hugs.

"Hi!" Stella said happily. "We got the babies presents!"

"Here!" Miles held up a gift bag with a big smile on his face.

"They picked them out all on their own." Carly smiled before hugging you followed by her husband, before the family each hugged your dad as well.

"Thank you!" You smiled at them reaching in the bag you pulled out an outfit, a pair of beige overalls, that have Winnie the Pooh on it, on one of the legs has the words: Winnie the Pooh, they also had a T-shirt, red with white stripes and navy blue around the neck and sleeves. "It's so cute!" You gushed.

"I picked that out!" Miles said proudly.

"I love it." You said before checking the size for it, seeing it was 6-9 months. You sat it on your lap and reached in the bag pulling out a matching overall outfit except it is orange with Tiger on it. The shirt that it comes with is brown and white stripes with orange around the sleeves and neck. "Awe! So they can match!" You smiled checking the size happy to see it was also 6-9 months.

"I picked that one out!" Ethan told you. You smiled.

"I love them." You sat it on top of the other one reaching in you pulled two stuffed animals out. One was a grey dinosaur, it was incredibly soft. The other one was a light blue giraffe with tan details. "Awe." You gushed. (Find them here)

"I picked those out!" Stella said happily.

"I love them!"

———

The barbecue was going well, it was fun seeing your cousins again. Seeing your aunts, uncles and grandparents especially was fun. Then again being near family always was something you loved. Back in Texas, it was just you and your mom. You barely got to see your extended family, so now living with your dad you'll get to see them a lot more. You were grateful for it. Laughter and smiles filled the large backyard. You normally ran around with your cousins but with how big your belly has gotten you couldn't. So you were sat with the adults talking.

"How are the babies?" Your grandfather asked.

"They're good! The doctor said they're the size of a large cabbage."

"They're getting so big!" Lisa smiled.

"Yeah." You nodded resting your hands on your belly. "Me and dad are going to start getting them stuff tomorrow."

"I have some of Miles and Ethan's old clothes you could have." Carly offered.

"Yes please!" You nodded with a smile.

"I'll bring them over for you then." She smiled. You zoned out as the conversation changed. You were having twins in a little over a month with their due date being November 3rd. You still didn't know if you were ready. You didn't know how you were going to do it. You had your dad to help of course but even then. Luckily you guys were coming up with plans for things, you were doing cyber school so you didn't have to pay for childcare, you were going to get another job after the babies are born. You snapped from your thoughts when you felt hands on your belly.

"They're kicking." Miles giggled looking up at you.

"Yeah they are."

"I wanna feel!" Stella said reach her hands onto your belly.

"When do we get to meet them?" Miles asked.

"A month or two." You explained.

"Can I babysit them?" Ethan asked.

"You might be a bit ahead of yourself there bud. They aren't even born yet." His dad laughed. You smiled.

"Maybe." You told your eldest cousin. Maybe just maybe you'll be okay. You have your family.

A/n: did I almost forget to do taglist again? Yes but anyway, sorry it's so short. Also if you notice I forgot the taglist could you let me know so I can add it? Thank you

Taglist: @toastisgood @coldmuffinpartycloud @thevelvetseries @uniquebeautyqueen @kaitieskidmore1

[horrorslashergirl]

Slasher OC: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Full Name: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Nickname(s): Dacia, Dece, The Impaler, Vladislav, Tiger, Lynx, Dracula, Casanova

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Nationality: Romanian

Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania

Current Location: Travels from country to country

Occupation: Former Romanian Soldier; Now Hitman

Languages: Romanian, English, German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Russian, Turkish

Appearance:

Height: 6'8

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Middle Bulky and Atheltic

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, wavy

Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind

Face Claim: Stephen James

Clothing: He opts for comfortable clothing mostly because of his job as a hitman and because he is always on the run. He mostly goes with black T-shirts or shirts, a khaki army coat with many pockets, along with camo army pants again with many pockets and black combat boots. He has a long black scarf with the colors of the Romanian flag trimmed along that belonged to his father.

Other features: He has many scars on his broad back and down his arms; his back's scars are covered by tattoos of an eagle and a grim reaper with two swords in an X shape. His has full sleeve tattoos down his arms, picturing all kind of nature scenarios from his country, mountains and wild animals and AK-47's on each forearm. His neck, chest and legs are also covered by tattoos along with his hands. This guy is all inked up. He also has a silver earing on his right ear. He also wears an eyepatch that is covering his scarred eye that he got from a fight with his brother Alexander, the scar mimiking the ones Alexander has, coming from his eyebrow down his eye and over his cheek.

Weapons: Twin Swords, Twin Guns, and throwing knives.

Power/Skills:

Murderous expertise

Brute strength

Skilled usage of weaponry

Skill in hand-to-hand combat

Knifesmanship

Swordsmanship

Multilingual

Cunning Nature

Charisma

Driving expertise

Ruthlessness

Fearlessness

Manipulation

Marksmanship

Master tactician and strategist

Stealth mastery

Symbols: Here is the link to Decebal's symbols

History/Bio:

Decebal was named after a Romanian king by his parents, father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. They were a poor family that lived in Bucharest during the communist times, a hard period for them. Decebal's father, Apostol was one of the rebels that were against this form of a system of social organization in which all property is owned by the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs.

Because of this Apostol and Maria, along with their three years old son, Decebal, were dragged into the communistic jails where they were tortured in all kinds of ways from whipping to starvation to being chained into coldness.

Decebal tried to protect his parents even though he was a small child and the army warden that took care of the horrific jails was surprised by the child's braveness and he took him away from his parents, not before forcing him to watch how his parents were killed brutally.

During the rest of his childhood and teenage years, Decebal spent most of his life in the dark underground jail, training with the soldiers, doing hard work. Despite that, the warden thought Decebal about all kinds of languages, cultures, and history. 

'Just because you're a stray dog that doesn't mean you cannot learn to bark and bite.'

In his late teenage years as he grew into an adult man, he got more to the light outside, following the warden wherever he went and did was his so-called 'father' figure did; smoke, drink and got laid with all the ladies.

The warden's words during a drunken late-night:

'You know boy, you will do something big, much bigger than you can imagine. I saw how all these sluts looked at you... You make them fall into your arms like they are desperate whores.'

'Use everything you got; charms, brains, muscles. In this world, there are the ones that walk every inch of the ground as they own it and the ones that follow, all chained. Tell me, boy... Which one you are?'

One of the greatest abilities that Decebal earned during years in the darkness was that he got so used to it that now as an adult, he sees perfectly into the darkness, just like cats do. 

Some people called Decebal 'Lynx'; the moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone.

After communism fell down in Romania, Decebal still maintained the attitude he grew up around; being sadistic, cold, and cruel. People weren't too fond of his attitude; his habits including fighting and torturing people that opposed him, getting laid with other men's wives, strolling down the streets like he owned everything.

He disappeared from Romania when there was a reward on his head to be finally executed. The Romanian army was hot on his trail, turning against him, but he simply vanished.

He strolls from country to country, not having a definitive home and working as a rogue hitman to earn money and to survive.

After a brutal fight between him and his twin little brother, Alexander; the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.

Family: His little brother Alexander Chirilă and his little sister Nadia Nikolina Chirilă

His favorite killing style:

He prefers a kill that will put on a good show, he will shot his victims in both their knees, then he will dismember them with his sharp twin swords.

Personality:

Decebal has two paths of personality; the civilian one and the hitman one, that sometimes cross path depending on the situation at hand. In hi day to day life, he is a charming, handsome man, confident and sure of himself, but also having a modesty edge, just to draw people in closer, because he loves the attention, having a God-like complex.

Despite his childhood, he is a very educated man that speaks many languages, sometimes taking people by surprise, he can even put on fake accents. He also has vast knowledge about other countries history, mostly because that's what his 'father-figure' talked a lot about.

He is a flirt, he simply adores to make women swon by his charming looks and mysterious persona wherever he goes, people always wondering from where he comes. He knows how to sweet-talk people, being extremly manipulative. His looks; big and strong, in his eyes a flaming white glow.

You will rarely see Decebal without his charming smile or dark smirk that makes the ladies sigh and faint. He always puts on a winning attitude, knowing for creating many divorces along his travelings. 

Here goes his saying: 'If the female raised her tail, who I am to deny.'

He has a romantic side, after all he does speaks the romance languages, but it's highly influenced his his Casanova attitude.

He is blunt; this man will tell if you're damn gorgeous or if you're down-right ugly or stupid. He has no problem putting his opinions straight on the table.

His favorite drink: Țuică- is a traditional Romanian spirit that contains ~ 24–65% alcohol by volume (usually 40–55%), prepared only from plums.

His favorite food: Sarma is a dish of vine, cabbage, monk's rhubarb, kale or chard leaves rolled around a filling of grains, like bulgur or rice, minced meat, or both. It is found in the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire from the Middle East to Southeastern Europe.

His scent: Decebal's scent could be described as a 'game of seduction' with an "exciting rush" of citrus and cool spice top notes. Pungent bergamot "bites" with freshness, revived by cardamom and lavender. Caviar gives a provocative and erotic touch “like a trickle of sweat on a man’s chiseled body.” Masculine and rough notes of tobacco and orris root facilitate the heat of the composition. He has that scent that could be described as smoky confidence irresistible to women.

Other Characteristics:

He is a very good dancer, especially traditional ones and he also knows singing. Attending important parties with his 'father-figure' he learned from the women how to dance and sing. The women basically made him such a charismatic man.

He is a heavy drinker and holds his alcohol like it's water; his moldovic genes showing off. 

He is more of a night person that a day one, mostly because of his very good nocturnal sight.

He is pretty much an Outlaw.

His accent sounds like italian, latin, but with a little bit of russian or another slavic accent. (That's how a Austrian woman described his accent one night)

He is a master at Poker. Another way he earns a lot of money is through poker and plus, he is a master cheater. FUN FACT HERE: He won a man's wife through poker for one night.

He is a sword swallower, bonus he has no gag reflex.

He also loves to smoke from his pipe.

============================================

There lived a certain man in Romania long ago

He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow

Most people look at him with terror and with fear

But to Bucharest chicks he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Bible like a preacher

Full of ecstasy and fire

But he also was the kind of teacher

Women would desire

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the ROMANIAN queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

He ruled the Romanian land and never mind the Tsar

But the kazachok he danced really wunderbar

In all affairs of state he was the man to please

But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze

For the queen he was no wheeler dealer

Though she'd heard the things he'd done

She believed he was a holy healer

Who would heal her son

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

(This is an interpretation of the song ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M, mostly because the song inspired me into creating him)

For power became known to more and more people

The demands to do something about this outrageous

Man became louder and louder

"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies

But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"

No doubt this Decebal had lots of hidden charms

Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms

Then one night some men of higher standing

Set a trap, they're not to blame

"Come to visit us" they kept demanding

And he really came

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They put some poison into his țuică

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

He drank it all and said "I feel fine"

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They didn't quit, they wanted his head

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

[Spoken:] Oh, those Romanians...

=======================================================

But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger

[queenie-ofthe-void]

aaaaaand also Tiger Clubs for wip Weekend (again dynxgnxn ^v^)

Of course!!! I'm just gonna keep it going with where we're at.

This (long) snippet follows these previous posts: Part 1; Part 2;

Eddie's about to pull out his best wingman maneuvers in an attempt to save his friend from mortal anguish, when he’s interrupted by high-pitched screeches from the playground. “Auntie Robbie,” the twins cry in unison. It’d be creepy if they weren’t so goddamned adorable.  “My munchkins!” Her arms open wide as the kids crash into her, sending the three of them falling to the ground in a heap of limbs and laughter. “Oof! Alright let’s make sure you don’t take me out before I can get you twerps home.” He only knows of the twins from what Chrissy has told him this week, since she gets to see all of the incoming sixth graders, whereas Eddie teaches eighth grade. Reading with younger kids is great, don’t get him wrong, but the available range of literature for lesson planning only gets better with age. The curly-haired boy in the Minecraft t-shirt moves off the pile to pick up his Jurassic Park baseball hat, lost from tackling not-Steve/Auntie Robbie. He’s small, hyperactive as all hell, and is missing his front teeth– which Eddie can only tell because of the kid’s unbridled megawatt smile. If he's honest, the kid reminds him a bit of himself at that age. Although hopefully he's a better student than Eddie was throughout school, focusing on homework instead of band practice and selling illicit wares. While the boy raves about his school day, the young red headed girl rolls her eyes at his antics, but fondness underneath is easy to spot. Her hair has been braided into two plaits adorned with small butterfly clips, matching the fake butterfly tattoos on her left wrist. In contrast to her more girlish accessories, she’s wearing a grey Hawkin’s Hospital softball team shirt-- which has to be a men’s medium at the very least. It’s been tucked into her hot pink shorts, but it drowns her nonetheless. They’re the cutest kids he's ever seen.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 5

(Y/n)'s POV

I have weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I hear and see makes no sense, so I just pass out again. I remember lying in a soft bed and spoon-fed something that tasted like (Favorite/Food), only it's like pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovers over me, smirking as she scrapes drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she sees my eyes open, she asks, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

"What?" I manage to croak.

She looks around, as is afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I slur, "I don't . . ."

Somebody knocks on the door, and the girl quickly fills my mouth with the pudding.

. . .

The next time I wake up, the girl is gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stands in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He has blue eyes - at least a dozen of them - on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I come around for good, there is nothing weird about my surroundings, except they are nicer than I am used to. I am sitting in a deck chair next to Percy - who was looking at me with concern - on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smells like strawberries. There is a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that is great, but my mouth feels like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue is dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me is a tall drink. It looks like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol sticks through a maraschino cherry.

My hand is so weak I almost drop the glass once I get my fingers around it.

"Careful," says a voice.

Grover is leaning against the porch railing, looking as though he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradles a shoebox. He is wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange t-shirt that says CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

"You two saved my life," Grover says. "I...well, the least I could do...I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he places the shoebox in Percy's lap.

Inside is a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

It hadn't been a nightmare. My mother was gone.

"The Minotaur," Percy asks.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea -" Grover gets cut off.

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Percy demands. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifts uncomfortably. "You two have been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"Mom," I say softly. "Is she really . . ."

Grover looks down.

I stare across the meadow. There is a grove of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley is surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, is the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looks beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother is gone . . .

Nothing should look beautiful. The whole world should be black and cold.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffs. "I'm a failure. I'm - I'm the worst satyr in the world." He groans, stomping his food so hard it comes off. I mean, the Converse hi-top comes off. The inside is filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. "Oh, Styx!" he mumbles.

Thunder rolls across the clear sky.

Mom had really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Percy and I are alone. Orphans. We would have to live with . . . Smelly Gabe? No. I'd live on the streets first.

Grover is still sniffling.

Percy says, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did our mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."

"But why . . ." Percy begins and I suddenly feel dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover says. "Here."

He helps me hold my glass and puts the straw to my lips.

I recoil at the taste because I was expecting apple juice. It isn't that at all. It's chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. But not just any cookies - Mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body feels warm and good, full of energy. My grief doesn't go away, but I feel as if Mom had just brushed her hand lovingly against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was upset and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I know it, I'd drained the glass. I stare into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asks.

I nod.

"What did it taste like?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I reply and Percy looks at me knowingly. "Mom's. Homemade."

He takes the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it's dynamite, and sets it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.

3rd Person POV

The porch wraps all the way around the farmhouse.

Percy's legs feel wobbly, trying to walk that far, and (Y/n), though her legs feel like Jello, had moved to support her brother. Grover offers to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy holds onto it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I'm not going to let it go.

As the trio comes around the opposite end of the house, (Y/n) catches her breath.

Percy's POV

We must be on the north shore of Long Island because on this side of the house, the valley marches all the way up to the water, which glitters about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply can't process everything I'm seeing. The landscape is dotted with buildings that look like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all look brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school–age kids and satyrs play volleyball. Canoes glide across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's are chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shoot targets at an archery range. Others ride horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I'm hallucinating, some of their horses have wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sit across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoonfed (Y/n) is leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me is small, but porky. He has a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it's almost poker. He looks like those painting of baby angles - cherubs. He looks like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He is wearing a tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt, and he would fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I get the feeling that this guy could out-gamble even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover mutters to me and (Y/n). "He's the camp director. Be polite. That girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron . . . "

He points at the guy whose back is to me.

First, I realize he's sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognize the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, and the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cry.

The Latin teacher turns and smiles at me, then looks curiously at (Y/n), who is still supporting some of my weight. His eyes have that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulls a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he says. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offers me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looks at me, then (Y/n), who is leaning against my chair, with bloodshot eyes, and heaves a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to the glad to see you."

"Percy, why don't you introduce me?" Mr. Burnner says, sending a soft smile towards (Y/n).

"Oh, this is my twin sister, (Y/n)," Percy says.

(Y/n)'s POV

I smile and wave shyly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," I say. "Percy's told me a lot about you. Even said you were his favorite teacher."

A warmer smile spreads across Mr. Brunner's face and then he turns. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner calls to the blond girl.

She comes forward and Mr. Brunner introduces us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, (Y/n). Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and (Y/n)'s bunks? We'll be putting them in Cabin Eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," Annabeth replies.

She's probably about my age, maybe an inch or two taller, and a whole more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she is almost exactly when I think a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruin the image. They are startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she's analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glances down at the Minotaur horn in Percy's hands then looks back up at me. She says, "You drool when you sleep." My cheeks take on a slight red tinge as she sprints off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," Percy says, looking anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," not Mr. Brunner says. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay," Percy says, looking totally confused, then looking at the director. "And Mr. D . . . does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stops shuffling the cars. He looks at Percy like he'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron - Brunner breaks in, "I'm glad to see you alive, and the chance to meet your sister. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?" I ask, interested.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct Percy. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met him. He sensed he was something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to...ah, take a leave of absence."

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asks.

Chiron nods. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood, and then we learned of Miss (Y/n), here." He nods to me. "But you still had so much to learn, Percy. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D says impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

Percy's POV

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembles as he takes the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyes me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I answer.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he corrects.

"Sir," I repeat, liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he tells me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules"

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron says.

"Please," I plead, "what is this place? What are we doing here? Mr. Brun— Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorts. "I asked the same question."

The camp director deals the cards; Grover flinches every time one lands in his pile.

Chiron smiles at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," Chiron prompts. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said . . ." (Y/n) begins and I remember her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told us she was afraid to send us here, even though our father had wanted her to. She said that once we were here, we probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep us close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D says. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I ask.

He explains, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron says. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient.

"Orientation film?" (Y/n) asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No," Chiron decides. "Well, Percy, (Y/n). You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know -" he points to the horn in the shoebox - "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either. What you may not know is that the great powers are at work. Gods - the forces you call the Greek gods - are very much alive."

I stare at the others around the table.

I wait for somebody to yell, Not! but all I get is Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackles as he tallies up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asks timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bites a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chews it.

"Wait," I tell Chiron as (Y/n) sits down on the edge of my chair. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron says. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class.

"Zeus," I say. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," says Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you."

"But they're stories," I say. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoff. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinch when he says my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continues. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

"Percy," Chiron says, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," (Y/n) says.

"Exactly," Chiron agrees. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you Perseus and (Y/n) Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their mothers."

My heart pounds. He's trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I say, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmurs. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover pleads, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbles, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!" He waves his hand and a goblet appears on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet fills itself with red wine.

"You're Dionysus," (Y/n) says and Mr. D looks at her. "The god of wine."

Mr. D nods then stares at me as I say, "You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turns to look at me straight on, and I see a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man is only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I see visions of grapevines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turn to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I know that if I push him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he says quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire dies a little; he turns back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron says. He sets down a straight, tallies the points, and says, "The game goes to me."

I think Mr. D is going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighs through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He gets up, and Grover rises, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D says. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beads with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners." He sweeps into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I ask Chiron.

Chiron nods, though he looks a little troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been . . . ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I say. "You're telling me there is really a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like...in America?"

"The what?"

"Western civilization?" (Y/n) guesses and Chiron nods for her to continue. "It started in Greece, then spread to Rome, right?"

"That's correct, Miss (Y/n)," Chiron says.

"And then they died?" I ask, looking between my Latin teacher and my sister.

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either —America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"Who are you, Chiron? Who . . . who am I? Who . . . who are we?"

Chiron smiles. He shifts his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I know that was impossible. He's paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he muses. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he does rise from his wheelchair. But there's something odd about the way he did it. His blanket falls away from his legs, but the legs don't move. His waist keeps getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I think he's was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he keeps rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realize that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair isn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg comes out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stare at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"You're a centaur!" (Y/n) says in awe, and Chiron's eyes sparkle with amusement as he nods.

"What a relief," the centaur says. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

Word Count: 3702 words

[yamithediaperdork]

My little Brothers revenge- Final

The next day at school time dragged by for Justin. while his teacher was tickled pink that he'd done so well on his extra credit work, Grizz's hadn't been met with the same gushing, and more of a "well at least you tried and I appreciate the effort you put in."

Needless to say this didn't help mend any fences between Grizz and Justin and come noon hour Rayne was even angrier. It had only been the fact that Rayne was one more suspension for fighting at school and he'd be expelled that saved Justin from a ass kicking.

With all the grades going to the same school and the lunch hours the same, Justin found himself hanging out with Alex's group ironically, and even then they only allowed it because Alex had let them in on what he had planned for Justin.

As it got closer and closer to 3 Justin toyed with trying to get himself detention so he'd have to stay after school and put off his upcoming humiliation but then pictured trying to explain it to his parents and that wasn't a fun mental picture either.

As the final bell rang and the loser's club met up to walk Justin home, claiming to be his honor guard to protect him, Justin mentally wondered what he had done to deserve all this.

Their dad worked 9 to five five days a week so he wasn't home as the boys arrived, and Mom had recently taken up a part time job working 12 to 5 herself.

She had waited till Justin was old enough to be trusted to look after Alex, though if she had known what was about to happen she might not of been as eager to start a job.

"Alright BABY brother..ready for your first of many, many diapers?" Alex asked as they got inside, practically bouncing he was so excited.

"Would it make a difference if I said no?" Justin groaned, though he had accepted this was happening.

"heh, not in the least bit! Max, would you be a pal and go and get ohhh.. i dunno, what do you guys think would be a good number of diapers for widdle Justin to wear?" Alex chuckled, looking at Max, Kyle and Lyle.

"Well we want him padded for awhile so I say one." Max said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Bull dooky on that!" Kyle giggled. "10!"

Justin paled at that and whined loudly.

"Uhhh I like the idea of that.. but I think we're gonna have to be more realistic." Lyle said, rubbing the back of his head. "3?"

"Heh, all good suggestions. Max, I know we want this to last awhile but i also want a waddle in his set. Kyle, I like how you think but maybe save that for when mom and dad aren't gonna be around. we don't want him busted in diapers right off the bat. I think we'll just go double diapers for now and see how that works." Alex said and nodded to Max.

With Max heading down into the basement to get the diapers from where they'd been stashed, Alex had the twins go and make sure doors were locked and curtains were pulled, then go down into the basement and pick out some baby toys for widdle Justin.

"ah come on, playing with baby toy's in the living room?" Justin whined.

"I can always have you play in the front yard." Alex said with a smug grin.

"..Oh boy! playing in the living room! weeee!" Justin said quickly, sweat dropping.

"That's what I thought. Lose the pants and undies."

getting the diapers on Justin's big butt turned out to be a bit harder then Alex had figured, and he wasn't sure if he was gonna trust them for a stinky accident though he was positive they'd hold up to wet ones.

'eh, so i just make him a pants pisser. win some, lose some.' Alex thought with a grin.

He was currently using a role of light green masking tape and after using it to make sure the sides of the diapers were fixed on tight, he was running it around Justin's waist so they're would be no quick and easy getting out of the diapers and Alex would know if he had taken them off without permission.

Just to make sure he had each of the loser club sign they're named in pen on the waist band as Justin turned red as a cherry and had his hands to his face looking ready to cry.

"Now Little Justin.. I want you to TRY and be a big boy and use the potty for uh-oh's." Alex said as he finished signing his name.

"What!? After he made-" Lyle started up.

"-Us poop ourselves!?" Kyle finished, both twins filed with righteous anger.

"Justin would be too toxic to hide it, plus I'm not sure the diapers will take a load of back door fudge without leaking. anyone wanna clear that up?" Alex asked.

"heh, yeah guys, Alex has a point. sides, you two DID turn Judas on us so consider crapping yourself karma." max added.

"For the record, I am perfectly fine with crapping in the potty." Justin chimed in.

"That's good to know baby bro. though there's just onnnnne thing about that.." Alex said and flashed a impish grin.

"Why do I get the feeling this is gonna suck." Justin muttered, shifting and crinkling in his white and pink diapers.

"Because despite what your test scores say, your not stupid." Alex giggled. "Anyways, You have to get permission from one of us to go and use the potty for boom boom and one of us will be waiting by the door to make sure your in your diapies when you come out. or if you need help with your pampers after."

"Of freaking course.." Justin whined as the loser club laughed.

Sat on the soft blanket on the floor and in a t-shirt and diapers, Justin was made to put on a show for the younger boys using the stuffies that the twins had fished out of the basement for him.

they had been washed and dried before being stored in a plastic bag so no one was worried about Justin getting sick as he had a interesting epic war between 4 teddy bears and then a lion, tiger and bear stuffie. (And yes a 'oh my' comment had been dropped.)

The only reason Justin didn't have a paci in his mouth at the the moment was the fact that the loser's club wanted to heard EVERY single bit of the 'plot' of Justin's little show he was putting on for them, even though it was clear that he sucked at improv.

"S-So then uh.. the Lion decided that the four bears had disgraced the bear on his team too many times at.. gathering..honey! yeah honey and so-"

the losers just chuckled and encouraged Justin on, though he never once go into the being a big baby dork to their disappointment.

the story came to a sudden end however when Justin turned beet red and dropped the stuffies and his hands went to his crotch. he'd been on his knees at the point and hunched over.

"Alex..alex please..I gotta take a whiz so bad my back teeth are floating.." Justin whimpered.

"And? your WEARING your bathroom for piddles remember little guy?" Alex asked smugly.

"..O-Oh and I have to take a crap! so you better le-" Justin tried but Max snorted.

"Nice try dip shit. you must think we're as stupid as Rayne if we're gonna fall for that." Max said.

"But..But..I can't just wet myself like a baby!" Justin whimpered.

"Oh! I know what the problem is!" Lyle said, locking eyes with Kyle, who shared his brothers grin.

"Yeah, me too! don't worry Justin! we'll help you!" Kyle said.

Before Alex or Max or even Justin could ask what they meant, the twins had sprung up from their seats and tackled Justin to the floor though a combination of surprise and leverage, then they were on top of him and tickling his sides.

"ah! No Stopppp!" Justin cried out, actually being fairly ticklish though normally it wasn't a weakness Alex could take advantage of as Justin would just easily over power him.

the tickling made what little bit of self control Justin had left vanish in mere seconds and with a wail that made all of the losers club wince, and some dogs around the block howl, Justin flooded his pretty pink and white diapers.

If Justin had thought the low point of his day had been being made to wet himself, he soon found out just how much worse it would get as the heavy soaked padding sagged around his hips, and he was told how he'd have to earn a diapie change before their parents got home.

"Unless of course you wanna risk leaking during supper." Alex chuckled.

"...I hate you. SO much right now." Justin huffed, rubbing at his tear stained checks.

"Awww don't be like that, you'll hurt big brothers feelings" Alex scolded but couldn't stop grinning.

"You should be thankful we're giving you a way to earn a diaper change nice and quick anyways." Max added. "We could just wait half a hour and let you squish around in your soaked diapies."

"Yeah, I think you should tell Alex how much-" Kyle started

"-You love him and how he's the bestest big brother in the world." Lyle finished.

"..Your joking right? It's bad enough I gotta do the stupid diapie change song, now you want me t-" Justin started to rant, but was cut off.

"Say it or you can sing till your blue in the face, I won't change you till 3 minutes before mom and dad are due home." Alex interrupted.

"...I Love you Alex and you the best big brother in the world." Justin said, huffing and saying it in a flat tone.

"no no no, say it with some gusto!" Max snickered, bringing out his cell phone to record.

"Fuck my life.." Justin groaned and face palmed, then taking a deep breath and forcing a cheerful tone into his voice. "Gee golly big brother! I wove you sooo much! your the bestest big brother ever!"

between the goofy look on his face and the statement, the loser's club was roaring with laughter.

"Awww, I love you too. now let's get on with your little song~" Alex wheezed between laughs.

Set to the tune of tinkle tinkle little star, Justin started singing.

"Tinkle tinkle in my pants,

I just blew my last chance to wear big boy pants.

wetting my my diapers till their super soggy

It makes me sleepy and kinda groggy

Alex please change my diaper butt

then pat me on the head like I'm a mutt."

Needless to say Justin wished a hole would open up in the earth and swallow him whole, but the performance was deemed acceptable by the losers club who noted it wasn't like Justin wouldn't have time to perfect his act.

One soggy diaper change later, and after letting Justin sit on the potty for five minutes and try and go 'uh-oh', and Justin was in two of the blue and white diapers this time and was allowed to wear a baggy pair of shorts over them as Alex set him to work doing any chores that needed to be done while the loser's club did their homework.

with the chores done Justin mentioned that he was kinda thirsty and so much to his humiliation (and the losers club delight) he was given a sippy cup full of Kool-aid to drink, never having noticed that some pills had been slipped in and dissolved, just chalking the weird taste up to the sippy cup being old.

He was sipping away on pills that would make sure he was peeing like a race horse and having to stick around Alex all night long, as well as a mild sedative that would have him going night night much earlier then normal. (one of Alex's new goals was to have a later bedtime then his big brother naturally.)

After finishing his sippy cup Justin was supervised as he did his homework and the rest of the losers club took off since technically they weren't suppose to be over.

Ironically compared to all the other times Alex had attempted to tutor his big brother, somehow having him in double diapers had him paying more attention and picking up on what was going on faster then normal.

'huh, Maybe I SHOULD send him to school in diapers..at least on test days.' Alex wondered and giggled a little.

Justin looked up, wondering what the the giggling was about but Alex just put him back to work.

The rest of the night was mostly incident free except for a cute moment at the supper table when Justin had been in the middle of telling his parents how happy his teacher had been with the extra work he'd done AND was giving props to Alex for helping him when he just stopped, their parents giving him a weird look but Alex knew full well what was happened, baby Justin was making piddles.

"It's Ok Justin, you don't have to hide I helped you." Alex said, jumping in and playing it as if Justin was worried they'd be mad. "I didn't just give him the answers but helped him to find them on his own. we're gonna start doing stuff like that more often so Justin can keep his grades up for when he wants to join the football team next year."

"Heh. Well ok." Dad said super proud. "Justin, I don't mind if Alex is helping you, just as long as he's not giving you the quick and easy way out."

"Oh trust me, I don't make this easy on Justin. right bro?" Alex said and smirked, winking at Justin.

Only their mother seemed to pick up on the fact there was two different conversations going on, but being tired from work she left well enough alone.

And so after supper Alex changed Justin's diaper and let him sit on the potty for 10 minutes to see if he could made boom boom (and to Justin's humiliation, he was praised and told what a good boy he was when he DID manage it)

Re-diapered and lead to the bedroom, Justin found himself super wiped and ready for bed even though it wasn't even 8 pm yet, but just chalked it up to his stressful day.

"Hey squ- Big brother.." Justin mumbled, rubbing a eye as he headed for his bed.

"Yessss?" Alex asked, already knowing where this was going.

"Can you tell mom and dad I'm too sleepy and going to bed early?" He asked.

"of course I can' you don't mind if I stay up do you?" Alex asked, but Justin was laying in bed, eyes closed.

"What..whatever." he yawns and was snoring softly before Alex even left the room.

Day's turned into weeks, and before long Justin's once 11 pm on weekday's bedtime had been adjusted to a 8 pm one, with Alex's jumping from 9 pm to 11.

Ironically, 4 days into the diaper punishment from Alex, and Justin's padding had been found by they're mom, Forcing Alex to come up with a off the top of his head story about how Justin had started bed wetting too and begging mom not to tell dad because Justin didn't want dad thinking he was a wuss.

that was ALSO why Justin hadn't said anything and only asked Alex for his help.

their mom had bought the line hook line and sinker, but had also gone and tossed out the other diapers and still told their dad about it, before taking Justin out to pick out his own diapers.

Naturally Alex was giggling his butt off the whole time they were gone and telling his friends about it.

Grizz and Rayne never really forgave Justin and isolated him more and more and so it became more and more natural for Justin to hang out with Alex's friends and just be treated like everyone's kid brother, even as his accidents got worse and he started needed day time diapers as well.

Ironically the daytime wetting, at least during school hours WEREN'T something Alex was behind, but it only reinforced the perception of Justin being their little guy.

at the same time as Justin's accidents got worse Alex finally stopped wetting the bed and just kept his avengers diapers around for when he or the other loser's wear to make Justin who had turned into a cry baby feel better.

And so, a tale that began with one brother being a bully and a dick ends with the bed wetter now the big brother despite being smaller and younger, and a ex-bully now a 24/7 diaper dork. Don't you just love a happy ending?

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

PrettyLittle GoodBoy

Summary: After Rami’s GQ Middle East covershoot, his girlfriend needs him to know just whose good boy he really is.

A/N: I hope it’s not too vanilla—if you’ve read my stuff, even my smut, you know I’m a soft bitch. So, this is me trying out that (soft)dom life.

 Warnings: Forgive me, creator, for I have sinned (NSFW, 18+ ONLY, Sub!Rami) 

After trekking through at least two football fields worth of dust and bramble, you and Rami popped out on location near the infamous HOLLYWOOD sign for his GQ Middle East covershoot. As you shook a piece of twig off your sneaker’s lace, a small crew of people rushed over to greet your boyfriend, including a fashionably-dressed man with reddish-blonde hair. As the man pulled his sunglasses from his face, he looked every bit like the hackneyed Hollywood producer, except his light blue eyes held nothing but a desperate plea.

 Whatever he was about to ask, he was afraid Rami would say no.  

 “Listen, Rami—we decided that this location just isn’t good enough for you. Not for what we want to convey with this shoot. We want to take you to Jim’s place in Palm Springs. We know it’s a lot to ask—”

 “Anything for you guys, Steve. I’m just grateful for the opportunity.”

 With a firm handshake, Steve’s apprehension disappeared and he shouted to everyone to head out. He sent Rami the address for the new location and the two of you hiked back to the Audi.

 Inwardly, you rolled your eyes at the producer’s hesitance to request something of Rami; clearly, he didn’t really know him.

 “You should’ve said no—played the role of a diva,” you voiced.  

 Rami snickered. “Did you see how nervous he was? It’s not like they were asking me to strip naked and slide down the hillside on my ass or something.”

 “They have no idea what a compliant guy you are,” you said as you waited with your hand on the door of Rami’s car. He pressed unlock and you opened the door and slid in, tugging on the front of the soft, white t-shirt you stole from him to fan yourself.

 As soon as the car started, Rami fiddled with the AC.

 “Makes me wonder how many people are total dicks. I mean, there is a paycheck attached to this kinda shit.”

 You reached over and gave Rami’s thigh a squeeze, and he shot you a grin.

 “Maybe I should become an asshole? Demand a dressing room lined with silk drapes? A snack of chips and guac with a ratio of 3 red chips to 1 white?”

 You laughed. “Shut up. You would never do something so . . . Hollywood.”  

 Rami leaned over and pursed his lips, waiting for you to close the gap and kiss him. You did, and both of you smiled against the other’s lips before you pressed yours into his one more time, then settled back into your seat.

 “Let’s go-ooo,” Rami sang, putting the car in drive.

* * * * *

Steve had made a good call; even though they were rapidly losing daylight, every space at the Palm Springs location seemed to mold itself around Rami as if it finally felt like it was being properly occupied.

 And Rami was, of course, an absolute dream.

 Which he was, of course, told again and again.

 All the while, Rami had no idea what it was doing to you to watch him like that, to watch him eat up that praise, to watch him be such a good boy for the entire crew all afternoon and into the evening.

 With every complied command, you thought about what you wanted to do to him, how you wanted him to please you.

 “Rami—Rami look this way. Yes! Hold your smile. Fucking divine,” the photographer uttered as she snapped.

 At the word divine, Rami chuckled nervously, ready to counter the utterance but the photographer kept going.

 “Can we get Marissa over here? Just to touch up the sweat. Its hotter than the devil’s dick out here and you haven’t complained once, Rami. I love you!”

 At the words I love you, Rami’s cheeks colored and his face spread into a shy grin, this time his lips not even bothering with a protest.

 “Let me just fix this curl . . . perfection!”

 At the word perfection, he lowered his eyes and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, successfully halting the widening of his shy grin.

 “Yes, Rami. What an absolute joy you are. One more big grin—like the one I saw you give your girlfriend this morning—yes! That one!”

It was like that all day—praise after praise, and by the time the shoot was over and he climbed behind the wheel of his car, his body was invisibly vibrating from the high of being such a good boy all day long; you weren’t sure you had enough restraint to make it back to the twins’ house, the car refusing you the gift of distance so you were left with nothing to do but listen to his excited chatter, inhale the fresh scent of the high-end styling products and the brand new clothes, and glance over at the way the last outfit of the shoot clung to his body, custom made, just for Rami Malek.

 * * * * *

 Rami tossed his car keys on the kitchen island, something you would normally scold him for considering there was a mounted keyrack directly beside the door, but you were so focused on the way his ass looked in his black trousers that you forgot. Besides, you had an important question to ask.

 “Is Sami home?”

 “In DC with Jas, remember?”

 “Oh. Right,” you answered in a soft tone as you flicked on the recessed lighting in the kitchen.

 Rami pulled a beer out of the fridge, twisting the top off and tossing it on the counter, the lid skidding to a halt right next to his keys.

 “Want anything?” he asked after a long drink.

 You shook your head no.

 Rami frowned as he realized how quiet you had been since the end of the shoot. “I’m sorry today ran long. We can do whatever you want tonight.”

 As you toed out of your sneakers, you also bent to retrieve the shoes he had kicked off the second he walked in the door. As you walked both pairs into the mudroom, you knew your silence would make Rami guess at your mood. Were you upset with him? Why? His eyes slid to the keys on the counter, and he picked them up and took them over to the keyrack. Then, he plucked the beer cap off the counter and tossed it in the trash.

 Rami leaned against the counter, twirling his beer which had begun to shed drops of sweat, and watched as you reentered the kitchen.

 “I’m really grateful you spent your day off—"

 “Go . . . sit . . . down,” you slowly and evenly enunciated as you held his gaze before dropping it to walk over to the big couch in the living room, the one that sat against a wall of windows that overlooked a section of woods and the many twinkling lights of the other homes in the Hills.

 He abandoned the last dregs of his beer to follow you, and you could feel his mind working to puzzle out what he’d done to displease you.

 You turned around and gestured to the middle cushion, and just as compliantly as he had been during the photoshoot, he took a seat and waited, his big eyes staring at you. You let him watch as your gaze drifted over his body. He was still in the last outfit from the photoshoot and you didn’t even want to know how much money he was currently wearing. The black Tom Fords fit him to perfection and the tan and black, tiger-striped dress shirt made his skin look smooth, dark, and ten years younger. The dim lighting that crept over from the kitchen dyed his hair to a pitch black of perfectly ringleted curls.

 He looked so good your mouth went dry, and when you thought again about what a good boy he had been, your eyes slipped shut in a moment of greedy indulgence.

 Rami’s eyes remained fixed on you, alert, despite his tiredness from the all-day shoot and the extended drive. He continued to watch cautiously as you slid onto his lap, his hands twitching once, twice, before deciding it was okay to touch you. He ran his hands up your bare thighs, toying with sliding them underneath the frayed edges of your denim shorts before grinning and moving them to your hips.

 Your face remained stoic, fixated on how much you wanted to control him—to make sure he knew just whose pretty boy he was.

 “You loved today, didn’t you?” you purred in a low voice that made all the blood in Rami’s body rush to his cock.

 He licked his lips and swallowed audibly in anticipation; there was a flicker of recognition dawning behind his eyes, but he still hadn’t puzzled it all out . . . yet.  

 You pressed on, your voice still a sultry purr, “You loved being posed. Being praised. Being primped and petted. Didn’t you?”

 His eyes dilated, now more grey than blue, as he watched your mouth move. That flicker of recognition blossomed into understanding, and he stilled, frozen and silent.

 You fisted his curls, the oil the stylist had used feeling like a breath of wet silk as his hair twined around your fingers. You pulled, tugging so hard he gasped.

 “Answer me when I ask you a question,” you bit out, your purr replaced with a forceful tone.  

 “Yes—yes I loved it,” he immediately whispered.

 Your eyes roamed his face as the pulse of attraction beat between the two of you, and with your hand still gripping his curls, you kissed him, brutally sucking and nipping at his lips. Rami’s hands were still on your hips and his fingers flexed, digging into the flesh of your jean-clad ass.

 You pulled at the button on his trousers and yanked at the zipper, not even pausing as you heard them rip at the juncture. His cock had already found its way out of his underwear, so you grasped its velvety hardness in your hand and began to jack him off, your grip tight, purposeful.

 You controlled every inch of his body in this moment: your hand in his hair and the other on his dick, your tongue in his mouth, and his thighs pinned beneath your weight.

 Rami whined into the heated kiss, and with a gasping breath, you pulled back and hissed, “And now you wanna be my good boy, don’t you? You wanna be my pretty boy?”

 After pulling on his curls again, Rami answered with a shaky voice.

 “Ye-yes!”

 “Yes what?”

 “I wanna be your good boy.”  

 “Then come for me, good boy. Come all over your posh clothes.”

 “Fuck!” Rami keened as his hips bucked into your hand and he came, thick ropes of cum staining his expensive shirt and even more expensive trousers.

 “That’s my pretty boy, good boy. Come hard,” you panted in his ear as he rode out his orgasm.

 “Ohmygod,” he slurred. “Fuck, Y/N. Fuck!”

 You relaxed your grip on his hair and let him catch his breath as you pumped your hand lightly up and down his cock, cum coating your palm.

 “That was fucking ama—”

“Oh no,” you said, quickly moving your cum-covered palm to slap over his mouth. “Was implies that we’re done, and Rami . . . we’ve only just begun.”

 He whimpered under your palm and you removed it, leaning in to kiss him, relishing in the taste of his cum on his lips. You took that same hand and wrapped it around the back of his head, once again controlling the kiss.

 Leaning back, you smiled wickedly. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

 Rami looked down at his clothes, and you knew he was inwardly groaning. Yes, he loved high fashion, but he remembered what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck, working a motely mess of jobs just to survive.

 “What a waste—doubt those, what? $1,200 pants can be salvaged.”

 “$1,520,” Rami stated, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth as he rested his head against the back of the sofa.

 Stoking his inner conflict, you whistled before stating, “That’s a lotta dough, Ram.” You gave his face a few light pats before moving off his lap and on to the cushion next to him.

 “I had to watch you dress and undress all day long and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Now that there is, be a good boy, stand up, and undress . . . just for me.”

 Rami turned to glance at you and seeing no room for negotiation, he shuffled up and off the sofa. You put your foot on the edge of the coffee table and pushed, the light piece of furniture skidding back, almost into the wall beneath the television.

 You raised your brow and waited, your face schooled into a mask of indifference.

 His pants were tight enough to still cling to his hips, so Rami brought his fingers up to the top button of his tiger-striped shirt. He moved quickly and you tsked at him.

 “Slowly, baby. Slowly.”  

 Rami’s thick fingers hitched before steadying over the next button, his head bent in concentration.

 “Eyes up here.”

 He looked up, obeying without hesitation.

 “Good boy,” you praised, eyes locked on his as he continued to open his shirt, and at your praise, that part of him that was so alive during the photoshoot came to life again. When he reached the last button, he paused to let you drink in the strip of brown skin and the light dusting of dark hair on his chest.

 When your eyes made their way back to his, he held your gaze as he unbuttoned his cuffs and shrugged out of each of the sleeves. He let the shirt pool to the floor, and the next thing his fingers reached for was his watch.

 “No, baby. Leave the watch on.”

 Rami’s tongue darted out to wet his lips before his mouth opened to take in more air. You could see his half-hard dick twitch, and your mask of indifference flickered as you smirked.

 Rami’s hands grasped the expensive black fabric and tugged. Once his trousers were past the tops of his thighs, they slid down his legs and he stepped out of them. One of his socks was still pulled up properly while the other was drooped to his ankle. He bent to remove the drooped one, then he removed the other.

 Your eyes slid over the thick, curly black hair on his legs and travelled back to your second favorite overly-proportioned part of his anatomy. As gorgeous as his cock was, his eyes would always hold first place.

 You shifted on the sofa and raised your chin, looking up at his face as he slid his thumbs beneath the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. He was seeking permission to remove the last of his clothes and you smiled before giving him a single nod of assent.

 Rami stood in front of you, naked and unsure of what to do with his hands. This always made your heart flutter; he was so sexy and confident for the public, but for you, he was demure and so eager to obey. Letting him squirm for a few moments longer, you used the time to drink in his nakedness before finally standing.

 “On your knees.”

 He complied, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, save for the occasional twitch of his fingers.

 You circled him, once, twice, building his anticipation, and when you stopped behind him and brought your hands to his shoulders, he shivered at your touch.

 Digging your fingertips into his flesh, you slid your hands forward and down over his pecs, kneading them before you found his nipples and tweaked them, rolling them between your index fingers and thumbs before giving them a tug.

 Rami moaned, and you leaned next to his ear as you said, “Shh. Good boys are quiet as church mice. I don’t care if you bite your lips until they bleed—you are not to make another sound until I say so.

 “Are you still my good boy?”

 He nodded once, and you acknowledged with a swift, sharp smack to his right ass cheek.

 Rami wanted to groan—in fact, he started to, but he cut himself off by biting down on his lower lip.

 Always a sucker for synchrony, you smacked his left cheek so it blushed just as prettily as the right.

 The sound of your denim shorts unzipping had Rami’s shoulders tensed. You could tell he was listening as you undressed, wondering if you’d be naked when you moved back in his line of vision. You weren’t ready to go that far yet, so when he did see you again, you were still covered by a plain white bra and matching white panties.

 Gripping his hair once again, you pressed his face into your mound and Rami rubbed his nose against you, back and forth, before dipping his tongue between your covered lips. After hooking one leg over his shoulder and using his head and other shoulder for balance, you let him mouth at you until your panties were soaked with his saliva and your arousal. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get his tongue underneath the tight elastic for any significant portion of time. You could feel his frustration, but it only spurned you on.

 “Poor baby. I know how much you love eating pussy.”

 Rami sighed, his hands on your calves, his mouth reaching up to grip the waistband of the infuriating barrier between his teeth.

 You smacked lightly at his cheek, and he retreated, head lowered.

 “You wanna taste me that bad, huh? All right. Get on all fours.”

 You walked in a half-circle, once again standing behind him as he got into the position you commanded.

 A gorgeous, deep blush bloomed across his shoulders. Dropping to your own knees, you settled between his thighs and aligned your hips against his ass. You pushed into him, teasing him like you would if you had a different anatomy, and you knew Rami was fighting a losing battle to keep quiet.

 You scratched his back and continued to press against him, bending to kiss down his spine and to reach around to lightly stroke his cock, which was hard again. When you tugged on his balls and slowly massaged each of them, Rami half-whimpered.

 He was trying so hard to behave.

You dragged a finger between the cheeks of his ass and lightly fingered him, not with penetration—just a simple pressing of your index finger just enough to make him clench and lean back into your touch.  

 Chuckling, you moved to scratch up and down the backs of his thighs and in the same, low purr from earlier, you wove him a little story, something you knew drove him absolutely wild. “You want to come again. I can feel it—your balls are tight and hot, your ass is clenched. You should see how sexy you look from back here, baby. The muscles in your back are twitching, oh, and your thighs, too. I bet a part of you wants to end this, wants to force me to the floor and fuck me until that ache at the base of your spine bursts open. But you can’t. And more importantly, you won’t.

 “All because you are my pretty little good boy.”

 This time, your good boy did whimper, so you brought both of your hands down onto his ass cheeks, spanking him until they turned a pretty pink. You smiled at the little gasps that escaped from between his lips, and when you could no longer ignore your own body’s need, you pressed a kiss to the base of his spine, right where you knew he ached.

 Standing, you finally slipped out of your bra and panties, and you walked to the sofa, taking a seat facing him. His eyes were wet and crackling like a livewire. While crooking your index finger, you hooked one knee over the edge of the couch and exposed your soaking pussy to him.

 “Crawl,” you commanded.  

 His bottom lip was a mess, indentured from his teeth and you wondered if the inside of his mouth was wrecked, too. Rami was vocal, all of the time, so it was a true challenge for him to stay quiet, and you were basking in how well he was doing. When Rami’s face was no more than six inches from your pussy, he looked up, his eyes still electric, and he begged with them. Even though he could see and smell how aroused you were, he waited for your command.

 “Do you want to fuck me with your pretty mouth?”

 Rami’s eyes burned into yours as he nodded.

 “Do it.”

 His mouth was hot on your center and both of your hands thrust into his curls. His tongue was inside of you, his nose pressed against your clit while he licked and swirled as deep as he could reach.  

 “Enough teasing,” you groaned with a tug to his hair.

 Shifting closer, Rami moved his mouth up and wrapped his lips around your swollen clit.

 “Ah, fuck,” you moaned, lost to the pleasure of his mouth. “Make me come.”

 Rami licked at your clit with short, quick bursts of speed before closing his lips and sucking. He had your thighs pinned open and his fingers were bruising as he fucked you with his face.

 “Ah, fucking hell Rami! That’s my good boy!”

 Rami moaned around your clit and you didn’t care because it sent you straight over the edge, crying out a slur of swears that were punctuated with his name.

 He softened and slowed his ministrations as he rubbed his nose, mouth, and chin over your pussy, waiting patiently for you to regain your composure, knowing that you were far from done with him.  

 At some point, you had let go of his hair and reached up to grasp the couch cushions, so you sighed as you brought your hand down to push lightly against his forehead.

 “Wipe off your face and rub it over your cock,” you commanded in an even tone.  

 Rami did as he was told and his eyes slammed shut, his throat uttering a noise even though he was still trying to stay quiet.

“Do you want to come again, baby?”

 He nodded, his eyes still shut tight as his hand picked up its pace.

 Lightening quick, you moved off the couch and grasped his wrist, yanking it from his cock. Rami yelped, like a wounded animal and your eyes burned into his as you scolded, “No—that’s a bad boy.”

 Two tears leaked from the outer corners of his eyes and your intensity wavered. Those little beads of salt were too tempting to pass up and you licked away one tear, then the other before kissing him.

 “Do you still want to be my good boy?” you asked as you pulled away and looked at him, making sure the game hadn’t gone on too long. “Answer me,” you pressed, cupping his face and leaning in to place sweet kisses over his cheeks, his nose, and his eyelids.

 “I do,” he croaked.

 You pulled back and looked at him, your eyes searching his.

 “I do.”

 You closed your eyes and sighed, your thumbs stroking his cheeks before you let him go so you could stand up.

 “Bedroom—on your back, arms above your head. Wait for me.”

 Rami used the edge of the sofa to pull himself up, and you went into the kitchen as he walked upstairs to his bedroom. You needed him to calm down just a little in order to pull off your next move, so you cracked open one of Rami’s beers and returned to the couch.

 The first mouthful was so cold, so crisp and good, the perfect topping for your incredible orgasm. The second mouthful did nothing other than remind you of what Rami tasted like, and you began to ache for him again. Standing, you walked upstairs and to the bedroom, your beer clutched lightly in your fingers.

 He was waiting on the bed, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, and you were struck with such a profound urge to photograph him like this—to memorialize him as your perfect, good, boy.

 “Such perfection,” you breathed, and Rami’s demeanor once again swelled under your praise. Unfortunately, so did his cock, and you just couldn’t have that. Shaking your head, you walked into his closet.

 “Rami—you’ve got to close your eyes and think about something else,” you called out while digging around in the bottom drawer of the bureau in his closet. “Think about Sami,” you said with a devilish laugh.

 Grabbing two ties, a purple one with silver polka dots and a silver one with purple polka dots, you emerged from the closet only to be greeted by his scowl.

 “That worked,” you said, patting his thigh before you straddled his hips and tied one of his wrists to the bed post, then the other.

 You laughed as you kissed his forehead, then climbed off of him again. You stopped to take another long drink, and Rami watched you, his cock starting to move from semi-erect to erect.

 “No, no,” you scolded, laying your beer down.

 With a growl of frustration, Rami shut his eyes. They shot open again when he felt the slick heat of the lube being dripped onto his cock.

 “Be a good boy and close your eyes—you know you can’t watch without getting too hard.”

 You slicked up his cock and his balls and quickly fastened on the cock ring, knowing you only had a small window of time. You didn’t fault him—you knew without certainty you had nowhere near the level of submissive willpower Rami had.

 Well, that Rami mostly had.

 You hadn’t even touched him yet and his dick was already swelling back to fully erect.

 “Open your eyes, baby.”

 You were rewarded with that same electric fire as earlier and held his gaze as you got back into bed and settled between his thighs.

 “I wish you could see yourself,” you murmured, holding eye contact. “Your pretty cock all wrapped up and begging, begging for my . . . wet . . . heat.”

 Rami’s cock swelled, his balls tightening and starting to turn a delicious shade of red.

 You leaned forward on your hands and bent to lick his balls with teasing, tiny strokes of your tongue. You could hear him pull on the wrist restraints and suck in a breath.

 “If you need to stop, what are you gonna say?”

 “Stop,” Rami stated clearly.

 You locked eyes with him and nodded—if he said, stop, you’d stop.

 Before you bent to his cock again, you said, “I wanna hear how good I make you feel, okay?”

 “Okay,” he breathed, his hips lifting on the bed in a silent prayer that you’d take him in your mouth.

 Laughing softly, you licked his cock from base to tip, almost unwilling to believe that he could get any harder than he already was. As you straightened up to pump him, you glanced at the hands on Rami’s watch to make sure you didn’t push him for too long.

 You positioned yourself over his hips and slid your soaked pussy along his cock, teasing and enjoying the way his rock hard dick felt when it brushed your clit.

 Rami moaned and it was a beautifully desperate sound, an aching call for you to just finally fuck him. Shifting your position as you rocked your hips, his dick slid inside of you and both of you shuddered at the contact.

 “Fuck, Rami. You feel so good—so fucking good.”

 Rami’s wrists tugged at his restraints as his hips bucked under you, desperate for you to move, except you didn’t. Instead, you just perched on top of him and let your eyes run over his face and his torso.

 “So good for me,” you said with a wicked grin. “Hold still, baby.”

 Rami’s eyes filled with tears and a strangled cry sounded low in his throat.

 “Shh. Just a little longer.”

 His breathing hitched and began to come in shallow gulps as he strained against his ties, desperate to focus on anything, even pain, over his denied-ecstasy as you cockwarmed him.

 “So good,” you said as you began to work your clit, your fingers finding a familiar, easy rhythm.

 “Oh god,” Rami groaned as tears fell from his eyes. “Oh god, oh god.”  

 “Oh yes, oh YES!” you growled as you came quickly, your pussy clenching around him, causing him to utter a choked sob.

 As the last waves of your orgasm ebbed, you began to ride him and you focused on his flushed, tear stained cheeks, you knew there was not a creature more beautiful than him in existence. He was your good boy, your pretty little good boy and he deserved to come inside of you.

 Picking up your pace, you clutched at his chest, forcing his hazy eyes to focus on you.

 “Are you ready to come, baby?”

 “Yes! Please, please yes,” he begged, his voice so deep and desperate that he spoke more from his chest than his throat.

 A flush of pleasure rushed through you as you reached around to unfasten the cock ring, and you didn’t even need to move before Rami’s orgasm tore through him, a scream of pleasure rushing past his lips as he came so hard you could feel every spurt of his hot cum splashing inside you.

 Gently, you rode him through his intense orgasm. When Rami’s head thrashed from side to side, and he said, “Stop. Stop,” you moved off of him immediately and reached up to unloop the ties from the bed post, knowing it would take a minute to get the knots around his wrists undone.

 You kneeled beside him as ragged breaths tore through his lungs. Working the knots off his wrists, you soothed him, “Rami, baby, you did so good. You were such a good boy. No one, no one is as good as you, baby. No one.”

 Rami took a gulping breath as his chest evened out. He stretched his legs and his arms, flexed his wrists and reached up to wipe the sweat off his brow.

 “Oh, sweetheart—god, you’re perfect,” you said with a kiss to his sweaty temple. “What can I get for you?”

 “I’m so thirsty,” he rasped, his eyes half-lidded, that electric fire finally sated.

 “You’re gonna be starving in about ten minutes, too, so I’ll order something while I’m in the kitchen.”

 “Mmmkay. So good to me,” he murmured with a sweet smile that melted your heart when you turned to look at him from the bedroom door.

 “I love you, Rami.”

 “Not as much as I love you, Y/N.”

 You smiled at each other, wide, mirrored grins of happiness, and after one more glance, you dashed down to the kitchen to take care of your good boy.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Dr. Mystery

Another gift for @siro-cyll​ cuz I have unhealthy obsession with their work and just gotta write fanfiction for it. I also may or may not have an unhealthy desire for more Ford and Mabel bonding content. (By the way, to all of you who liked my last gift, Tiger Stripes, and especially to @siro-cyll​, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for all of your love and support! I’ve been close to tears so much lately due to your kindness. Just... thank you so much.) Oh! And, S.C., there’s a special little message for you told by your favorite six-fingered fluffy owl; everyone needs a little encouragement and I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you. - N.S.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the Pines family had returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Soos and Stan shared the role of Mr. Mystery. It was primarily Soos' responsibility so that Stan could sit in his boxers for as long as he wanted, but every so often - to give the old man something to do or so Soos could work on a project or a repair - it was like the good ole days with the original My. Mystery scamming tourists and a humble handyman making the shack stand strong.

Unfortunately, Soos caught a bad case of the summer flu, and so to try to keep two old men and two young teenagers from getting sick, he quarantined himself in his room and Stan had to fill in the My. Mystery role. It felt good to be back in his old ways for a bit, amazing gullible tourists with made-up attractions; he had been doing this for thirty years, he could do it for a week, right?

Wrong. When it was almost ten o'clock and the first tour was scheduled to happen at eleven, and Stan still wasn't up yet, Mabel decided to wake him up in the best way possible: by attacking him with hugs. She tip-toed in her socks and oversized t-shirt her dad gave her to her grunkle's bedroom and carefully opened the door to prepare her attack, but a nasty cough destroyed her devilish plan and she hurried to Stan's bed.

"Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?" Mabel asked. Stan tried to tell her that he was fine, but she felt his sweaty forehead and gasped, "You've got a fever! Hold on!"

Meanwhile, Ford was sipping his third cup of coffee in the kitchen and reading the newspaper since Stan wasn't awake yet to hog it. He saw Mabel running across the hallway and up the stairs out of the corner of his eye and chose to ignore it; his niece often got excited about little things. His concern only came when she ran past the kitchen again, this time fully dressed in a red skirt and a handmade white sweater with a red cross, a white headband over her hair.

"Mabel, sweetie, what's the matter?" Ford called; Mabel wearing her nurse's sweater was never a good sign. Unless she was playing doctor with Waddles.

She popped back into view, this time with medicine, a washcloth, and a first-aid kit in her arms. "Grunkle Stan is sick." She answered and went off to help.

Ford decided that Mabel needed a capable adult's supervision and he followed her to Stan's bedroom, only to find her responsibility giving Stan a thermometer to hold in his mouth and cooling him down with a damp washcloth; Mabel even put on her stethoscope and listened to her uncle's breathing and heartbeat to see how forced it was. Ford crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the doorframe, and smiled proudly at his little pumpkin.

"You sound really congested." Mabel commented calmly. "Does anything hurt? How's your head and your tummy?"

"Stomach's fine for now, but my head's poundin'." Stan groaned quietly.

Mabel took the medicine bottle she had brought from the nightstand and read the directions carefully. "Okay, I think you should take this every six hours, only a cap full. Once it starts to relieve pressure and congestion your head should stop hurting."

"Good job, my dear." Ford complimented, recognizing the bottle of syrup and giving her his approval to give it to Stan.

Mabel's cheeks turned rosy and she filled the cap with the appropriate amount of medicine. Then an idea came to mind and she put the medicine back on the nightstand. "Oh! Hold on! I'll be right back." And she hurried past Grunkle Ford and out of the room.

Ford smiled sympathetically at his brother. "So you caught Soos' flu, huh?"

"I'd fire him if I could." Stan growled and ducked his head under the covers.

Ford chuckled at how little Stan had changed from when they were kids; as tough as he was, whenever he was ill he tended to curl up like a bunny and sleep off his virus.

Mabel came back with a glass of water and gently rubbed Stan's shoulder to coax him out from behind the blankets. "You can take your medicine now. You should take it with water so it doesn't taste as yucky."

How can anyone resist smiling at Mabel's kindness? Stan's lips curled upward as he propped himself up on his right elbow and accepted the cap of medicine, took it, and then gratefully had Mabel's glass of water, but he did so after she took the thermometer out of his mouth. "Thanks, pumpkin."

Mabel just smiled at her hero. "You've got a fever of 101.5. Definitely the flu. You should rest and I'll be back at lunchtime with some soup." She packed up her things and left her uncle to rest.

Ford was about to follow her out of the room, but Stan stopped him. "Hey, do me a favor, Sixer, and keep the shack open, okay?"

Ford stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You know, run the tours. Make sure Wendy does her job. Squeeze every cent you can outta the tourists. The usual business stuff."

Ford put his polydactyl hands up in both surrender and defense. "N-No, Stanley, I can't do that. I'm a lot of things, but a businessman is not one of them."

"I ain't askin' you to own the Mystery Shack - which in a way you kinda already do - I'm just asking you to hold down the fort until Soos or I are back in the game." Stan groaned and closed his eyes, laying on his back, and he waved his hand in the air casually. "C'mon, you're an anomaly expert, right? Just tell 'em about some freaky safe weird thing and do it with some dramatic flare."

"But…"

"Grunkle Ford," Mabel whispered as she returned and held his hand. "C'mon, we gotta let him rest. You don't wanna get sick, do you?"

Ford let her walk him out of Stan's bedroom and she closed the door behind him, the scientist's stage-fright giving him tunnel vision. Just as the sweater-twins were at the bottom of the stairs, Dipper came down in his orange t-shirt and gray shorts, pinching at his stiff eyes.

"Dipper," Mabel called to get his attention. "About time, sleepy-head! Anyway, Grunkle Stan is sick, so we need to work extra super-duper hard to keep the shack open!"

Dipper, coming to his senses, said, "Great, do I need to be Mystery Jr. again?"

"Nope! You're gonna help manage the tours so Grunkle Ford can lead them!"

"You got it." Dipper pulled out a pencil and a notepad from his shorts and got to work. "I'll help Wendy with the ticket sales and I'll pull from Soos' spare attractions to fill up the shack today."

Ford shook his head to clear it. "Dipper, my boy, if you have done this of all before, perhaps you should…"

"Nah, ah, ah." Mabel said gently, shaking a finger. "Grunkle Stan asked you to run the shack, not Dippin'-Dots. Besides, it'll be good for you to try something new! Now go hurry and get dressed!" And she and her twin went into the kitchen to plan the day.

Ford sighed and went into his room; he supposed he could last one day, right?

In the back of his closest, hidden by the many colorful sweaters Mabel had made for him (she claimed that he was her favorite model), Ford had a spare suit to replace the one Stan had stolen from him after disappearing on the other side of the portal. He shed his red sweater and changed into the formal attire, unsure of what to do for a tie. Guessing Mabel knew where one of Stan's ties were, he put on his white button-up, gray vest, and slipped on his black coat while he looked for her.

Mabel emerged from the living room and stared at her uncle with shining eyes, then let out a very "fangirly" scream. "Grunkle Ford! You look amazing! Wow! You might just steal Stan's title as the silver fox in the family!" Mabel giggled at her joke while Ford's entire face turned beet-red. "Here, I made these for you." She held out a maroon fez and matching neck-tie, but the fez, rather than a crescent, had a golden six-fingered hand, and the tie had a golden six-fingered hand pin. "The best way to be Mr. Mystery is to be you."

Ford smiled affectionately and was starting to feel a little better about this whole thing. He got on one knee and accepted the gifts. "Thank you, Mabel. I think these will suit me just fine."

"No pun intended?" Mabel asked, making Ford laugh as he tied on his neck tie and let his pin show proudly. She helped by putting the fez on the top of his fluffy hair, running her little fingers through his charcoal-fluff. She pressed her lips and hands together and squealed again. "Eck! I gotta get my camera!"

"Mabel, no…" But she was gone.

Ford sighed and stood. He turned to look at the mirror and examine his appearance. He did look… nice? Maybe. Possibly. Mabel seemed to think so and she had exquisite taste. Ford decided to ignore the fact that her opinion was biased since they were family and he also decided that his little shooting star might be right.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel's voice ringed like cheerful bells, and when he looked her way he was blinded by a flash of light. Mabel got a polaroid of her fluffy, floofy, flustered old nerd whom she admired dearly. She grinned at the picture and claimed, "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity! I'm gonna go add this to our family scrapbook! Dipper's ready for you in the gift shop!" And she skipped away to work on her arts-n'-crafts.

Ford took in a deep breath and reminded himself that it was only for one day as he walked towards the shop. Dipper had planned out a good schedule for the tours, bringing back nostalgic attractions as well as some new ones. First, the rock-that-looks-like-a-face had been brought inside to start off the tour; then a collection of rare and exotic (probably fake) pictures, like of bigfoot or of horses riding horses (Ford wasn't sure if that picture was PG); then the "ugliest creatures known to man" gag; then shells of a dinosaur egg (which Ford was pretty sure was legitimate and from Stan Jr.); and then finally the sack of mystery.

When Ford left to greet the arriving tourists at eleven o'clock, Wendy asked Dipper as she flipped through her magazine, "You have a backup-plan, right?"

"Oh, totally." Dipper said and replaced his pinetree-hat with an eyepatch.

Ford took in a deep breath and then gave his little audience a toothy grin (he was lucky that it was flu season and there weren't a lot of tourists today). He just had to be like the original Mr. Mystery. He could do that, right?

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to my humble Mystery Shack! I, Mr. Mystery, will gladly give you a tour so you may gaze at many abnormal wonders that plague my home." Ford gestured to the rock. "Behold! Rock That Looks Like a Face rock: the rock that looks like a face!" And he grinned nervously; his anxiety was starting to increase subtlety.

"Does it look like a rock?" An old lady asked, adjusting her glasses.

"Um… n-no." Ford's confidence was starting to fade. "It's a rock that looks like a face."

"Is it a face?" A chubby boy with a lollipop asked.

"N-No, it only looks like a face."

"But where did it come from?"

"Was it once a face?"

"Is that what we look like when we're dead?"

The questions kept on coming; this normally wouldn't have bothered Ford so much, he lived to seek out answers, but these were questions he could not answer nor could he investigate to find the answers; he was expected to know what to say on the spot; Stan could do that, but Ford could not. He swallowed as his skin paled.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The group turned to find a boy in a suit with an eyepatch and his hair combed back. They gasped and admired the adorable Mystery Jr., having heard of him from last summer, and the tourists hurried to him, leaving Ford free to breathe heavily and try to relax.

"Thank you, thank you all for coming!" Dipper started to lead the group to the next room. "You'll quickly notice the numerous attractions we keep here, but some weirdness we could only capture through pictures! Be amazed, at our Hall of Photos!"

Ford slipped away as cameras flashed and gullible tourists were entertained. He wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief and he realized what happened; he got stage-fright, inconvenienced by the slightest change, choked, and his own nephew had to swoop in and save him. Ford was incredibly flustered and embarrassed and decided to get some water from the kitchen.

He found Mabel there, wearing an apron over her nurse's sweater, and she stood on a step-stool in front of the stove, mixing a big pot. She smiled sympathetically when she heard her uncle come in. "Hey, how did it go?"

"Horribly, my dear." Ford groaned and filled himself a glass of water from the sink. "I just couldn't do it. I know Stan asked me to do it, but I think it would be best if Dipper continued to handle the tourists. I would be happy to assist in some other way, but I'm no Mr. Mystery. I'm nothing like Stanley."

Mabel paused her work, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot to shake off some broth, and she turned to look at him. "Grunkle Ford, that's not true. You're very much like Grunkle Stan; you're both sweet and handsome and strong and very brave."

Ford turned red and hid the bottom-half of his face in his cup. "Th-Thank you, Mabel." He stuttered.

"And it's okay that's you're not like him. More than okay." Mabel insisted as she moved to where chopped vegetables laid and she scooped some up into her hands. "We never wanted you to be. At least I never wanted you to be. You're supposed to be Dr. Mystery, not Mr. Mystery. Look, being weird and being different is awesome cuz it gives you a chance to be yourself. You have to give the tours your way. Get open, get honest with yourself, invent your own way of doing things, no matter what others think. Leave people confused by how awesome you are; that's what it's supposed to mean to be Mr. Mystery."

Ford's eyes were round and shining like stars as he stared at his niece, who plopped the veggies into the soup and stirred them in. "M-Mabel Pines, that… that was very wise and mature of you. When did you learn all of that?"

"Somewhere between fighting an unholy triangle and getting my braces taken off." Mabel joked, grinning to display her braces-less teeth. "Oh! Maybe my braces held back my wisdom and whatnot! We should sue my dentist for everything he's got!"

Ford laughed, feeling much better than he has felt all day.

Mabel tasted her homemade chicken soup and said, "Lunch is almost ready. Want some? I made plenty to share."

Ford smiled and nodded. "Thank you, my dear. I will be back in a moment to join you for lunch." And he left for his room again.

Mabel was right; Ford had been trying to hold a false image of himself, an image he didn't have because his twin had it, and really he just needed to be himself. Ford tossed the fez on his couch and saw the white lab coat on his desk-chair. He smiled and exchanged that for his suit-jacket. He smiled, much more comfortable in his trenchcoat-like attire with his gray vest and white button-up, and he adjusted the pin Mabel had given him; he would always treasure that tiny six-fingered hand. Ford went back into the kitchen just as his niece was leaving with a tray holding a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice and she grinned and nodded in approval.

After a pleasant lunch with Mabel, another tour was scheduled. Dipper offered to take this one, but Ford claimed he had it under control and he knew just what to do this time.

"Now, many of you may have had a friend owe you money or have won poker and someone couldn't pay you right away," Dr. Mystery said eerily, his back to the audience. "But have you ever had The Mothman owe you money?!" And he spun around, his fluffy hair a little extra floofy due to the sudden movement, and he gestured to an inky drawing of the odd creature.

The tourists gasped and clapped and took pictures. "What happened?" A little girl asked with a lisp, reminding the doctor of someone very dear to him, and he cleared his throat.

"I'm glad you asked that, my dear. It all began thirty-two years ago in a strange place long-forgotten…" And he began his storytelling, entrancing his audience and enjoying their captivated attention.

The rest of the day the fluffy, nerdy owl did an amazing job entertaining the tourists with his stories and evidence to back it up, and he even brought in some of his "mad scientist" experiments and had some kids help him mix colorful liquids in beakers so they made bright, harmless, explosions. The tourists were also delighted by their tourguide's extra fingers; never before had Ford been surrounded by so many people who were delighted and happy to see his birth defect, asking questions he could confidently answer and showing how well he could do shadow puppets. Dr. Mystery was a huge hit, and when Mabel watched him smiling and laughing at the last tour of the day she was reminded of that Bob Dry the Science Guy, those videos her science class sometimes put on and it would make the whole class freak out.

As the tourists walked away with boxes full of merchandise from the shop, babbling about what a great time they had, Dr. Mystery waved them away, wiggling his six fingers, and he called, "Remember, we put the 'fun' in 'no refunds'!"

Mabel snuck up behind him and hugged him. Ford jumped, but turned to hug her back. "That was great, Grunkle Ford! I'm really proud of you!"

"Thank you so much, Mabel." Ford got on one knee to be eye-level with her. "You really inspired me to be the best me I can be, and I have no one to thank but you. You truly have a gift."

Mabel's cheeks were rosy again; she hugged Ford around his neck and he hugged her in return, rubbing her back and combing her beautiful long brown hair. She snuck a kiss on his cheek before skipping away to check on Stan. Ford's eyes were misty as his fingertips gently grazed the spot on his face where Mabel had kissed him; He then grinned and left the gift shop, confident that Dr. Mystery would be available tomorrow.

[b-else-writes]

the tiger shark and the sun

New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender  RebelCaptain fusion AU! Eadu time! Dagobah time! Shit absolutely hitting the fan time!

Read on AO3 | Read from the start

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings

Rating: T

Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. When exiled firebender  Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day Cassian, last southern  waterbender, meets the Avatar, she seems just another obstacle in ending  the War against the Fire Nation. An obstacle he would willingly remove.  But as their paths keep crossing, and the twins discover that destiny  and balance are more than they expect, Jyn and Cassian find that they are more alike than they ever thought possible.

Snippet under the cut!

Far away, the twins clambered over the rocks and roots of Dagobah. The entire island, in the green-blue waters of the Southeastern archipelago, was covered in mangrove forests, trailing upwards into high cliffs. He could hear apes and monkeys swinging in the trees, mouse-deer trekking through trails, snakes and crabs scuttling between the roots and sand. Before them was tiniest old man Luke had ever seen. He was covered in wrinkles, with wisps of white hair on his head and sprouting from his large ears. His skin was mottled with a green fungus, but his eyes were bright and luminous. “Found someone, you have,” he chortled, clutching his cane, made from a gnarled branch. “Help you, I can.”

“Well...whoever you are, we’re looking for a great warrior,” Luke said, stepping closer to the strange little man.

The old man chucked to himself. “*War? Wars not make one great*.”

The twins looked at each other. Luke didn’t need to touch his twin’s mind to read what she was broadcasting. In the midst of their silent conversation, the little man began poking and prodding Artoo and Threepio. Snickering, he pulled open their packs, enthusiastically chewing on some of their food. “Hey, put that down!” Leia cried, as he dug out her poncho.

Artoo, growling, grabbed one end with his mouth. Leia gasped, seeing the cloth and fur starting to pull. “Artoo, let him have it!” Luke yelled.

The old man whacked Artoo over the head. “Bad dog! Mine! Or I will help you not!”

Finally, Luke managed to get Artoo to relinquish his hold. With a firm glare from Luke, the old man handed over the poncho to Leia, not even concealing his huff. Artoo looked over at Luke, asking, can I eat him? Please?

“No, Artoo,” Luke said, though he was sorely tempted. Artoo sighed.

“Now leave us alone, we're here to find Yoda,” Leia snapped.

“Yoda?” The old man hopped onto a root to look at them in the face. “Hmm, know him, I do! But first, a snack.”

From his dirty robes, the old man pulled out two coconut shells tied together with twine. He opened them. A putrid smell emerged. “Banana and frog soup – eat, eat! Or I will help you not.”

"We don't -"

"Yes, yes, know him I do. Great Sage, of the Jedi..."

Luke pursed his lips, throwing his sister a beseeching look. Patience. With extreme reluctance, Luke accepted a shell and swallowed a mouthful. Instantly, he began to gag. “Oh, this is not worth it at all,” Leia murmured.

“Ugh, we’re wasting our time!” Luke snapped. “You’re just an old hermit trying to trick us!”

The old man’s head slumped. His ears drooped as he looked out distantly, speaking to someone. “Teach them, I cannot. Too angry, too impatient.”

“Ben?” he asked. Luke could not see or hear, and yet… Something, older than him, carried on from his past lives, knew. "You're Yoda..." Rapidly, “No, no, we can learn!”

“Hmph,” Yoda said with a shake of his head, “Bridge between the Spirit World and ours, the Avatar is. Yet see Spirits in the physical world, you cannot. And worse, this one -” He rapped Leia on the head with his cane, “Sense it not! Spirituality of a rock!”

“We can learn to be more spiritual, to open ourselves,” Leia insisted, rubbing her head. Leia’s voice was tense. She flexed her hands, trying to leash the anger simmering under the surface. “And then we can open the Avatar State and beat -”

The old man shook his head in dismay, wandering away. “Beat? Beat?”

They chased after him. Yoda had found a wide sinkhole. It plunged deep into the island, so massive that trees were growing all over its sides. “But you brought us here to learn how to enter the Avatar State at will! You believe in the Jedi religion, you’re a powerful bender, you should know -”

“Bender? Bender, I am not, Skywalker,” Yoda said.

They drew back, startled. The air seemed to shift, grow thinner. “*Always looking to the horizon, Skywalker… Adventure, pah! Excitement, pah! Avatar crave them not,*” he said. “Organa, always looking inwards. Know nothing of the deep ocean, does the frog in the well. Avatar to all Four, bender and non-bender, you must be.”

The twins scowled. Leia snapped, “That's easy for you to say, living in your swamp!”

Yoda shook his cane emphatically. “Four Nations – think too much of it, you do. Transcend these rigged boundaries, the Jedi tried to be.”

Tried… the word echoed in the charged atmosphere of this strange, breathing swamp. It was darker, sadder than Yavin. “Feel it, do you?” Yoda murmured, closing his rheumy eyes. “Old Air Nomad sky burial ground, this is. Studied with the great sages of the Air Nomads, eight-hundred years before I did. A spiritual place.”

Luke could see her biting back a retort. “Judge me, do you? Great Sage, this cannot be,” Yoda tutted.

Leia’s cheeks were flushed, eyes narrowed. Luke could feel his own ears burning. Patience. Patience. We need to let him teach us. They exhaled slowly. As one, they bowed, and if Leia's was a little shallower, Yoda did not comment on it. “Please, teach us, Master Yoda.”

The old Sage cocked his head. At last, he spoke, eyes closed. “Teach you, I will. But unlearn what you have learned, you must.”

After drinking more of Yoda’s disgusting banana-and-frog soup – “essential to the Spiritual journey!” he cackled – Yoda directed them to the sinkhole. “In there, we must go,” Yoda said, “No weapons. Leave them with the animals.”

They shrugged off their water-skins, securing them alongside their Air Nomad staffs to Artoo’s saddle. Luke stroked his stalwart companion, assuring him and Threepio they'd be back soon. Yoda perched himself on Luke’s shoulder. The old man's claw-like hands dug into his skin. “What’s down there?”

“Only what you take with you.”

There’s no such thing as ghosts, Luke reminded himself. Linking with Leia, they began to bend. From deep within the sinkhole, water from hidden pools inside spiralled skyward. A shimmering water-spout crested up in front of them. “How do you get in there, if you can’t bend?” Luke asked, as the water curled around their feet, slowly lowering them into the cave.

Yoda laughed to himself, but did not answer. They dropped further and further down, clearing the vast greenery of the sinkhole. Stone swallowed them as they entered a further crack in the earth. His breath caught in his throat, almost dropping them.

The crack opened up into a great cave. This chamber alone must have been at least two-hundred feet high. The black walls were slick with water and lichen. They landed on a rock. The cave dropped further and further down into the underground water, its surface black and glass-like. Huge boulders, moss-covered, rolled all around them, a series of hills concealed underground, disappearing into further passageways. Stalagmites the size of towers rose up in the distance.

“Know nothing of the deep ocean, the frog does,” Yoda repeated, his luminous eyes lamp-like in the darkness.

He indicated for them to assume poses for meditation. They sat facing each other, legs folded in Lotus Pose, hands pressed together. “Magic power-up, Avatar State is not. Memory of a thousand lifetimes, it is. Live inside you, all past Avatars do. Mace, T’ra, Revan, Nomi…”

“It’s the beauty of the human experience,” Luke said, open his eyes with a start.

Yoda thumped his cane meaningfully. “Good, good. Now, listen. Feel. Beyond what you see and know, stretch out. See beyond the thick stone of the cave.”

Luke breathed slowly. His mind cleared. The sun passed through the sky above, shadows lengthening. Wind stirred the trees. The underground water bubbled, the ocean hummed, cutting through the stone. Bird song. He and Leia, their energies intermingling, rising from the ground like two stone statues. And…something. Half-memory, half-dream, whispering… The Spirits of Enfys’ people, Enfys, who was gone…

He gasped, opening his eyes. Yoda’s disappointed gaze fell upon them. “Hear you nothing that I say?”

“Meditating, reaching enlightenment – you can’t expect results at once!”

Yoda wagged his cane. “No. There is no difference. What is the role of the Avatar?”

“To keep the world in balance, and act as the bridge between the Spirits and humans,” Leia repeated, resting her chin on her hand.

“Great conceit we have. Are we not part of nature? You, girl, understand this.”

“Well, I, yes,” Leia said, “Because the Water Tribes live in such a difficult place, we understand that our fortunes are part of theirs, and they us. Our hunting keeps the populations in check to flourish in the next cycle.”

Yoda nodded. “Yes, yes. Listen: life, beating around us. Growing, dying, over and over. Energy surrounds us. Binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,” he said, pinching Luke’s exposed shoulder, “You must feel it around you. Between you, me, the tree, the rock. Even between us, and the Spirits.”

Luke winced, rubbing the skin. Leia made a small grin. “That’s what you get for wearing shirts without sleeves.”

He very subtly earthbent to shift her out of her Lotus Pose. Leia squawked, flailing before she got her balance. Yoda sighed, handing them more banana-and-frog soup. “Truly, their father’s children they are, Obi Wan,” he said, though he sounded almost amused, watching them choke down the drink with revulsion. “Now, listen.”

It was almost night. His stomach rolled. His skin was hot and sticky and uncomfortable. But the twins returned to their stances, breathing in time together.

Reach out. Just as Luminara had said – every breathing thing, every animal and sapling and great old swamp tree… He heard the soft musical voices of the Air Nomads in the air, allowed them to wash over him. Time, time was illusion, Luminara had said… They were gone and yet they were here, a story that was already over and yet was happening right now…

Something blue shone beyond his vision. Slowly, forming and re-shaping itself. Obi Wan Kenobi. A Fire Nation man, here in an Air Nomad site, in the Earth Kingdom, shaped by Water Tribe philosophy. Yoda raised his wizened head and nodded. Obi Wan smiled. “I don’t believe it,” they whispered.

“That is why you fail,” Yoda told them.

continue reading on AO3

[kickingitwithkirk]

Blame the Pot Pie

Summary: Dean and Y/N have a little too much fun after a hunt resulting in an unexpected dilemma.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline

A/N: for @amanda-teaches #2k writer+reader challenge

Word Count: 2623

Warnings: angst, kissing, fondling/foreplay, oral teasing, mention of unprotected P/ V sex-wrap it up kiddos, some cursing, public shaming, mentions of drug use, drinking, unplanned pregnancy, use of Plan B One-step, possible pregnancy termination

Prompt: “Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!”

A/N II: Cherry-She completes your life

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

Colorado 

I slowly wake up so relaxed I can’t remember the last time feeling this good. The hunt turned out to be a simple salt and burn and after grabbing a shower and a bite, we stopped at the local dispensary to pick up a few necessities and found couple new items to try.

Stretching languidly, I glance over my shoulder at Dean, tiger striped by the morning light seeping through the drawn blinds, asleep on his stomach clutching his pillow, thankfully not bunched up under his head making him snore. 

Many moons ago, I learned the hard way not to disturb a sleeping Dean Winchester when I tried to roll him over to stop the horrendous snoring he’s capable of when completely exhausted. That little maneuver got me the barrel of his Colt 1911A1 in my face and incoherent yelling. 

I slept with Sam for a long time after that.  

Smiling, I remember Jack telling me Cas calls Dean a very angry sleeper, like a bear. Can’t argue with feathers on that.

The bed dips behind me and a strong arm wraps around me with a smooth, sleep warm chest pressing flush to my back, “Wha’ so musing?” Dean’s drowsy, gravely voice asks as he nuzzles into my neck.

“Remembering a Cas’ism,” I replied, wriggling closer, his morning wood pressing against me, “Someone's wide awake, didn’t get enough last night?” Dean rocks his boxer brief clad cock against my ass in response. 

“Or a little while ago?”

“Never get enough Cherry.”

I’ve always heard Dean call women sweetheart and occasionally baby but the first time Dean called me Cherry shocked the hell out of me. 

I asked him if he knew what that nickname meant, after all, this is the guy who called himself meat man to his own brother. 

He winked at me, cheeky bastard.

I shift onto my back as Dean moves to straddle my thighs, locking them between his muscular ones. Starting at my hips his calloused hands slowly glide over my body, pushing the t-shirt I stole from him to sleep in up, exposing my skin to his hungry gaze. 

In our world, Dean Winchester is considered the best hunter alive, his only equal is his brother Sam. But there is another side to him that's rarely seen, reserved only for those who are family.

Dean can be incredibly gentle, loves waking me up with his teasing touches. Reaching my breasts, his thick fingers massage my nipples, sending shivers through me, pinching them hard enough they pebble up before continuing on to my arms, guiding them upwards and pulling the shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

Leaning over me Dean braces himself on his strong forearms entwining our fingers. He’s close enough I feel his breath on my face as I untangled my right hand and caress his scruffy cheek, tracing his full lips, feel him smile against my fingertips. 

He turns his head and kisses my palm before closing the sparse distance to my lips, running his tongue across them, encouraging me to open up to let him explore inside. 

Boy, does this man know how to kiss.

Dean pulls back, my bottom lip between his teeth before letting go, moving to kiss along my jaw and shifts to latch onto my neck, sucking on my pulse point.

“Hmm, you're gonna give me another hickey,” Dean sucks harder in response. I grab his hair on top where it’s longer, tugging till he pulls off to look at me. 

His eyes are dilated and not just from desire. 

“Dude, you’re still stoned.” I grin at him. Last night we kicked back with a few beers and a joint, trying a new hybrid strain.

Then came that pie.

“ ‘m not,” Dean tried sounding indignant before laughing, dropping his head back into my neck as we both laugh uncontrollably. I love to hear him sounding so untroubled, doesn’t get to do it enough.

Our outburst causes certain bits of us to rub together, reigniting our lust. Dean starts moving southward again, lips and tongue caressing my skin along his travels, stopping at his chosen destination and looks up at me licking his bottom lip.

“Frigging tease!” I pull his hair harder. 

He smirks and, without breaking eye contact, slowly runs his tongue up over my outer lips before sliding off the end of the bed, turns, bending over sheds his underwear before walking towards his duffel.

Man has no shame so I freely admire his retreating posterior view.

Hunting has kept Dean fit the nearly twenty years I’ve known him, even with the double bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions and copious amounts of booze, thou not quite the same body he had at twenty-three.

I’ve witnessed guys our age be greener than his eyes envying his not-a-dad-body, possessing the juiciest peach of an ass on any man I’ve ever known. 

He’s rooting in his duffel muttering, not coming up with a condom. “Try the table,” spotting the Walgreens bag by the empty pie tin. 

“Sonuvabitch!” Dean exclaims, running both hands through his hair in his shitshitshit gesture looking panicked at the table. 

I sit up...ooh crap, I feel a warmth spreading between my thighs that shouldn’t be. 

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

“What do you mean I can’t purchase it,” I’m about to go mental on this bumfuck towns pharmacist refusing to sell me Plan B, “I can see it right behind you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m unable to sell you the Plan B-One Step today, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He raises his voice for the benefit of the locals eavesdropping on our conversation. 

“Wait, I can purchase it tomorrow but not today,” I’m confused as hell and stare incredulously at the guy, “what’s so special about today?”

“It’s the sabbath, you should consider repenting for your obvious sins.” He retorted.

I blink not sure how to respond what this AssButts implying... when it hits me.

It’s the guy who runs the dispensary we went into last night, chatted with us, recommending some items to try. He saw us kissing and cuddling like a couple of teenagers (who'd thought it would take Chuck ending the other realities for Dean Winchester to PDA) must've overheard Dean whispering graphically on how he was gonna savor that pie and me, then slyly pointed out a few the topical products to try for a happy ending.

I suddenly feel like Olive in Easy A when everyone’s talking about her as I hear the tittering around me get louder, comments about the way I’m dressed, not having a ring on it, and the visible hickeys on my neck at my age. 

Jealous much?

I look down realizing I had grabbed the first articles of clothing within reach, turns out to be Dean’s stuff that’s to big on me, including his boots.

And like Olive, I’m taking back control.

”Romans 2:3 And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?” 

You could hear a pin drop, “Y’all need to consider that before passing judgement on others,” I clap back and head high, walk past the shocked gossip mongers towards the exit, ”especially ones versed in Hermeneutics.”

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

We crossed the Kansas border around eight that night, same Motörhead cassette playing all day. We haven’t spoken since leaving the motel late this morning. 

Dean's jaw’s still ticking, he’s gonna have a helluva headache. His hand has a death grip on the wheel as he reaches for the Impalas lighter, igniting what must be like his eighteenth cigarette. There’s only one reason he’s smoking since Sam got him to quit umpteen years ago.

Dean’s freaking out. 

I slide across the seat and ran my fingers along the back of his neck, lightly scratching into the short stands. “It’s both our faults, stop castigating yourself. I’ll get the pill tomorrow, being at the bunker it will be better when I take it, had a nauseating headache and cramped like hell last time.”

He shot me a surprised glance, “You, khmm, you had to… before?” His voice rougher with all those damn cigarettes.

“Once, wasn’t gonna chance it that one had slipped past the goalie.” 

When Dean and I finally got together we agreed since so much of our lives is built on lying to others to get what we need, there wouldn’t be any between us. But breaking a lifelong habit is not easy, we’re still figuring stuff out and on several occasions intentionally hiding things has almost ended us.

Dean snubs out the cigarette, takes my hand and kisses my palm before entwining our fingers, resting them on his thigh rubbing his thumb over mine. I scoot closer, place my head on his shoulder and he turns to kiss my forehead comforting me.

“Don’t even think about kissing me on the mouth before brushing your teeth twice and gargle with holy water mister.” I growl mimicking his scary Dean voice and he gruffs out a laugh like I hoped he would.

“I’m sorry I’ve reacted like that back at the motel. I’ve never forgotten before, no matter how loaded I’ve been. Except that once…”

Dean’s voice falls off at the memory of the only child he’s positively known to have had, the Amazon daughter who’d have killed him if not for Sam.

I turn and kiss his cheek before laying back against his shoulder for the rest of the ride home.

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

The Bunker

Seven weeks later

“The stay-at-home orders will be extended for another two weeks as the state has seen a rise in positive coronavirus cases over the weekend. Officials say this is likely due to the expanded testing around the state…” 

“You could’ve sent us frogs or locusts but noooo, had to get creative on this one Chuck.” Dean sarcastically grumbles, switching off the kitchen radio and finishes cooking his breakfast. 

Jack had grabbed a bowl of cereal before disappearing with Cas researching some new cryptic info that Billie had dropped on them the other day. Dean heard the main door bang shut at Sam’s returning from his morning run. 

As he passes the freezer he grabs a smoothie setting it on the counter to thaw out since Sam’s drinking some weird concoctions for breakfast these days.

Sam enters the kitchen unexpectedly still in his sweaty clothes carrying a couple store bags and a concerned expression.

 “Um, Dean, I don’t think Y/N has the flu,” he remarks, pulling out the unmistakable yellow and blue box. “I bought these two months ago.” 

Dean looked up from his plate of bacon and cheesy eggs, eyes focusing on the unopened box. “Since when do you get my girlfriends things?” He asks, nodding at the box. 

“Tampons, Dean. I’ll sometimes pick them up for her when it's my turn to do the shopping. I got these at CVS,” Sam shows him the receipt he found with them, “Y/N usually gets them from Rite-Aid.” 

Dean clears his throat, mentally wincing at how his brother seemed to know more about Y/N’s preferences than him, “How do you know that’s the box you bought, maybe she got them there too?” 

“The date on the receipt and she hasn’t updated her app.”

“App?” Dean inquires around a mouth full, looking confused.

“So a few days ago I was showing Jack the new archive program when a notification popped up about Y/N’s Period Tracker not being synced in fifty days. I didn’t think anything of it, figured she missed it with everything going on, Jess sometimes did with hers. I checked the WC and found these. I checked again today they were still there and she hasn’t entered her last two periods. I stopped in town and got this.” He hands the other bag to Dean.

Dean opens the bag like something’s gonna attack him before gingerly pulling out the Clear Blue Digital Pregnancy Test.

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“It could be wrong, a false positive because she took it wrong.”

“All you do is pee on the end of the stick and wait three minutes for the results,” Sam's tone exacerbated at his brother's bullshit excuses, “even you couldn’t screw that up Dean.”

“She could be in that peripause.”

“What the hell is peripause?”

“Don’t you know what it’s called Mr. Know-it-all?”

“Peri-menopause,” My voice booms throughout the library startling them both, “and FYI you two, when a woman hits her forties all this,” I say gesturing in a circle around my middle, ”doesn’t automatically stop functioning normally.”

“Your forty-one! The chances of you getting pregnant goes down after thirty something!” Dean snaps setting me off in a nanosecond.

“Halle Berry got pregnant the old fashion way at forty-seven!” I shot back really pissed at the shitty excuses he’s trying. “Should’ve known you’d react like dear old dad to unwelcome news.”

Sam shot out of his seat at the expression crossing Dean’s face, contorting into the look that makes monsters with any sense run for its life, ready to step in if needed.

“Since I can’t go to the clinic thanks to Chuck's latest temper tantrum get Castiel so we can settle this,” I head for the doorway leading to the kitchen and pause.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. It’s obvious you don’t want to have a baby w...” I hurried out not finishing the sentence. Fucking hell, I’m hormoning already.

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Dean can’t stop pacing back and forth in my bedroom as Castiel gently lays his hand over my lower abdomen and closes his eyes in concentration. 

“Come on man, is she or isn’t she?” Dean impatiently barks at the angel.

“Dude!” Sam snaps with his exasperated little brother expression from the desk chair he’s seated upon with Jack perched on the desk itself.

Cas opened his brilliant blue eyes wondrously staring into mine.

I stare back. 

“Yes, you are pregnant.” 

“How the hell are you pregnant? You said you took the morning after pill!” Sam’s chair scraped the floor as he jumped started by Dean’s lashing out at me in anger. I don’t react knowing it’s his go to coping mechanism when he’s scared.

“She took the pill Dean.” Cas reassures him at the same time tipping his head to the side reading what I’m not voicing. 

I can’t believe it failed..what could it do to the fetus...the alcohol and drugs I’ve ingested all this time...

Castiels rough voice takes on an unusually gentle cadence snapping me out of my own head, “I do not detect any birth defects Y/N, they are quite healthy.” 

“Wait, what do you mean they Cas?” Sam speaks first seemingly the only one who caught the last bit. 

“Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!” Jack excitedly blurts out, “I’m gonna be a big brother!”

“I think we should leave. Dean and Y/N have a lot to discuss.” Cas says getting up cocked his head at Jack to proceed him out the door. Sam gives his brother a look I can’t decipher.

“I’m good Sammy,” Dean tells his brother so he’ll go, not breaking eye contact with me. 

Sam gazes over at me and I nod it’s fine to leave. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder and heads out shutting the door behind him.

We stare at each other for a few moments before Dean rubs his face and walks over sitting down on the other side of the bed and pulls me into his arms, neither of us ready to face the decision that makes the most sense.

tbc

A/N: I originally planned on ending this here. That being said, I am seriously considering doing a part II because I hate breaking Dean’s heart.

A/NII: I’ve gotten a lot of great feedback and will be doing a part Il.

Find it here

[moonlit-imagines]

White Room

Sydney Novak x fem!reader

warnings: i mean, y/n and syd get half naked but thats abt it

a/n: this is one of my favorite songs i used to skate to it so much. also, depending on the character and imagine, i can take gender preferences!! all good ! (and thank u, i love lana sm)

prompt: anonymous: “For the event: Sydney Novak + “probably saturday”! (Could you make it x fem!reader? Or are they all x readers? Not too sure how this works haha sorry.. If not just do whateva! I like your writings a lot so I trust you! Also I love the Lana quote in your bio! )”// White Room - Cream

“Okay, but why are we taking the tracks to your house?” Sydney asked while you pulled her beside the train tracks, tripping over rocks in the dark. You groaned at her question and continued ahead.

“Jeez, Syd, it’s like you’re not even listening!” You stomped and rolled your eyes. You weren’t actually mad, you were just being dramatic. “We can’t let my neighbors see us, they’re gonna snitch on me for sneaking out.” You explained to Sydney, but she was just barely listening to you. She was zoned out, dreaming of what a relationship with you would be like. “Got that, Syd?”

“Uh-yeah, yeah, sorry.” She bit her lip, feeling bad that you repeated yourself again and she wasn’t listening. You pushed her shoulder jokingly and shook your head.

“I’m only joking. Come on, we’re almost there.” You waved your hand towards your house and marched over, looking forward to getting back to your cozy little room. It was pretty cold out here tonight. “One thing I hate about Pennsylvania at night: it’s always fucking cold. I know it’s nighttime, but it’s like the sun never shines here.”

“Here, take my sweater.” Sydney was quick to hand it over, you didn’t even have the time to reject it.

“T-Thanks.” You smiled and pulled it over your head. She admired how cute you looked in her clothes and reached out for your hand.

“How much farther?” She tilted her head towards you while she laced her fingers with yours.

“Only a few more minutes. See that lamp post over there?” You pointed and waited for her to nod. “My house is right past it. Do you like cats?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Syd shrugged.

“Good, we have a cat named ‘Tiger.’ He’s really sweet, but he likes to sit in front of the door, so make sure you don’t step on him.” You informed Syd and she laughed.

“Oh, well maybe I will step on him. Just to teach him a lesson, you know?” She joked with you, making you gasp.

“No! That’s my baby!” You whined into the empty night.

“I’m only kidding! I’m sure he’s the sweetest cat ever.” Sydney pointed to the lamp post you showed her earlier. “Wanna race to your house?”

“You have no idea which one it is.” You thought about it for a second, then took off. You figured that you’d be able to win this one, but Sydney caught up to you pretty fast.

“Well, that was rude!” Her voice was uneven with each step. “Hope your neighbors don’t spot us!”

“Come on, come on!” You pulled her to the side, nearly knocking her down and dragging her to your door. “Sorry, but here we are!” You whispered. “Come on, get in before we wake someone up.” You tiptoed up the stairs and shit the door behind Syd. She took a look around and honestly? Your room was kind of boring. Bare white walls, black curtains, twin mattress, a few shelves with knicknacks thrown onto it.

“Cute room.” She commented, setting her backpack on the floor.

“It’s a work in progress.” You shrugged and started to undress in front of her. “Hope you don’t mind me dressing in front of you. I just really need to put on something comfy.” You threw your shirt and pants to the side and Sydney froze at the sight of you. “You okay?”

“I like how your bra matches your underwear.” Sydney spit out and turned bright red immediately after. Why the fuck would you say that, noooo, Sydney, noooo.

“Oh, yeah?” You did a little spin around for her. “I just got this set. It makes me feel powerful.” You struck a pose and laughed at yourself immediately after, and Sydney joined in in an attempt to forget her embarrassment. I couldn’t get much worse than that. “Are you gonna get dressed into some pajamas, too?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out her clothes.

“If you don’t feel comfortable dressing in front of me, you can use my closet.” You pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. When you turned around, Sydney was already half-naked.

“Thanks, I’m good.” She actually only brought a very oversized flannel and buttoned it up.

“You actually pull that look off pretty well.” You laid down on your bed and admired her clothing choices. “Could you turn the light off and lay with me?” Syd complied and laid beside you. The street light illuminated your room a bit, just enough so that you could see Syd in front of you. You brushed some stray hairs out of her eyes and looked into them. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything...” She whispered while held her breath.

“I think you’re really pretty.” You admitted to her and the speed that she sat up was almost inhuman.

“Like—in a friend way or in a more-than-friend way?” She asked for clarification, scared that she was getting her hopes up for no reason. Her heart was beating faster and faster waiting for your response.

“The second one.” You clenched your jaw, hoping she felt the same way and you didn’t just confess your feelings to someone who didn’t feel the same way. You closed your eyes and waited for a response from her, and you definitely got it. You actually got her lips pressed against yours, it startled you a bit.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” Sydney told you, but before you could even say anything, she kissed you again. You laid down on your back and Sydney sat on top of you, almost scared to stop kissing you, like this was her only chance. But all good things must come to an end. “Sorry, I think I went a little overboard there.” She laid back down next to you and grinned like an idiot.

“Would it be weird if I asked you to go on a date with me tomorrow?”