#Jinx is snoozing next to me...

[missezri]

Got to love when the brain decides 10:30pm is the best time to do all the house chores you neglected all day. Although no regrets for sitting in a park for 2hours writing.

But, it is to the point an hour in, the cat puts herself to bed while I am still puttering about sorting the mess on my dinner table.

Oh, and I was up at 6am. Good times.

[archangeldyke-all]

okay i’ve seen people talk about werewolf sevika but what about werecat sevika like she gives off such cat vibes she’s an introvert who so would love sitting by her window or on her porch watching things also i’ve always headcanoned that she literally purrs when you scratch her head so werecat sev just makes sense to me

YES i fucking LOVE THIS

this is what i think sevika would look like in cat form btw hehehehehe (send me cats u think sevika would look like too! i want to see all ur ideas)

men and minors dni

it all starts with a loose lab-cat. singed had pumped the thing with shimmer and underestimated its strength. he returned to the lab the next morning to a broken glass cage, quickly followed by hissing and hollering coming from the bar.

sevika stepped on the cat's tail where it had been sleeping beneath a table. in return, the cat sunk it's claws into sevika's calf-- four deep scratches running down her leg-- dripping half blood red, half shimmer pink.

singed told her she'd be okay.

he told her to go home and sleep it off and that she'd be fine.

singed is a fucking liar.

the next full moon, sevika turns into a cat.

not a panther, or a lion, or a fucking tiger or something cool. a fucking house cat. and a tiny one too.

she didn't tell anyone. who could she tell? singed would just try to strap her to a lab table and start experimenting on her. silco would probably just laugh. jinx might be her best bet if she wanted answers, but she fears that jinx would do something horrible like pet her or something.

so she just... deals with it.

the more full moons that pass, the more used to it she gets, and the more she can transform herself at will without the moon's powers.

she kinda likes being a cat. it's useful as fuck in the undercity, with all it's steep walls and drop-offs. it gives her crystal clear vision, even in the deepest darkest streets; it gives her great instincts, even in her human form, and...

there's nothing quite like finding a stray beam of sun and curling up for a few minutes to snooze on a peaceful day. both in her human and cat form.

which is how she meets you.

you live on a high floor of a big apartment building in the lanes. it's miserable climbing up and down the stairs multiple times a day, but the nice thing about it is you're high up enough to get some direct sunlight in your home for a good few hours a day.

you don't have a cat-- your landlord would kill you. but you keep a two little pots of catnip and catgrass growing on your fire-escape, a little tin of water and some tuna or chicken when you've got scraps to spare.

you've got a few cats that come to visit you a few times a week, all varying levels of friendly.

the white stray visits every afternoon to snack on your plants, sometimes bringing a skinny orange friend along with her. you let them be, watching fondly through the window as they groom each other.

there's a fat tuxedo cat that you know has an owner somewhere in the neighborhood, that seems to know when you set out food scraps-- always there in a flash to gobble them up. he's friendly as hell, meowing incessantly at your window until you open it up for him and let him come in to get pets for a few hours before returning home for dinner.

there's a new litter of calico kittens you've caught sight of. you think there's five or six separate kitties, but you can never keep track because they grow so and change so much between your sightings of them.

and then there's your newest visitor.

she's a unique cat, silver eyes, only three legs, her left front leg missing completely. there's blue scratches running down her left side, shimmering in the sun when the wind blows her fur away enough for you to see them.

and she doesn't eat any of your plants, or drink any of your water. most of the time, you come home and find her sleeping in a ray of sun. and every time when she wakes up and realizes you're home, the cat will jump up on your windowsill and simply watch you; her tail twitching occasionally in the wind, purring loud enough for you to hear through the little window as her silver eyes follow your every movement inside.

.....

sevika's fucked.

she's so, so, so fucked.

she's been fucking stabbed, twice, and she's loosing blood so quickly that she's starting to see spots.

the men who stabbed her are chasing her, and she's leaving a trail of blood right to herself. no matter how fast she runs, she's not going to lose them.

she's so woozy that she almost forgets that she's got fucking magical powers. she ducks into an alley and quickly transforms, before sprinting away. that takes care of those idiots beating her to death-- but it doesn't change the fact that sevika's dying.

she doesn't know where to go.

the last drop is way too far for her to get there before she bleeds out. she's got no friends in this neighborhood-- and people down here don't have the spare time, money, or sympathy for a dying street cat.

wait.

she knows someone who likes street cats.

someone sweet, and pretty, and always smiling and talking to her like she can speak human language. she can, but she knows your other cat visitors can't-- and it just makes her like you all the more- - the idea of you talking to some clueless cat, just like you talk to her.

she makes it to your fire escape just before her three legs give out.

and while her vision starts to fade completely, the clouds overhead move and a beam of sun shines down on her, the smell of your cat plants wafting over her as the wind blows.

well, sevika supposes. if i'm gonna die i guess this is the nicest place to do it.

you come home and find a dead woman on your fire escape... which isn't a total surprise in this neighborhood.

it's only when you go out to prod at her that you get really freaked out-- because she's not dead, just barely breathing.

you scramble to pull the woman inside your apartment, spreading her out on your bed and nearly throwing up at the sight of two deep stab wounds in her sides.

you've got some shimmer stored in your medicine cabinet in case of emergencies, and you quickly slide the liquid down her throat before scrambling to find something to stitch her side together with.

you aren't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing when she starts blinking awake, groaning in pain and weakly trying to shove you away from her wounds.

"hey hey hey, wake up." you say, shaking her shoulders. she grunts and scrunches her face up. when her eyes blink open, your stomach twists.

you've never seen eyes that silver besides on the cat that comes to visit you. they're different on a person. much more attractive.

"uh..." you say, trailing off for a second suddenly realizing that the woman beneath you is very naked. and now that you're looking at her, the blue scars on her left side seem awfully familiar. you clear your throat. "uh, wake up." you say again, gently smacking her cheek.

she gasps awake when you start stitching up her second wound. "fuck!" she shouts. and then, she seems to process where she is. "fuck." she says.

you gulp. "uh, i'll get you a blanket." you offer.

sevika nods numbly as you-- the woman she's been shamelessly peeping on for the past year-- stumble out of your bedroom.

"i thought you were dead, honestly, and then you started moving and i got really freaked out. gave you some shimmer-- i hope you don't mind." you ramble as you walk back into your room, throwing a blanket over sevika. "is there anyone i should call for or...?"

"you're even prettier up close." she says. then she cringes.

fuck she didn't mean to say that. it must be the blood loss. and the shimmer. and your pretty eyes.

"uh..." sevika watches as you start to back away like you're scared, and she huffs before she gathers all her energy and transforms into her cat form. "what the fuck?!" you squawk as the woman in front of you disappears in thin air.

and then, a little lump under the covers starts to move.

and the three legged silver eyed cat comes crawling out, two new wounds on her side.

"what the fuck?" you ask, immedietly reaching forward to pet the cat in front of you. you don't consider that the cat is a woman-- it's your natural instinct-- you see a cat, you pet it.

but then the woman's back and your hand is in her hair and she's blushing all the way down to her tits which you can see because she's still naked.

"wha--"

"i'm sevika."

"hi, sevika." you giggle, slightly hysterical. sevika's blush gets even darker. "i'm--"

"i know." she cuts you off, then bites her lip in embarrassment and presses her head harder against your hand, like she's a cat. well, you suppose she kinda is. "i... sorry for stumbling into your life like this. i thought if i died as a cat i died in real life." sevika shrugs. "guess the whole nine lives thing is true, though."

"i don't--"

"i can leave, if you give me a pair of sweats or someth--"

"no!" you squeak. sevika smiles, and now you're embarrassed. "i-i mean... you're injured. you should stay until you're better..." sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "plus... you're kinda cute."

she grins. "as a cat or...?"

"fuck off." you giggle, crawling into bed beside her. "you've fucking... been watching me for a year! it's only fair i get to interrogate you, too, you creep."

"i-i'm not a creep!"

"you've seen me naked!"

"you didn't seem to mind at the time..." sevika pouts.

you can't believe how ridiculous this whole fucking situation is. sevika's blood drying into your mattress underneath the pair of you, but her skin is becoming more vibrant as the shimmer works through her system, flashes of pink sparkling in her silver eyes. she's practically purring as you scratch her scalp. you burst into laughter, and sevika grins up at you.

when you finally catch your breath, you shake your head and look down at the only sorta-stranger beneath you. "so, what are you... a werecat, or something?"

sevika groans before bursting into laughter with you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[toomuchracket]

i wanna marry you (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

tiny little fluffy slice of life. enjoy <3

“i wish it was next week already.”

you smile at matty’s words, snuggling further into the warmth of his bare chest and letting him entwine your left hands. the sunlight streams through the living room doors and glints off your engagement ring, and you suddenly get very giddy about the fact that it’ll do the same to your wedding rings in a few days’ time. “gonna be the longest week of our lives, i think, waiting to get married.”

“don't jinx it, please,” he groans, burying his face into you - you smile even wider when you feel him kiss you. “i’d marry you this instant, if i could.”

you hum happily. part of you agrees with him, to be honest; the summer evening is romantic enough, curled up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and the remains of dinner left on the coffee table, the dog snoozing at your feet and music playing softly through the house’s interconnected speaker system. that was only added in the minor renovations that took place when you moved in, a result of you telling matty you love how he’s weaved music into and throughout your life since being together, and him liking the metaphor so much he wanted it to be literal.

but still - “the wedding’s gonna be perfect, though,” you twirl his hair around your finger. “can't think of better circumstances in which to become yours forever officially.”

“neither can i, my love. mon amour, i should say, s’pose.”

you giggle. “if you do that bad of an accent while we’re in france, they’ll exile you.”

he hums. “like napoleon.”

“indeed,” you sigh dramatically. “and god knows what that would do for the people already mocking you for being short.”

matty laughs, the stupid cackle you love so much, and lightly pinches your hip. “you're so weird, babe,” he gently moves your head so you can look at each other properly; the love in those pretty brown eyes is so palpable you could drown in them. “but i love you so much. so much.”

“i love you,” smiling, you bring a hand to caress your fiancé's pretty face, heart fluttering when he turns to kiss your palm. “can't wait to be weirdos together for the rest of our lives.”

“that is literally us, isn't it? a pair of weirdos, with our dog,” matty looks at you shyly. “and maybe, at some point… also with a baby?”

you nod, pressing your forehead against his as if you could share the thoughts in your mind with him, thoughts of the tiny cheeky-smiled dark-haired baby girl that seem to have taken up permanent residence in your brain since the pregnancy scare from almost three years ago. “definitely with a baby. m'also seeing a cat somewhere in our future, too.”

“well now i think we're going a bit far.”

you laugh. “guess we'll just have to see what happens. but right now,” you softly kiss him, savouring the way his eyes flutter when you pull away. “i'm more than happy with just being your wife. don't need anything else - just you, and me. a bed, preferably.”

matty smiles, kissing you. “can i take you there now, my girl?”

“yes, please.”

[snapghoul]

If you spin it, then you get to see both sides

More of Bradley and his weird IMF uncle + the daggers.

Note: Decided to separate the Seresin twins au from this just this once. Do not fear the boys will return.

Warnings: none

Song: double life - Pharrell Williams

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Rooster, why is Penny hugging Mav like she didn’t see him yesterday?” Halo asked, leaning around the pillar near the pool and dart board to catch a glimpse of Penny enveloping Mav in a tight embrace.

“Did something happen? Is he okay?” she continued, her tone protective. The other eleven Daggers turned their heads, confusion etched on their faces. Bradley raised an eyebrow, squinting.

No, that wasn’t Maverick. The plain, nondescript jacket was a dead giveaway, starkly different from Mav’s signature brown patch-bombed one. The hair was flatter, less spiky. This wasn’t his godfather—this was Ethan.

“That’s Ethan,” Bradley said, shrugging casually. He had become so accustomed to Ethan’s random appearances that he took pride in distinguishing between the two. “Mav will be here soon; wherever one is, the other usually follows.”

Just then, Mav appeared right beside his brother, and Bradley gestured dramatically, realizing he’d jinxed himself.

The Daggers all turned to Mav, bewilderment in their eyes. “Ethan?” Hangman drawled. “You’re telling me Pops has a twin?”

“Obviously, Bagman,” Harvard shot back with a smirk, earning a playful smack on the arm from Hangman, who just missed him. Laughter erupted around them.

“I thought Mav was an only child,” Payback said, leaning against the pool table next to Coyote. “But they seem pretty close, so I’m ruling out family drama.”

“It’s just him and Ethan. E travels a lot for work, but he’s around more than you’d think,” Bradley explained, tapping his pool cue on the floor as Hangman lined up his shot. “He’s like a ghost—one minute he’s there, the next he’s gone. It’s wild. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dropped by Mav’s and he’s just… sitting there.”

The group soaked up this new information eagerly. Learning anything about Mav was like candy to them; they relished the opportunity.

“What does he do?” Halo asked softly, and the Daggers scrambled to appear casual as the duo approached.

“I don’t know,” Bradley admitted, shaking his head. To this day, he had no clue what Ethan did.

Like a specter, Ethan materialized by the pool table, smiling, with Mav trailing behind carrying drinks. Ethan noticed the bewildered expressions on the squad’s faces and chuckled. “I see my brother hasn’t introduced me. I’m Ethan.”

Before anyone could respond, Ethan swiped Bradley’s pool cue with a mischievous grin and racked the balls with practiced precision, effectively sabotaging Hangman’s shot. Hangman threw his hands up in frustration, and Ethan smirked.

“You could’ve won the game two moves ago—snooze you lose,” he teased, causing the Daggers to gasp in mock outrage.

“Pops, I don’t like him,” Hangman declared with an exaggerated tone, but laughter bubbled up from everyone, the camaraderie warming the room.

Bonus:

“So, are you a pilot too?” Fanboy asked when he spotted Ethan at Mav’s summer cookout. He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him last time.

“Oh no, I was in the Army before I retired. Now I just do government work,” Ethan replied with a smile, feeling he could share more but kept the details to himself. He already had Pete worrying about him; he didn’t need to give them more to think about.

“Though I have flown a helicopter. It’s a lot easier than it looks,” he added, and Fanboy’s eyes lit up.

“So you have your license?”

“No.”

Fanboy blinked, caught off guard by the casual response. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling to formulate a reply. “But you said you flew a helicopter…”

“Yes, once.”

[helloescapist]

Dear Readers + Requester,

I want to express my sincere appreciation and gratitude for my readers this past year. You have helped me grow so much, and given me so many opportunities to explore such diverse concepts. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for sticking with me. I notice each and everyone of you who have ever liked, re-blogged, or commented on my works, and you make my heart a little lighter.

As I grow closer to graduation (I have exactly 63 days remaining! 🥳), I just want to remind everyone that my presence on tumblr will take a hit. I'll be working from 6am to 10pm to ensure all of my final exams, papers, tasks, and demonstration teaching is completed so that by March 28th I will have both my B.A. in Elementary Education, and my teaching certificate! Not to jinx it, but I have also been offered a position for the upcoming school year. 😭I'm almost done, but these next few weeks are going to be grueling for me.

Because of this, I will apologize in advance. I am not abandoning my blog, but I will not be as active as I normally am. I may be able to share a few works here and there-- just assume all of the works posted during this time are the result of me running away from my responsibilities, but for the most part, my projects, all of my series, and requests can be expected to be on "snooze" until the end of March, this includes those waiting in my box. For those who have already sent in requests, I'm sorry. I promise they are not being ignored.

My inbox will remain: OPEN.

They likely won't be answered until the middle of March, but if you are willing to wait, I'm happy to have them. In time, I'll be able to get to them. ❤️ Once again, I understand if you choose to move on from this blog during that time. I appreciate you for having read my works, and I will miss you, but I wish you all the best. I hope you find exactly what you are looking for. I hope you have support. I hope you know you are loved, and always have what you need.

[tws-official]

Chapter 2

My alarm went off at 6:45 the next morning, and the first thing I did was reach over and slam down on the snooze button on top of the clock.

Five minutes later it went off again, and I got up reluctantly to start my day.

After pulling on some clothes for the day and grabbing my school bag, I opened the door and walked down to the common area at the end of the hallway.

Harlow was already there, lying on one of the couches. She nodded at me. “Morning, Wolf.”

“Morning, Harlow,” I replied, plopping down in the armchair next to the couch. I checked my watch. It was 6:55. I looked down the hall again and pulled out my book. Naomi and Brazen would be at least five minutes, which gave me some quality reading time.

I was reading a book called The Lost Temple. Basically, a group of kids were exploring and found a… you guessed it, a lost temple. They get trapped, and only have a week to get out. It was a really good book, and part of a series too.

I heard footsteps and looked up. Naomi smiled at me as she walked up to us. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully.

I returned the smile and looked back to my book. Harlow and Naomi struck up a conversation for another few minutes until the final member of our quartet came bouncing down the hall. 

“Top of the morning,” Brazen said with his signature grin. It was 7:03. We had another two minutes until we normally headed to breakfast, so Brazen leaned over the back of my armchair and looked over my shoulder.

“What’re you reading?”

I kept my finger where my page was and closed the book, letting Brazen see the cover.

“Oh, that one’s a good one. First time reading it?”

I nodded, opening the book again.

“I won’t spoil it. Enjoy yourself.”

I smiled and nodded again. He didn’t move, continuing to read over my shoulder until the breakfast bell rang at 7:05.

Breakfast was great, as usual. The cooks always outdid themselves for every meal. The endless buffet had something new every day, and it was impossible to get tired of the vast spread of food.

Our first period of the day started at eight in the morning, and it was different amongst our group. Naomi and Harlow had Literacy, which was more reading focused, while Brazen and I had a more writing focused class with Professor Raymond, who taught Creative Writing.

Brazen drew something he wouldn’t let me see and I read more of my book while we waited for Professor Raymond to start the class.

“Alright, class!” Professor Raymond called, and everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. 

“Today’s a simple catch-up day! Work on any assignments you’ve missed, and keep in mind that the Remake Reality essay is due Tuesday of next week! If you’ve finished everything, then do as you please, but kindly make sure that it is quiet!” She flashed a smile. “Now, write away!”

I spent most of the class working on my Remake Reality (which was about if I’d never been bitten) and trying not to stress about the upcoming Enchanting test.

At 8:50, Creative Writing ended and Brazen and I went to Spell-Casting. Naomi and Harlow joined us too.

Yesterday, we’d learned a new spell called the Pain Curse. It was one of the spells that we were not allowed, under any circumstances, to do on partners. When cast, the curse traveled to the part of the victim’s body that would cause the most pain. 

The specialized dummies for the spell would be hit in the same place we would, in the unlikely event that we ourselves were hit with the curse.

I, for example, would be hit in my right shoulder, where the werewolf bite was.

The spell was a difficult one, and, as usual, if we were still struggling a lot with the motion, we’d go to one side of the classroom, and if we were mostly confident, we’d go to the other.

Naomi was confident. Very confident. She always had an easy grasp on spells, and sometimes it was scary. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of her spells, even if it was a relatively harmless spell like the Jelly Jinx.

I was mostly confident. I had the motion down and it always hit the correct spot, but I was a little uncertain if I could do it under pressure. Not that I thought I’d ever need to, just… you know, it never hurts to be prepared, right?

Harlow couldn’t quite get this one down. She was always the quiet one in our group, and I guessed it didn’t quite sit right with her to learn a curse designed to cause someone maximum pain. It didn’t sit right with me either. Her curse kept missing, not hitting the left knee like it was supposed to.

Brazen was one with varied results. He’d get one perfectly spot on, exactly on the left wrist, but then the next would hit the left hip instead. It drove him crazy, I could tell, but he could help his twin out and vice versa.

Our next class was Potions at 9:50. We were finishing up our unit on shifting potions with a human-shifting potion. I thought back to the note from last night and made a mental note to commit this potion to memory. We weren’t allowed to brew potions in our dorms for obvious safety reasons, but it was a pretty easy potion to come by and Professor Brooks was nice. He’d have no problem with students brewing recreational potions.

If it wasn’t for Brazen’s non-stop chatter, I would’ve messed up the potion from stress about the Enchanting exam coming up. Brazen and Harlow had Astronomy next, so they left me and Naomi to go to Enchanting.

“You’ll do fine, Wolf,” Naomi reassured me as we walked to the class.

I just nodded. I understood Enchanting and all its aspects perfectly, as I did with most classes, but for some reason I just couldn’t get enchantments down one hundred percent of the time.

Professor Smith called us up one by one to take the Enchanting Exam. Each of us were given two objects to enchant and specific spells to enchant them with.

I went somewhere in the middle, due to my last name starting with a K. The rest of class was spent doing something productive, whether it was an Enchanting Bingo or work for another class.

My two objects were a locket that I had to enchant with invisibility and a shadowstone to enchant with teleportation.

Okay, first up, the invisibility spell… then convert it to the enchanting version… then target the locket… and cast. 

I slipped the locket over my hand to check that it worked. Seeing as how I couldn’t see my hand, it had.

One down, one to go.

Okay, now for the shadowstone. Due to the nature of the stone, it could only teleport to one place: the shadow realm. I couldn’t check this one for reasons I’m sure a smart one like you can understand, so I’d have to just be sure I did it correctly.

Teleportation spell… convert it to the enchanting version of the spell… nope, I messed up, now that’s the telekinesis enchanting spell… try again.

Teleportation take two… correct conversion this time… target the stone… boom!

The stone glowed with a slight purple tint, and I’d done this enchantment enough to know that I’d done it correctly. I handed both newly enchanted objects to Professor Smith and sat back down.

I found out later that I passed the exam; not perfect, but a ninety-five percent out of a hundred isn’t bad. Naomi aced it, in case you were wondering.

Brazen and Harlow met up with Naomi and I for Healing. We were learning the spells for healing broken bones. It was pretty interesting, and decently simple once you understood it.

Lunch was a well-needed break for forty minutes. Brazen made corny jokes, Naomi would chime in occasionally with some obscure fact about the topic that no one was ever sure how she knew, Harlow was our go-to for discussion topics, and I asked enough questions to keep the conversation rolling.

In the last twenty minutes of Lunch, there was an optional outdoors activity. Sometimes it was a game of soccer. Sometimes it was a basketball game, or football, or a race. But there was always a variety, and never the same game twice in a row. There were also sports available on Saturdays for both the school and the nearby villages. 

My personal favorite was frisbee golf. Harlow loved basketball, Naomi enjoyed flag football, and Brazen was practically a god at soccer. But it was raining today, so there was no outdoor activity. 

In Math, Professor Lopez was teaching us algebra. I loved this subject, as it was practical compared to the magic and fantasy of Welsburry School of Magic. Don’t get me wrong, the fantastical elements of Welsburry were wonderful, but sometimes you need something to ground you, you know?

Brazen and Harlow went to Enchanting while Naomi and I went to Astronomy, one of my favorite classes. We were going over star charts. This was the subject Naomi struggled in, but I hadn’t seen anything yet that Naomi Peterson couldn’t memorize.

And the final class of the day, Special Powers. We were just finishing up our unit on Glowers, people who could control light. It didn’t sound like much of a dangerous power, but every power out there could be dangerous, even Healing.

Professor Jones announced that our next unit would be Telepaths and their subsets. Naomi looked particularly excited for this one, and I couldn’t blame her. If I had a cool power like Memoria, I’d be excited to learn about them too.

After dinner, I sat in my dorm, writing in my notebook. Professor Raymond thought that my stories were very good and that I had real potential to be a famous author one day, so she’d told me to practice. I wanted to write a novel, but I wasn’t too sure what to write it about. There were so many things more exciting than what I knew that I wasn’t sure where to start.

It’d never occurred to me that maybe, the most exciting things were where we least expected them to be.

[sevasey51]

hello my lovee!!! how are you today? how are you feeling?

Hey my love! I’m okay today did loads of productive things, cleaned my room, made a banging sunday roast that was chefs kisses 😚.

Finally not jinxing it but my migraine has finally let me be so I’m not as in pain as I was but still very sleepy so that’s okay, bean is snoozing away next to me bless her 🥹. I’m planning 2 fics to come out this week so that’s fun.

That’s about it lovey, how are you feeling love? Anything good happen today? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[soft-citrus-central]

Do Apple pie, shortcake and cherry pie with Jigen, you coward!— black-cat-express

@black-cat-express Thank you for the ask!

Apple pie: How does your f/o sleep? Do they snooze soundly next to you or do they toss and turn etc?

As notorious thieves, sleeping soundly and through a whole night in itself is a rare occurrence. Though in a more general sense of how he sleeps, Ji.gen tends to move around here and there but keeps pretty still through the night once he finally gets comfortable. If he’s able to get some really good sleep, he’ll snore a bit. He's an overall light sleeper, which I guess is expected with this career choice. He’s much more of a ‘nap throughout the day’ kind of guy, and honestly, I’m just glad he’s getting some kind of sleep and peace.

Shortcake: What’s your f/o’s love language? (physical affection, giving gifts, etc)

Ji.gen’s love language is acts of service. He tends to help me out when needed, like cleaning and/or fixing my gun when needed. He’s taught me how to do both, but more often than not he’ll take over cause he was already gonna clean his own. He does let me put them back together as he knows I enjoy the tinkering, so It’s more of a team effort. He’s also helped me out with cleaning around the hideouts here and there, even though he isn’t a huge fan of it. I think he just likes the feeling of taking care of me, and when I can I try to return the favor and let him have his own break.

Cherry pie: Who said “I love you” first?

To the surprise of possibly some, Ji.gen.

For the longest time, our relationship was more of an obvious but never stated thing. It was clear we got along and were together, but with his history of relationships, he was hesitant to make it a stated thing, as he didn’t want to Jinx anything. I am more outwardly affectionate and would have been more likely to say it, however with his wariness on the subject, I didn’t want to push my luck and more so waited for him. Him, on the other hand still being a romantic and a sap despite everything, had the whole moment planned out for a while before he ever said anything.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Twenty- One

Clint ultimately had had a rather enjoyable morning. It had started with sweet kisses and slow snuggly lovemaking and culminated in creating a minor PR disaster for SHIELD. 

But he’d enjoyed his little counter-protest. Aided and abetted by Thor, Bruce, Sam, Tony, Nat, and several other SHIELD agents that were tired of out of tune hymns and their Witchling not going outside. It had created enough negative attention for the church that Stirling Cole, your stepfather had called for a parlay of sorts.

Clint looked from the bed where you lay, sound asleep, and back in the mirror. At the black eye, he’d gotten when he’d tried to grab you before you could pull Stirling’s throat out in front of the TV cameras. “Worth it,” he said, satisfied. 

“Really worth it,” he amended, looking down at your feet. Cut and still bleeding, though they were healing. Not, perhaps, as rapidly as Bucky or Steve, but even faster than Clint would recover after walking barefoot across hellfire. 

Which, contrary to what Clint had thought, hadn’t burnt you but had left the present gnarly cuts. 

It was all a bit of a blur, really. They’d started by drowning out the protestors by very, very loudly playing the national anthem. That had pissed the protestors off quite a bit. The cacophony had brought you outside, which had riled the protestors up. Rocks started flying. They threw fucking stones at you.

Clint had been furious but nothing. Nothing. Compared to when you slowly turned, blood running down the side of your face and started walking forward. Traffic in front of the tower had ground to a halt due to all the spectators. It had happened in slow motion. Rocks flew, but none of them seemed to land, and you smiled. Or at least. You showed your teeth. And Clint knew, damn well that the face you were making was one countless HYDRA goons had seen before they died. “Oh shit,” he muttered, starting to follow you.

But out of nowhere, fire. The fucking green light created a separation between you and the protestors. Clint looked up to see Strange standing on a balcony out of sight trying to summon something to stop your inevitable progress forward. “Bless him,” Natasha said, “He thinks that’s going to stop her.”

Kill mode was unstoppable. At least. Mostly. You wouldn’t care about Damage to yourself. And that much was clear as you clawed your way through the green flames, unphased by the cuts they left. 

“She’s gonna kill him,” Clint said, “Fuck- Thor-”

But the demigod needed no more prompting. He might agree with you that the man SHOULD be killed, but he knew you couldn’t be SEEN to do it. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around you quickly, thankful for his sturdy boots. And grateful that “kill mode” as Stark had dubbed it, was only dangerous to your immediate target. He’d once thought it berserker like rage but, Bruce was quick to dissuade him of that. Bruce pegged it as a response to trauma. And Thor agreed. Mostly.

“Witchling,” he rumbled, grunting as you attempted to squirm out of his arms, “Be still.” You radiate pain. Pain and Fear, and Anger. A thousand different memories rush through you, and you just... can’t. You can’t manage it all. Stories about what should happen to anyone who doesn’t obey their god. The sting of a belt against your ass and thighs for whatever infraction. Your elation at the warm sand in California turning to panic as the sunset, and it started to get cold. Foster care. Going hungry. Stealing packs of ramen to eat while you were running. Peggy Carter. A job offer. And then a van. And searing fucking pain. Endless fucking pain as these “SHIELD” ass holes played around with your genetic code. But you didn’t care because you were fed. And warm. And someone finally showed you how to control your powers. You were never enough. Never. It didn’t matter what you did. How obedient you were or how many people you saved. You were nothing. Evil. Dirty. As if you had asked for any of this.

Clint could hear you screaming. There weren’t even words. Just screams. And he blinked back tears. It sounded like Thor was killing you, but. Anyone that had seen you wake up in medical knew that wasn’t this sound. He rushed forward and reached up carefully, trying to remind you that you were okay. And help Thor keep a hold of you. You’d worked an arm free, and the Asgardian was struggling. Even if you weren’t trying to hurt him, you could still be dangerous. 

When your elbow caught his eye, Clint took the opportunity to grab your hand. “Y/N,” he said softly, “Baby. Please. Let us help. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was trying to make it stop.”

You reached for him, and he held his arms out tenderly, “It’s okay,” he murmured, ignoring the pain in his head. He held you against him. His heartbreaking with every stuttering breath. Your fingers curled in the soft fabric of his jacket. “It hurts,” you pant. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, picking you up when he noticed you standing in a pool of blood from the cuts on your feet. “I’m sorry.”

He knew you didn’t want him to apologize but, he didn’t know what else to say. “Thor,” Clint muttered, “Help me get her inside. No one can see what’s happening now, but she can’t walk back over all this.” Thor grunted and nodded, bashing Mjolnir against the flames to get them out of the way so the archer could carry you.

Clint shifts your weight gently and follows after, pressing soft kisses against your hair when you whimper. “I know,” he soothes, “Shhh. We’ll get you inside, okay?”

“Your eye,” you murmur.

“I’m okay,” he reassures gently, “I know you didn’t mean to. You’d never hurt me on purpose.”

“I love you,” you murmur, swallowing hard. 

“I know,” he says gently, “You love me so much. You didn’t want to hurt anyone... Except for Stirling. And he deserves it. But we can’t let you tear his throat out on live TV baby. We can’t.”

Thor growled next to him, and Clint half smiled, “See, Thor can get away with it. Because he’s big. And not human. But it’s a bad look if we let the sweetest Avenger go around killing preachers on TV.”

“I’m a monster,” you whisper. Clint stops walking, and Thor stops mid-swing, stopping to look at you.

“My lady,” he said quietly, aware that his voice could carry, “I have fought monsters. You are not a monster, Witchling. You’re not what they all did to you to try and tear you asunder. You are kind. And Just. Powerful and sometimes rightfully very scary, but you are not a monster, my darling.” 

“All I took away from that is that Thor is scared of you,” Clint teased, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you huffed a laugh. 

Thor smirked a little and brushed his fingers against your hair affectionately. “Maybe a little,” he teased, “Her knowledge of song lyrics is prodigious and not of this Earth.”

_______

Clint leaned on the door frame, thankful that Lucky was curled between your knees and your belly, and Jinx had taken up her spot behind your knees. You were warm and stuck. Unable to move without disturbing your snoozing fur babies. 

Satisfied you’d be okay for a few minutes, he slipped downstairs. You needed water. And food. And he was hungry. 

He was halfway through putting together some food. Lots of spicy, salty snacks for you and some sweet stuff for him. A couple sodas. Sandwiches. And some frozen fruit. Anything he thought you might want when Natasha leaned over and inspected his eye.

“How you feel?” she asked. The implication, Clint knew, was her asking if you’d meant to do that.

“Fine,” Clint said placatingly, “I caught an elbow trying to help Thor keep hold of her.”

“Kill mode?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Natasha winced, “I heard her screaming. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I hate it.”

“I know,” Clint said, rubbing his neck, “But... she’s- she’s okay. Mostly. Freaking out because she hurt us. But she’s healing.”

The spy quirks an eyebrow, “Us?”

“She bit Thor trying to get loose. Didn’t break the skin, but there was a real pretty bruise.”

“Damn.”

Clint smirked, “You should have seen my shoulder when she got done with me last week.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled a little. “Only you, Barton,” she huffed.

“You love me,” he says.

“I do,” she admitted, “I’m just glad everything’s okay because... they wanna see her.”

“Who does?” Clint asked cautiously.

“Her mom. And stepdad... Tony threatened charges for property damage. And assault since they hit her with a rock,” she explained.

“And they want her to stop it?”

The spy nodded, and Clint shrugged, “Tough shit,” he said, “She’s asleep. And she’s had enough. She’s gonna stay that way until she’s ready to be up and about.”

Natasha nodded, “I’ll go tell Tony that their Parlay will have to wait.” She wasn’t going to argue. Clint had a point. Putting you back in front of them when you felt raw like this was only gonna make a bigger mess.

_________

Peggy slid a cup of tea across the table to Steve and he smiled his thanks, “Peg, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he said, “Bucky just will not let this go.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile and sighed, “Since when does he let anything go?”

“This is different though. It’s vindictive. And all Y/N did was quietly harbor a crush none of us even knew about.”

“That is an accomplishment, given how many spies are in that building,” she said, impressed. 

“Y/N is a good girl,” Steve said, “But Peg, if he keeps pushing on her and she snaps, there’s no one in that building that could save him- Maybe Barton but. Let’s be honest, he’d not stop her.”

She smirked, “No. I don’t think he would. Not if he’s the Clint I remember.”

“He’s worse where she’s concerned,” Steve said rolling his eyes, “No common sense.”

“Well,” she said shrugging, “When someone feels like home, you don’t really want to let them go.”

“That’s true,” he sighed, “But still.”

“But nothing,” she laughed, “What’s the betting pool up to on the proposal?”

Steve smirked, “Sam and I stand to split a pretty chunk of change if he does it on Christmas... Natasha is gonna take it if he does it for Halloween. Bruce swears he’s gonna do it next time they’re on a mission together before he even has a ring.”

Peggy grinned, “I’d say Bruce has the right idea. If he plans anything he won’t go through with it.”

Steve shook his head and gave her an apologetic smile picking up his ringing phone, “Roger- They did what?” he barked.

Peggy sat up a little straighter, eager for some gossip.

“Was anyone hurt?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. No. Just- yeah. Alright.”

He hung up the phone and groaned, “Clint lobbed a counter-protest,” he explained, “Kill mode happened and now Y/N feet are cut up and CLint has a black eye from trying to help Thor grab hold of her.”

“Fucking hell,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Tags:

@lancsnerd, @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess, @stevieang, @beautybyfire, @sunmoonandbucky @mrsfox79, @bbmommy0902, @mendes-fan, @iheartsebastianstan, @wtfcas @pinknerdpanda, @process-pending, @ladifreakingda, @leasly, @coldbookworm, @hv-chw3, @past-perfect-future-tense, @starkrobb @beardburnsupersoldiers, @petlaufeyson, @queenoftheunderdark, @potatoheadthewise, @thehyperactiveteen, @thefridgeismybestie, @boyett514, @an-awkward-human-1, @sunshine-and-riverwater 

[futurewriter2000]

Lovely

A/N: Okay. I have to admit I don’t know anything about Teddy, so I’ll have to work on my Teddy imagines. But please let me know how I did because this imagine is one of my first from the Cursed Child era and I’m a bit insecure and worried. 

REQUEST : Could you do something Teddy Lupin x reader. I just can’t with this cute ass punk cinnamon roll and I rlly need some fanfics of my Teddy bear xx

Teddy Lupin was trouble. He has always been trouble and he wasn’t hiding it.

“ No, no. She was working at the Ministry.” you heard him whisper behind you, making you roll your eyes for what felt for the hundredth time today.

“ Not possible. My dad said she never worked for the ministry that she just came from time to time, sending news and all of that.” James whispered back.

“ Yeah, but you know your dad. He can be wrong a lot of times. Plus I heard Hermione say she actually-”

“ Can the two of you shut up already?” you turned around, whispering in the same voice as them. “ Like, I’m serious I can’t concentrate when the two of you are gossiping like two old ladies.” you glared and they stared. “ Thank you.” you turned around in your seat and grabbed the pencil to start taking notes again.

Teddy leaned over to James, not even asking when James spoke. “ (y/n) (y/l/n). Half-blood. Hufflepuff. Her mum works with Hermione, dad a Muggle, chemist.”

“ Hufflepuff? But I’m Hufflepuff.” he furrowed his eyebrows at James and James shrugged.

“ I don’t know, mate. Even I don’t know all of the Gryffindors in this school and-”

“ I swear to God. I don’t care who sees me but I will jinx both of your arses.” you were now glaring at both of them.

Teddy smiled and leaned on his palms, looking mischievously at you and changing his hair color to red. “ Fancy going to Hogsmeade with me?” he asked, changing his hair color to green, later pink and into blue.

Your eyes moved from his hair to his eyes. “ What?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“ I asked. ” he repeated, turning his hair color to red again. “ Fancy...” turning into green. “...going to...” pink. “ ...Hogsmeade...” and blue. “ ...with me?”

You stared at him. Was he serious at the moment? “ Flattered as I am, I’m already going with somebody.” you replied turning back to your notebook.

“ Oh, really? Who is it?” he asked from behind, whispering louder.

“ None of your business.” you replied, glancing up if the professor heard you.

“ Probably that Ravenclaw, Dave. Saw them a few times together.” James whispered to Teddy, loud enough for you to hear.

“ Dave, huh? “ Teddy smirked, glancing from you to the professor. “ He always did pick easy girls.” he whispered loudly, making you turn back at him.

“ You think I’m easy, huh? Then why did you ask me out?”

“ Because you’re easy.” he smirked and you gripped your wand tightly around its core.

“ I’ll show you just how easy I can be.”

And you know the trouble of Teddy Lupin I was mentioning earlier? Well, he sure didn’t try to avoid it.

---

As much as you didn’t want to have detention, it was worth it. You walked into that detention class with your head held high and smirk on your lips.

The wands were on the Professors desk and there were many desks empty. You sat behind one and opened your notebook. If you were stuck here for a few hours you might as well be productive.

“ Afternoon, Professor!” he beamed as he entered the room, placing his wand on the desk and taking a seat next to you. “ Noon.” he looked at you with sweetness in his eyes and leaned his head on his palm.

“ How’s your nose?” you smirked.

“ Poppy mend it but I can still taste the blood.” he smiled and looked down at your notebook. “ Whatcha got there?”

“ None of your business.”

“ You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he grinned and you finally looked at him, his eyes emerald green and his hair light brown.

“ Depends to who.” you glanced and turned another page.

Before he could reply, Professor McGonagall was standing in front of him and he looked up at her and grinned. “ Professor?”

“ Mister Lupin.” she pursed her lips into a thin line. “ Will I have to make you go seat a few desks away from Miss (y/l/n)? ”

“ Please, Professor. I’m a Prefect, I need to be seated at the front.” he smiled at her and she kept looking at him. You glanced up at the professor and you swore you saw her smile at him.

“ You may look like so much like your father, but you definitely got your mother’s traits.” she shook her head. “ Always up to no good, she was.”  

You looked at him and you saw his beam disappear into a small simper. He looked up at the mirror up at McGonagall's mirror and as soon as he saw his appearance he changed his hair to blue, as well as his eyes.

You kept looking at him, wondering why? Why did he change his appearance so quickly? Wasn’t he proud to look like his dad?

He was quiet the whole attention. He even pulled out parchment and started writing an essay for Potions. You leaned towards him and whispered. “ Are you okay?”

“ Yeah, why?” his reply was quick and he kept scratching his quill against the parchment.

“ I don’t know. “ you shrugged, looking at him. “ You’ve been kind of quiet since she mentioned your parents.” you spoke really quietly and he stopped writing, staring down and you knew you shouldn’t have said it.

His story was a tragedy. Everybody knew about his parents’ death, his mother’s gift he inherited...

“ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” you moved in front of your desk and stared at your notebook.

“ Yeah, you really shouldn’t.” he snapped and returned back to his essay, his hair color turning into a dark shade of red.

---

He didn’t talk to you since then and all the time you felt really horrible for offending him like that. You didn’t think it would have such a big effect on him. You tried not to think about it too much but it was hard since he was in the same house as you.

But you wanted to apologize to him, so you waited for him when he was patrolling the halls. You waited in the warm and cozy common room, clutching your phone and falling asleep with music blasting in your ears. There were a few parchments on the table as you tried to write an essay for your Potions class as well.

He entered the common room and saw you curled up on the sofa, snoozing as one earphone fell from your ear and he could hear a guitar playing from it. He smiled and walked towards you.

He knew you’ve been trying to talk to him but he didn’t want to talk about it. He never wanted to hear about his parents. He never likes the subject of his werewolf dad and half-blood mother. He only loved hearing it from Harry and his grandmother as they always told them how brave they were, fighting for what was right.

He placed his hand on your shoulder and lightly shook you. You quickly jerked awake and looked up, another earphone falling from your ear. “ Hey.” you smiled and quickly sat up.

“ You waited?” he smiled and sat on the small desk behind him.

“ Yeah, yeah.” you shook your head a bit, trying to shake off the sleepiness that kept washing over you. “ I wanted to apologize...for what I said at that detention.”

“ Not about the broken nose?” he chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“ You deserved it. We both know it.” you smiled and pulled out the earphones from your phone as it kept blasting music. “ I didn’t know you’d be mad but I just want you to know that I don’t care what they say about them. I think they were pretty brave for what they died for.” you said and his hair colour turned back to light brown as his eyes into emerald.

“ Yeah... I know you didn’t mean anything bad by saying it. I just don’t like talking about them.” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“ Why not?” you asked, your heart racing at the thought of stepping over the line.

“ I’m just mad they left me, I guess. And I don’t know it but my hair and eyes always turn like my dads. I can’t help it and it happens when I’m around Harry or grandma but last time happening in detention...I don’t know...” he shrugged. “I guess I didn’t expect it.”

“ They didn’t leave you, Teddy. They left for you.” you placed your hand on his. “ They fought for you because they didn’t want you to live in the world where Voldemort was in charge. They loved you.”

“ You sound like Harry.” he smiled and looked down at your touching hands.

“ Well, good to know I might be the Chosen one as well.” you joked and he chuckled. “ Be proud of them, that’s all I’m saying.”

“ I am. “ he smiled, looking you with his emerald eyes. “ But you know what would make me a bit better right now?” he grinned and you looked at him confused.

“ What?”

“ A date. “ he wiggled his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes. “ You know...for breaking my heart.”

“  Breaking your heart?!” you scoffed, smiling at him and slightly pushing him away. “ I think you’ll live.”

“ It’s just one date.” he got on his knees and placed his arms on your lap. “ I know you fancy me, (y/n). You wouldn’t be waiting for me in the common room if you didn’t.” he looked with the same sweetness as he did before.

“ Alright. One date but you better make it a good one.”

[harryseyebrows]

Hazoff Babies’ First Christmas Card

How about some Christmas in July? Because I’m horrible at finishing things and this is far overdue. 2.3k of pure fluff. Not an ounce of angst or suffering in sight. General warnings: mpreg, male nursing (squint and you’ll miss it), super tacky niche dialogue. Thank you to Sara @pinkzayn for proofreading! 

“Shit, do you think both of them are gonna fit in the box?”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, H, but they’re pretty small. Recently squeezed out and all that.”

“Jeffrey, they’re almost five months old. I feel like we keep having to buy them new clothes, because every day something else doesn’t fit them anymore.”

“They’ll fit. We just might have to… stack ‘em a bit. Like baby Legos. Infant Jenga.”

Harry ignores him. He’s not being very helpful right now, but perhaps it’s for the best. Harry wants this done right so he’s gonna do it himself. So he stands there for a moment, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed at the gift box he bought months in advance for this very purpose and internally curses his past-self for not having the foresight to buy a bigger box. He glances between Jude and Eli on the floor having tummy time, completely fascinated by some red Christmas ribbon, and the box in question, sizing them up and trying to figure out how he’s going to arrange them for a good shot.

It’s their first Christmas card. It’s important. Anyone who has ever said a simple “Hello” to Harry on the street is getting one of these cards, not to mention all of Harry and Jeff’s family and friends that are chomping at the bit to get their hands on one. He gets it; they’re very cute, and he is more than happy to show them off at every available opportunity, especially when has creative control.

Jeff hasn’t said a word about Harry rearranging the living room or the outfits that he’s picked out, but Harry suspects Jeff thinks he’s a bit crazy.

“Okay babies,” Harry says while kneeling down to get their attention, even though it’s often hit or miss. It doesn’t stop him from narrating everything. He wants them to feel like they’re involved in the process. “We’re gonna do a trial run. Who wants to go in the box first?”

Jude is still very interested in his piece of ribbon, scrunching it up in his little fist and trying to put it in his mouth, giant wet drool patches all over it, bright red turning maroon. Eli, however, looks up at Harry with wide eyes, his head wobbling about in that way that babies do, and gives Harry a gummy smile.

Harry picks him up first and kisses all over his chubby face and neck to hear him shriek with delight. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry catches Jeff smiling at them from his spot on the couch.

“All right, chunks,” Harry says to Eli, knee-walking over to their Christmas tree and the box in front of it, which is wrapped in glittery red wrapping paper and filled with stuffing and cushions, a soft white blanket artfully laid over top to conceal it all. “We’re gonna put you right… here.”

Eli isn’t bothered by being put in the box or Harry rearranging his limbs. He just gives him another smile when Harry tickles him.

“You’re so happy today,” Harry coos. “I can’t wait to see what kind of meltdown you’re gonna have later, because there’s no way this can last. Just wait until your pictures are done, please.” Eli starts to ignore him halfway through, gaze drifting to a stray fuzzy on the blanket.

“Please don’t jinx it,” Jeff groans.

“Mm, we’ll see.”

Harry turns his attention to Jude, who has apparently found a fallen fruit puff that is who-knows how old, and decided to eat it. Harry just sighs and picks him up.

He gave up on being neurotic about those sorts of things a while ago. He was driving himself nuts, making sure they didn’t eat or touch anything they’re “not supposed to.” Jeff is more laidback, and happy to let them eat dirt if they want to. “It’s good for them. Builds up the immune system,” he’s said more than once, much to Harry’s horror. Now, though, a carpet-puff isn’t the end of the world.

On Harry’s shoulder, Jude immediately grabs onto Harry’s shirt and puts his face in his neck when Harry starts to kiss him. He’s much more cuddly than Eli and Harry takes full advantage of it.

“Okay, darling. You’re next. Into the box you go.” Harry places him carefully so he’s not squishing Eli, but it’s difficult because they’re both so wiggly. It takes a bit of maneuvering so that they look moderately comfortable, making sure that they won’t accidentally hurt each other.

Thankfully they both fit. It’s a little bit of a tight squeeze, and Jeff was right; they are stacked a bit like Baby Jenga. But it’s okay. It’ll work. Now all they have to do is get them changed into their picture-taking outfits and have them fall asleep. Harry tells this to Jeff who just gives him a look.

“Why don’t we just change them and take it while they’re awake?”

Harry raises his eyebrows and gestures at the babies with a hand. “Do you really think we’re gonna be able to get them to cooperate long enough for a picture with both of them looking?” To illustrate his point, he snaps his fingers and uses his higher-pitched voice, “Boys. Hey, look at Daddy. Over here--”

Eli looks for a brief second, turning his head in Harry’s direction before going back to sucking on his own fingers, while Jude ignores him entirely, more interested in his brother’s onesie, pulling on it with all of his strength to try and bring the fabric to his mouth. The doctor told them he’s probably starting to get his teeth, even if it seems a bit early. It definitely explains the drool.

“Okay, point made,” Jeff says, standing up to grab Jude and laying him over his shoulder, patting him on the bum a couple of times.

Harry grabs Eli and all four of them head to the twins’ room to put them in their Christmas outfits. Harry probably spent too long in the store agonizing over which things to buy, but ultimately decided on simple red and white-striped cotton pants, navy sweaters with red trim, and tiny white socks. They’re awful about keeping hats on, so he opted to not buy the little Santa hats he wanted to get, even if he still thinks they would have looked adorable.

He still feels very pleased with himself when they’re both dressed and laying on the changing table side-by-side.

“You two look very handsome. Don’t they look handsome, Daddy?” Harry pulls Jeff in with an arm around his waist.

“They get it from me,” Jeff elbows Harry gently.

“Oh, so you’re not gonna whine about how they’re my clones today?”

“That’s only when they’re acting up.”

Harry snorts. “Thanks.”

Jeff rubs his shoulder. “We ready to get this show on the road?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get Eli’s bottle ready.”

“Do you think it was a good idea to get them changed first? Shouldn’t we have waited?”

“We’ll be careful. They have bibs.”

“If you say so,” Jeff says, sounding dubious. Harry gets it; they’re messy little eaters, and while they might be heavy sleepers, he’s not sure they’d be able to stay asleep through having their clothes changed. If worse comes to worst, they always have wet wipes they can use to clean up any spills and dribbles. Or Harry can just arrange them to hide any stains.

Jeff takes the boys back into the living room, having mastered the art of the Two Baby Grab, one in each of the crooks of his arms.

With Eli’s bottle done, Harry grabs bibs and two cloths before sliding his shirt over his head and dropping down onto the couch next to Jeff, trading the bottle for Jude.

The boys are happy to be fed, both of their eyes fluttering shut after just a couple of minutes, making happy little noises and flexing their fingers in contentment. Harry watches as Jeff attentively wipes Eli’s mouth if any milk starts to escape and turns his attention to Jude when he feels wetness rolling down his own chest, using the bib to catch it before it can get on Jude’s sweater.

They do a decent job at managing any potential stains. By the time the boys are done, there’s not a single drop on them, and Harry’s initial goal has been met: they’re sound asleep.

The lighting is good right now, the sun not to bright or shining directly into the window, so after burping them through their snooze, Jeff and Harry place the babies in the box, adjusting the blanket just so. They arrange their little bodies so that their limbs are tucked close, their chubby, slack faces angled towards the camera.

Standing behind the tripod, Harry fiddles with the camera settings for a few seconds before snapping away. Jeff seems content to let Harry do his thing, but stands by in case he’s needed, dutiful and attentive. The boys don’t stir much, only the occasional twitch or jerk. After a couple of minutes, Harry is satisfied with the pictures he’s taken and he’s eager to upload them for editing. He already has a plan for the prints; a simple, understated decorative border, matte finish, off-white envelopes. His favorite pen and Christmas stamps are all ready to go for when the cards arrive, and people should be getting them within the next two weeks at the most.

But before he can do any of that, he and Jeff should put the boys in their respective cribs. The box can’t be very comfortable, even if they do look adorable, cuddled up next to each other.

“You happy with the pictures?” Jeff asks, gingerly holding Jude against his chest.

“Very. You should be thankful you have such a talented photographer for a husband.”

“True, but I think humbleness is your best quality.”

They put both boys down and keep their bedroom door cracked before heading back into the living room. Harry disassembles his tripod and grabs the memory card from his camera.

On the couch with his head in Jeff’s lap and his laptop on his thighs, Harry goes through the pictures, clicking around to find the best one.

“Which do you like better? This one or this one?” Harry asks Jeff.

“Uh, they look identical to me, but the second one? I guess?”

“Good answer. That’s the one I was leaning towards.”

With a few tweaks and a quick crop, he uploads their selection onto the cardstock website and places the order. Everything is done and it all went successfully. He’s genuinely surprised, but pleasantly so. His good mood probably warrants a kiss, he thinks. So Harry puts his laptop on the coffee table and urges Jeff to lie lengthwise on the couch with him, tucking their knitted throw around them. Harry rubs his socked feet against Jeff’s ankles, head resting on his shoulder.

Jeff tits his face down obligingly when Harry pouts his lips out dramatically, and Harry can’t help but laugh into the kiss. It ends up with them pressing their half open mouths together, exchanging warm puffs of air, but it’s lovely all the same.

No matter the trials they’ve been through, it still makes Harry’s heart clench that they get to do this, get to be unabashedly happy around and with each other. Things aren’t always easy these days, but moments like this make it seem like it can’t be that bad.

It’s Christmastime, their boys are asleep down the hall, and Harry couldn’t be happier. He kisses Jeff again.

~~~

Niall spots the return address in the top left corner of the thick white envelope and gets unreasonably excited. He waits until he’s back in the house to carefully tear it open, careful not to disturb what he suspects is inside.

The horizontal card is sturdy and expensive-looking. It has Harry’s handiwork written all over it, from the tasteful gold and white border, to the elegant and looping font that reads, “Happy Holidays from The Azoffs.”

However, the picture really steals the show. Niall can’t tell them apart for the life of him, so he doesn’t know who is who, but Jude and Eli look too cute for their own good in the box that Niall is sure Harry painstakingly crafted himself. The lid of said box is leaning casually against the side of it, likely placed there and rearranged until it looked perfect. The Christmas tree behind them is decorated perfectly, color-coordinated ornaments, lights, and tinsel all complimenting each other. Even the rug around the tree matches it all. The boys are asleep and look peacefully oblivious that one of their dads is a complete nut.

He’s met them a few times already, and remembers seeing them when they were very fresh and new at the hospital, but it seems like the older they get, the more they grow into their features.

“Christ they look like Harry,” he whispers to himself, holding the card up to his face. Same lips, same eyes, same eyebrows. It’s like Harry’s body said “if I’m carrying these kids, there’s gonna be no mistaking who they belong to.” Maybe some of Jeff will show up in them as they get bigger. For now, it makes Niall laugh, knowing that there are two tiny carbon copies of Harry wiggling around on earth, probably pooping or crying or doing other baby things right this second.

He doesn’t have a lot of things hanging on his fridge; just a few notes and reminders for doctors appointments, a picture that Theo drew him a couple months ago. Using a magnet, he pins the Christmas card next to Theo’s picture and thinks it looks nice there, where he’ll see it every day. He’ll have to call Harry later and give him shit for being such a dad, and for managing to have two kids that look like he produced them asexually and completely on his own.

[uphillbothways0621-blog]

Some pics from our last day at Aulani :(

Jax took a nap by the pool yesterday. Too cute of a pic not to post. And then I noticed the sand between his baby toes...even cuter

...same nap, different position. He was completely knocked out!

Anthony and Joe were in the pool and did the water slide while Jax was snoozing.

In true Disney fashion, this place was unbelievable. No detail was left out, no picture opportunity was missed, and the attention and demeanor of the “cast members” was not lost on me. While Jax was sleeping, I observed this “cast member photographer” get stopped by numerous guests with a myriad of questions from where is the nearest restroom and how do I get to “Auntys Beach house” to what are they building next door and what is the event that is taking place on the beach. Never did she hesitate or say she didn’t know. That’s what I love about Disney-you will never encounter a rude cast member or get an “I don’t know” when you ask a question. Everyone is friendly and willing to help- no matter what you need.

Didn’t mean to get off on a tangent, just throwing my 2 cents out there.

The kids picked some “berries” from one of the trees before we left. They were actually getting along nicely while we were at Aulani-hoping I’m not jinxing the rest of our adventure-knock on wood!

And then we were off to Waikiki Beach Resort-with just a couple of bags. #SalimaosdoKwaj

[beatricethecat2]

one step forward, two steps back (v2.0) - 2

Second half of part one, edited for continuity. Hope you enjoy it and the whacky part two that's coming up next!

///////////////

Myka sneaks down the stairs and finds Claudia draped across the couch, fast asleep, snuggled under a blanket. She tiptoes past Steve, snoozing in the lounger, and Pete, passed out on the floor, then crouches behind the sofa and pokes Claudia on the shoulder.

“Claud...” she whispers.

No response.

“Claud. We need to talk.”

“Mmhmm…” Claudia mumbles then shifts onto her side.

“Ssh, you’ll wake them.”

“Okok,” Claudia says, lips barely moving. She peels herself up and trudges dutifully behind Myka. When they reach the top of the stairs, she stops and waits for further instructions.

“Not here. Outside.”

“Like, on the porch?"

“Outside-outside. Away,” Myka says, adding a harried sweep of her hand.

“Ok, crazy lady,” Claudia says. "Lemme put on some duds.”

They dress quickly and meet in the entry hall. Leena appears out of nowhere the minute Myka opens the front door.

“Where are you two going?” she says, with a tinge of annoyance.

“To get some air?” Myka answers, sloppily.

“It’s two thirty in the morning, and it’s freezing outside.”

"I couldn’t sleep,” Myka says.

“Me…neither.” Claudia yawns mid-sentence.

Leena purses her lips and raises a brow.

“C’mon Claud, let’s go for a drive."

---------------------

“Smooth move, Pointdexter,” Claudia says as she curls up in the SUV’s seat. “Leena totally bought that."

“H.G. needs our help,” Myka says, and hands the phone to Claudia.

Claudia sits up. “Give to Claudia,” she reads out loud and taps the phone awake. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t know.”

Claudia taps a button, then swipes the screen and scrolls through a document. “Whoa.”

“Whoa what?”

“I need a computer. Let’s go to the Warehouse.”

“No. It’s not safe. For her.”

Claudia continues scrolling. “I’m getting that vibe. Tell me what’s up, and I’ll see what I can do.”

-----------

They drive around for an hour then retire to their respective bedrooms. Claudia says not to worry, she’ll figure things out and text her from a coffee shop in town.

Myka catches up with her after breakfast, huddled over her computer in a dark corner.

“Did you talk to her?” Myka asks, pulling out a chair.

“Her and Emily. A heads up would have been nice. Emily's a handful."

“Sorry,” Myka says, but with a small grin. "Did you find her cat?"

“Crap. I forgot.” Claudia taps her laptop awake and starts typing.

“What about the orb?"

“I checked everywhere I knew, and everywhere H.G. knew, but nada. She thinks maybe the supermarket."

“Let’s go,” Myka says, her chair screeching back as she rises.

“Whoa there, cowgirl, we can’t show up all willy-nilly. Plus, Pete's gotta come if we’re going rogue."

“Pete? Why?"

“Authenticity. Plus, he’d blag his way in better since his mom’s a Regent."

Myka frowns. “H.G. said not to involve anyone else."

“If she wants this fixed, she’s out of luck."

Myka stares at Claudia for a long moment; she doesn’t want to disappoint Helena but what choice does she have?

“And we gotta hurry. H.G.’s getting worse. She said she’s only herself in solid form for a few minutes. And she’s worried Emily’s gonna bolt."

Myka squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him."

------------------

“How long till grandpa notices we’re awol?” Claudia says, leaning forward from the back of the SUV.

“Don’t jinx the thing,” Pete snaps, hands still gripping the steering wheel.

“Let’s just...go,” Myka says, already halfway out the door.

They rush into the supermarket and gather the correct items, then are let into the vault by the same terse man as before. Pete locates box and sets it on the table. He looks cautiously at Claudia and Myka before opening.

“Here goes nothin’.”

He opens the box and everyone crowds around. It’s empty.

“Maybe it's in a different box,” Myka says, trying to sound optimistic. She skims a hand over the other drawers in the wall.

“Should we ask the guy?” Claudia suggests.

“It’s not here,” Pete says, with finality.

“How can you be sure?"

“No vibes. Dead end."

Myka falls back against the wall and slides down into sitting position onto the floor. “What are we going to do now?"

“I know,” Pete says, snapping his fingers. “Trace the Regent’s steps after they snagged the orb.”

“Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt,” Claudia says.

“There must be something!"

“Pete, you didn't see her. She just disintegrated while...” Myka trails off.

“We could ask Artie."

“NO!” Myka and Claudia yelp in unison.

“What about my Mom?"

“H.G. said not to involve anyone else,” Myka says, weakly.

“You got a better idea?"

Myka shakes her head.

“Claud?"

“Time to bring in the big guns,” Claudia says.

Everyone jumps as Claudia's Farnsworth bleats. “Uhhh, guys, let's get out of here, now."

-------------------

A raging Artie is fended off, just barely, and Jane read into the situation. Enthusiasm returns when Jane says she thinks she knows where the orb is.

“Kosan had it last,” she explains. “And I know where he’d keep it. Tell Artie I need to see Pete and Myka ASAP. Put Pete on a plane and Myka, find Helena and stay with her. If we find it, we’ll need you there to know if it works. Claudia, monitor things from the Warehouse."

“Thank you,” Myka says, the knot in her stomach loosening ever so slightly.

“Thank me when we fix this,” Jane says. "I’ll see you soon, son,” she says to Pete.

“Love you, Mom.”

The Farnsworth goes dark.

The gang jump in the SUV and speed off to the airport.

“Claud, give me the phone."

Claudia hands it over, and Myka's eyes widen at the list of messages waiting to be read.

“H.G. and Emily are fighting. Emily’s threatening to leave if we don’t give her proof Dickens is alive.” Myka turns to Claudia. “Did you find him?"

“Yeah. His name is Mr. Whiskers now, and he lives with a three-year-old."

“Did you get a picture of him?"

“Negative. It kinda freaked the family out when I got in touch out of the blue."

“We need that cat."

“I-I should stay at the Warehouse like Jane said, but Steve…"

“Not another person."

“But Mykes…"

Myka crosses her arms and looks away. “Do we have to tell him why?"

“Lie to the human lie detector?"

“Fine. But he’s the last one."

“Leena’s super suspicious."

Myka swings around and glares.

“She could run interference with Artie,” Claudia says.

Myka drags a hand through her hair, grabbing a fistful before letting her arm drop. She’s lost control of this situation, but she’ll do whatever's necessary to save Helena.

“Ok, but she’s got to be the last one. I’ll call H.G."

------------------

Myka drives as fast as she can from the airport to Helena’s triangulated position and slows to a crawl in a complex of apartment buildings. They all look the same, but Emily said to look for a large oak tree, and when she finds it, she parks. She texts as she tumbles out of the car then marches to the front door. She texts again when the door doesn’t buzz open and contemplates picking the lock.

“Hello?” a feeble voice cracks over the intercom.

“Which apartment?” Myka grunts. She hears shuffling, then two short clicks.

“5B."

The door buzzes open, and she rushes up the stairs, wishing, by the third floor, she’d looked for an elevator. Upon reaching five, she locates 5B and turns the knob. It’s locked, so she taps twice, and the cover of the peephole lifts then drops. The door opens just a crack, and she pushes her way in, spinning around and latching the lock, then swinging back to face Emily.

She’s surprised to find Emily’s not there when she turns, nor anywhere in the room, but sees the kitchen is her closest option. She stomps in that direction, and Emily shuffles back, distancing herself until her back hits the stove.

“Everything's ok,” Myka says.

“I-I’m not sure I believe you,” Emily says, hugging her arms to her torso.

“Sorry to barge in. Are you hurt?”

“Just my dress sense.” Emily looks down, her lip jutting out into a pout.

“I meant physically,” Myka says, assessing Emily for herself. She's not Helena, that’s for sure. Her shirt’s buttoned too high and her ponytail’s too tight, but it’s fascinating. If "soccer mom" were a body type one could step into, that's how Helena’s muscles tense in Emily's persona. Emily’s genuinely her own person, and genuinely it freaks Myka out.

“I didn’t mean to be brusque.”

“You were rather curt, the last time."

“I’ll try harder,” Myka says, eyes caught by the avalanche of post-its adorning the fridge. “Is this how you’ve been communicating with H.G.?"

“Yes. Your H.G. is rather brusque as well. Rude, really.” Emily wrinkles her nose.

Myka’s lips lift into a small, crooked grin, imagining the sparks that would fly if Helena and Emily were ever to meet. Her mirth fades at the sight of Emily's deep scowl, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Here, I brought you these,” Myka says, offering a plastic bag.

Emily swipes it from Myka and pulls out the contents. Her eyes light up. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she says and scuttles out of the kitchen into the bedroom.

Myka pays little attention, instead focusing on the post-its. Most are questions: what’s going on, where’s Dickens, why is the milk full fat? Several notes read, in bold letters, ‘Where am I,’ and on one, scribbled underneath, 'Paid until Friday.” ‘What happens after Friday?’ is written next, with no response.

As she waits, she studies the rest of apartment, one those "stay in someone’s home while their away” kind of deals. She looks at the notes again, and wonders what happens after Friday, too.

When Emily emerges, she’s beaming, looking like her old self.

“I wasn’t sure what size you were."

“Everything’s a little off,” Emily says, twirling while tugging on her cardigan. “But those tight jeans and baggy shirt were unbearable. I don’t understand why I was wearing them. I had other clothes, but they disappeared.”

She circles the couch and sits in a corner, back ramrod straight, hands on thighs, as if waiting for instructions from the principal.

“So, Myka. Tell me why I’m here."

Myka opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Should she explain this away with something physical like hypnosis, or medical, relating back to her amnesia? She already knows Sykes thought she was the H.G. Wells, a woman who worked for Warehouse 12. She's seen the coin, held it in her hand, felt herself disappear in its presence; she must be aching to make sense of it all.

She sits next to Emily and takes a deep breath then spins the tale of H.G Wells, glossing over negativities, focusing on the fact that Emily is Helena and Helena, Emily.

Emily listens, closely, conscientiously, and without interruption, her forced smile faltering as the details come into focus.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Myka ends as if the matter makes perfect sense.

“Everything you’ve said is preposterous,” Emily replies, without skipping a beat.

“I know. But it’s all true."

“It would certainly explain the odd dreams I’ve been having.” Emily looks down at her hands much like Helena did before. “But if what you’re saying is true, then I’m…” Her eyes begin to twitch, the corners tearing up. “I’m not real."

“You’re real, just part a bigger picture. If this works, you won’t disappear; you’ll be rolled into the, um, larger H.G. Wells,” Myka says.

“That’s not comforting,” Emily says and begins to shake, her breath hitching as tears fall in earnest.

Myka gives Emily a few pats on the back which makes Emily cry harder, so she slides her arm across and grasps her upper arm, guiding her closer. Emily lays her head on Myka’s shoulder and breathes deep, even breaths.

“Everything’s going to be ok,” Myka says.

“Will it?” Emily snaps, her head swinging up.

Myka flinches at the cold look in Emily's eyes, the small sneer on her lips more Helena than Emily. As their gazes stay locked, Emily’s expression softens and Myka’s stomach twists; she’s watching Helena struggling to get out.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Emily says, blinking demurely through her tears, lips quirking up at the ends.

“Um, thanks?” Myka says, gingerly withdrawing her hand and looking anywhere but Emily. Emily sniffles and Myka glances back; she's wiping tears from her face with her sleeve.

“Here,” Myka says, plucking tissues from a box and handing them over.

Emily takes the tissues, but Myka still can’t meet her gaze. She instead slips her phone out of her pocket to check in.

“Huh,” she snorts, then taps the screen and shows the Emily the image. Emily shrieks and shrinks back into the couch, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“What now?"

“T-that’s the scary man who kidnapped me."

Myka looks at the screen. “He’s a good guy. He was undercover,” she says, a lump forming in her throat at the grim realities of that day.

“Why should I believe you? Believe any of this?” Emily swipes the phone from Myka and enlarges the picture so that only Dickens is showing. She drags a finger across the screen.

“Look at me,” Myka says, running with her gut. “You said you had dreams, dreams that make sense with some of the things I’ve said. Deep down, you know can trust me."

“I know,” Emily says, eyes angling up to meet Myka’s, the inflection of her voice not quite her own. Her lips twist into an awkward grimace, and the phone drops to her lap.

“You’re here,“ Helena says, reaching out to touch Myka, her hand slipping through.

“You’re already…"

“I’m rarely corporeal for more than a few moments,” Helena says, rising. The phone falls to the floor with a thunk, and the screen lights up.

“Is that?"

“Dickens.” Myka nods.

Helena rolls her eyes. “Oh, thank heavens. Now she’ll stop her incessant chatter."

“Do you know how long you stay in any one form?"

“I’ve been attempting to keep track, but the school teacher’s not the most cooperative."

“She’s scared. She doesn’t understand what’s going on."

“None of us do."

“Yeah but she—"

“Do you want me to stay like this? Asomatous. Apparitional. Incorp—what the devil am I wearing?” Helena barks, mouth falling open as she looks down at her outfit.

“I brought her clothes."

“Tell her to change back."

“Helena, calm down—"

“I did not suffer through all that business with Sykes to be damned for eternity as an anesthetized version of myself.” Helena stamps her foot and Emily's ponytail flicks like a horse's tail.

“She’s not that bad,” Myka says, grinning dopily at “angry” Helena. She's pretty adorable in Emily’s clothes.

“Fine. Have her. I’ll go skulk in a wall somewhere until she returns.”

“You can do that?"

Myka’s quip is met with a chilly glare. Helena throws her nose in the air and walks off.

“Don’t go,” Myka says, her grin fading.

Helena slows then stops, shoulders slumping. Myka closes the distance between them and circles in front.

“I’m scared, too,” she says, holding her hand near Helena’s cheek, heart fluttering at a slight thickening of air. “Can you feel that?"

“Perhaps,” Helena says, closing her eyes, furrowing her brow in concentration.

“I can,” Myka says, skimming her hand over Helena's features, grinning wildly at the infinitesimal buzz. “I have something for you.” Myka fishes in her pocket and pulls out Helena’s locket by its chain.

Helena swipes to grab it, but her hand fuzzes right through.

“Here,” Myka says, prying the locket open, lifting it up into Helena's line of sight.

Helena’s fingers slip under her collar, rubbing the spot where her locket usually hangs.

“And, we have a lead,” Myka adds.

Helena’s eyes flick up, meeting Myka’s, her melancholy coloring with a tinge of hope.

“Tell me what you know."

----------------

Myka lips form a dozy smile as faint puffs of breath warm her neck, an open eye confirming Helena’s lying next to her. The arm weighting her chest tightens as she snuggles closer, but loosens and withdraws an instant later.

“P-Pardon me,” Emily sputters, rolling away onto her back.

“Sorry,” Myka says, turning to face Emily. Emily’s cheeks flush, and she looks away. She wonders how much more of this Emily can take before losing her cool.

"Helena must have crawled under the covers last night.”

“I-I didn't know you two were a couple."

“We are. Sort of. I think. It’s complicated."

“That’s sweet,” Emily says, a hint of envy in her voice. “I’ve never kissed anyone, except Dickens. And he doesn’t count."

“Never?” Myka props herself up on one arm. “How come?"

“I thought it was me, from of the accident. Nothing felt right. And it didn't seem, from the pictures, that I’d been involved with anyone before. The doctors weren’t helpful."

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault."

“Could I kiss you? Just to know what it feels like? It wouldn’t be cheating because you said I’m her. It’d be like kissing her."

Myka’s lips press into a line but lift slightly at the ends. Emily’s not as smooth as Helena but just as forward, in her own special way.

“Please?"

Emily’s tone tugs at Myka’s heartstrings, the naiveté in her eyes the opposite of the worldliness in Helena’s. “I shouldn’t,” she says, but reaches behind Emily’s ear and slides her hair tie free. She runs her fingers through her hair and fluffs it out, curious to see if that detail changes her appearance.

“Do I look like her?” Emily’s asks as Myka withdraws her hand.

“A little,” Myka answers and grins politely. She threads a lock of hair behind Emily's ear, and as a spark of Helena flickers in her eyes, Emily stills Myka's hand and leans forward, pressing their lips together.

The kiss is tentative at first, unskilled, searching for a connection, but it soon becomes more confident. Myka drops her hand to Emily's shoulder, and Emily tangles her fingers into Myka’s curls. As Emily’s tugs Myka closer, Myka breaks the kiss and sees Helena has arrived.

Helena smiles devilishly then pushes Myka flat, hopping on top and dipping down to reconnect. As their tongues wrestle for dominance, a noise of pleasure escapes Myka's nose and she closes her eyes. Helena growls as Myka’s hands thrust into her hair.

Myka's grip tightens as Helena's silky locks fade, and when her eyes open, Helena is gone.

“Please tell me they found something yesterday,” Helena says, now standing, arms crossed, next to the bed.

“They’re still looking,” Myka says, pushing back to lean against the headboard.

“Why were you kissing Emily?"

“I was kissing you."

“You kissed her first.”

“She kissed me. She said she’d never kissed anyone before."

“That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“You would know.”

Helena narrows her eyes.

"She’s only been around for six months."

“And that's reason enough?"

“She was morphing into you, anyway."

“That’s your alibi?"

“You do realize you’re jealous of yourself. Emily is you."

“She most certainly is not."

“Look, if we figure this out and she’s...I don’t know…absorbed back into you, at least she’ll have that memory to hang on to."

“Why would it matter? With your logic, kissing her is equivalent to kissing me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Myka says, fixing Helena with a firm eye.

“Have Jane and Pete gotten back to you yet?”

Helena points with her eyes to Myka's phone. Myka grimaces, but does as instructed, and slides it off the nightstand.

“Nothing yet."

“Tell them to hurry."

--------------

Post-shower, Myka towels off her hair and steps into the living room, smiling at the sight of Helena, sitting comfortably on the couch, immersed in a book.

“Had enough time to change back into your old clothes, huh?” she says, studying Helena closely. "Wait. How are you sitting there?"

She scurries towards the couch and sits, placing a hand on Helena’s arm, ascertaining she is, indeed, solid. Helena’s eyes lower to the first fastened button on Myka's shirt, and Myka knows something's off.

"Emily?"

Emily’s eyes flick up; guilty as charged.

“Why are you wearing Helena’s clothes?”

Emily looks to the side where her clothes lay stacked and folded on a table.

“I-I thought I could be her for you. Or more like her. Until you two sort things out. A-And maybe you’d kiss me again."

“Emily..."

“It was nice, you know. Being kissed for those few seconds. I felt alive in a way I haven’t before."

“Helena wouldn’t like it,” Myka says, lips lifting into a crooked smirk. “You hungry?”

“Starving."

“I’ll make some—"

Myka's phone rings. She scrambles into the bedroom to intercept.

“Pete!"

“We got it, Mykes, we got it! But we have to hurry."

“Ok, let me tell Emily."

She dashes into the living room. Emily looks on worriedly.

“It’s time."

She sits on the couch and places the phone on speaker.

“Ok, I opened the orb and grabbed the coin. Mom has the bag. I’m gonna drop it in."

Myka looks over at Emily, now on the verge of tears.

“3…2…"

“I won’t forget you,” Myka says, placing a hand on Emily’s shoulder. Emily lurches forward, pressing her lips to Myka’s as tears stream down her face.

A splash of static swells across the line and Myka pulls back, watching Emily’s eyes fill with Helena’s.

Helena looks down and examines her hands, squeezing then releasing them, studying their movements as they turn.

“Helena?” Myka asks, more for phone confirmation that her own.

“I feel…whole,” Helena says and looks up, bewildered.

“We’re so out of here,” Pete says.

“Maybe hang onto the orb to make sure it sticks,” Myka says.

“I’m not letting it out of my sight,” Jane says.

Helena's already radiant smile grows wider as she meets Myka’s gaze, her dark, sparkling eyes piercing the depths of Myka's soul. She plucks the phone from Myka's hand and lobs it onto the floor, then lunges forward, pushing Myka onto her back, kissing her, properly, without restraint.

Moments later, Myka's Farnsworth blares. She ignores it until the tug of duty pulls her away.

“Hold that thought,” she says, placing a finger over Helena’s lips, sliding out from under her. She hurries into the bedroom and answers it facing away from the door.

“Claudia,” Myka says, a little breathlessly, relieved it’s her and not Artie.

“Mykes, Pete says it’s a done…hey, what’s up with your shirt?”

“Oh!” Myka says, eyes widening as she looks down. “H.G.,” she mumbles, in a hushed but scolding tone, her free hand gathering the fabric together where her buttons are undone. When her eyes meet Claudia’s, she flashes a sheepish grin.

“I knew it!” Claudia exclaims.

“Knew what?”

“You two—“

“Don’t tell anyone, ok?”

“Why? It’s cool with—”

“Just don’t. Not yet. I want to do it.”

“Ai, ai, captain,” Claudia says with a wink. “But before you get all frisky again, lemme talk to Casanova."

Myka walks back into the living room, but Helena’s no longer there, and Emily’s clothes are missing, too. The bathroom door is wide open and the kitchen unoccupied, the front door left slightly ajar. She runs out into the hallway, but it's deserted, then runs to the window to catch sight of Helena on her way out. After several tense moments, when Helena doesn’t emerge, she lowers her head and closes her eyes.

She sulks back into the apartment and shuffles into the kitchen, laying the Farnsworth on the counter. To its right sits a folded slip of paper with Helena's locket on top. She’s certain it wasn't there before she left.

“I humbly ask you care for this until my return," she reads. "Yours affectionately, H.”

“Myka!”

Myka jumps at Claudia’s tinny voice. She’d forgotten the Farnsworth was open.

“Where’d you go? What's going on?"

"She’s gone again, Claud. Gone."

-End - (part two coming soon)-

[newssplashy]

THE REASONS NIGERIA MUST WAKE UP FAST

PENDULUM

BY DELE MOMODU

Fellow Nigerians, please, permit me to say it as bluntly and categorically as possible, our dear country, Nigeria, the giant of Africa, is slumbering and snoring deeply. The Federal Government apologists are free to live in delusion and denial, but I stand by this obvious position. They can continue to deceive President Muhammadu Buhari and although he can continue to suffer under their hypnotic spell for a long time, he would one day wake up to appreciate people like us telling him the unadulterated truth. We were abused black and blue by the Jonathan guys in those days, but where are they today? Anyone who has eyes can see very clearly that we are not moving at the pace God allocated to us. We are inching like snails and millipedes when we are supposed to be speeding like bullet trains.

Nigeria is snoozing and sleeping. I’m not even comparing us to Europe or America. I have travelled sufficiently in Africa. Everywhere I have been, I saw nations at work. I wrote about Rwanda recently, a country that went through one of the most terrible wars ever known to mankind. The Rwanda genocide was gory and ghoulish. An entire nation was almost wiped out. I can see Nigeria has not found any lessons to learn from that atrocity against mankind. We are stoking the fire of ethnicity and stupidity that would never do any good to us. We are so close to the precipice, but we don’t seem to know or just don’t care. Meanwhile, those in far worse situations are busy doing progressive things while we backbite and backstab!

I was in Ethiopia a few years ago at the instance and invitation of Alhaji Aliko Dangote for the launch of his humongous cement plant and was pleasantly surprised this technological wonder didn’t have to invest so much in power generation. This is the same Ethiopia where celebrities were so shocked by the abysmal level of hunger that they had to come together to sing “we are the world.” I flew out of Addis feeling sad and melancholic. It was the same experience in Tanzania, Zambia, Senegal, Benin Republic (next door to us) and others. These countries are marching slowly, but surely, while we are busy fighting and wallowing over frivolities. Once you cross the Seme Border into Cotonou, the reality that hits you instantly is refreshing. Yet most of these countries rely and depend on Nigeria for many things.

The reason for my preamble is simple. Most Nigerians seem not to realise how desperate our condition is. Nigeria can no longer afford to recycle this madness, which Fela Anikulapo-Kuti called “demoncracy”, every four years, as if God has frozen time for us and we can do whatever nonsense we like. No please. Time is no longer on our side and we have over-experimented with saints and sinners. None has performed spectacularly. The essence of my sermon today is to drum it into our ears that we cannot continue along this path of foolishness and foolhardiness. We need all hands on deck desperately and urgently to rescue this country from the throes of imminent death. We have already fulfilled all righteousness by supporting our great incorruptible Muhammadu Buhari, in 2015, despite our avowed rejection of him in the past. It would have been unfortunate if we had not tried and tested him. We would have been lamenting, like the Biblical Jeremiah, from now till eternity, had we not tried him, thinking God was punishing us for ignoring our best solution and gift to mankind.

Now that we have discovered that it is a human being that is behind the mask, and not an ancestor from heaven, we should be bold enough and accept that we’ve misplaced our hopes in gods with feet of clay. What has now been corroborated, unequivocally, is that no one can give what he does not have. Of course, there are always exceptional cases but, unfortunately, this is not one of them. Staying at home, or on a farmland, for the most part of 30 years, would stultify anyone’s worldview without doubt. But I personally love the fact that God has made this day to come, to demonstrate to us that we should not bow before any idols, and we should never ascribe to mortals the powers that belong to God.

No angel is going to come down to save or rescue Nigeria. We must all join hands to do it. I think we are wasting too much time and resources on seeking a God on earth to run our affairs. The time has come to make use of the best brains amongst us in a united government, strengthen our democratic institutions, stop the charade of selective injustice, promote unity and religious tolerance. I weep every time I see young people insulting themselves on behalf of politicians who are all friends off-radar. They kill themselves for mere pittance while the children of the priviligentsia are living large on the sweat and blood of the proletariat. Those who have ears should please listen.

We need a new orientation. We need leaders who know their onions. We need modern leaders. What belongs to antiquity must be left where it belongs. Those who want this system to continue, understand the game well. They are in control when the leader is weak and cannot perform. It is not about loving the old man. They just want to govern from behind. They are the faceless and unseen cabal.

2019 cannot come and go as business as usual. It won’t be funny. Are we so jinxed that we keep repeating the same mistakes? Why can’t we stand up to our leaders and demand excellent performance? Why can’t we see that the world is leaving us behind and adjust quickly? Truth must be told, as imperfect as our politicians look, they are the ones we must manage, and manage well. We cannot afford to waste another four years worshipping the gods who cannot liberate us from poverty, hunger, diseases, wars, backwardness, and general retrogression.

In summary, I will support Buhari’s government within my modest sphere of influence till 2019. That was my unwritten contract when I voluntarily offered my support, in cash and kind, in 2015. It is nothing personal, I’m just a patriotic and passionate Nigerian who believes we can do much better and there are millions of great Nigerians who can fix Nigeria without making a fetish of what it would take to achieve it. For me, Buhari represents the Mandela option. He has already served a useful purpose as stopgap between the known devil and the unknown. We have now seen that despite the blame games, there is really no difference between six and half a dozen. What is the point in a doctor killing the patient in the process of treating ulcer? That is the situation we have found ourselves. Perhaps, it would have been bearable and endurable if there was no obvious hypocrisy in the whole set up.

I beg, like Mandela, the world’s greatest statesman, one term is enough.

God bless Nigeria.

GOOD NIGHT, MRS WINNIE MANDELA

When I made my most recent visit to South Africa, somehow, it was as if I had a premonition of Winnie Mandela’s death. On my last day, February 3, 2018, I had a night flight to catch to Kigali, but I told my South African friends, Cebo and Malcolm X that I wanted to pay a courtesy call on Mrs Winnie Mandela in Soweto before heading to the Oliver Tambo Airport. Malcolm X was like a son to Winnie Mandela and he put a call through to her house. Minutes later, we bundled ourselves into my chartered car and off we went to Soweto. But the devil is a liar because just at the junction and turning to Mama’s house, we encountered horrendous traffic.

“What is this,” I exclaimed. As if by some conspiracy, it also started raining. Whilst we tried to meander through the horrible traffic, a call came through that Mama, as Winnie Mandela is known to those close to her, was being rushed to the hospital. Meanwhile, we were just stuck on one spot. We decided to hang out at a nearby popular Soweto restaurant as it was obvious that I was not going anywhere fast. Kigali was becoming impossible and the courtesy call to Winnie Mandela was seemingly ruined. However, I couldn’t believe my ears when the hospitalised woman called Malcolm asking to personally apologise to me for her inability to make the appointment. I was deeply touched. Despite her pain, she still had such human feeling, courteousness, consideration and civility in her. A truly remarkable Lady! She asked me for my hotel and promised to stop by if discharged early. This was getting too good to be true, a visit from the Mama of Africa would be too much. We rushed back to my hotel and waited with bated breath.

Then the call came. Mama has been discharged but was on sedatives and would not be able to come over again. But she said she would struggle to stay up for me. I packed my bags and we returned to Soweto. True to her promise, she stayed up. We were invited to sit with her in a small sitting room in her house and we chatted on for some time, despite protestations from her aides who had given us only a few minutes and had banned us from taking pictures.

We discussed Nigeria and she was quite knowledgeable about our affairs. She was curious to know the state of things. She asked of Buhari, Jonathan and Chief Gabriel Igbinedion. She had kind words for former President Olusegun Obasanjo who she described as a good friend and benefactor of South Africa.

Not wanting to waste this opportunity I asked if we could take pictures, she nodded approvingly. As a journalist, I immediately seized the moment and we just fired away. Such a simple and humble woman, she nodded approval and we took as many shots as we could in rapid fire motion. These were probably the last pictures of her taken by any foreign journalist.

We left her on a sober note considering how frail she looked, even though she had been most accommodating to us. Two months later, the sad news broke, on April 2, 2018, Mama had gone home to rest. My mind continually flashed back to the great session we had with her. I feel truly honoured and humbled to have been in her presence, particularly at such twilight period of her life. May her beautiful soul rest in peace. Amen.

The post THE REASONS NIGERIA MUST WAKE UP FAST appeared first on THISDAYLIVE.

source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/04/the-reasons-nigeria-must-wake-up-fast.html

[citytoseaside]

The day I dyed my crotch pink

I am very busy and important. The first thing to know about me is that any time I've ever said that phrase, I have been quoting Bridget Jones rather than describing my actual life. But whatever. I, like, have a job and I do things there.

Yesterday, my job involved me coming in to work half an hour early. For the first time in my life, I didn't mind. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that coming in half an hour early in Falmouth just means leaving the house half an hour earlier than usual. If I were still in the outskirts of London I'd have had to leave a full hour early and I would definitely have been late because I refused to run for buses before 8am as a matter of principle. So, maybe it's that, or maybe it's the fact that I've been naturally waking up at 6:30am every morning for the past week. I don't want to jinx it by acknowledging it, though. In fact, I'm so desperate not to jinx it that I've been forcing myself to go back to sleep for half an hour and then snoozing the alarm for ten minutes before I eventually get up and curse myself for not just getting out of bed while I was still feeling awake.

Anyway, I had to come in early, and I didn't mind, because that is the kind of life I live now. In fact, I like to arrive at the office ten minutes early. I'll just pause here while every former employer I've ever had wipes their drink off the screen from the spit take they just did.

When I left the house yesterday and I was set to be on time but not as early as I generally like, which meant that I had to power walk. Just to set the scene: The weather recently has been phenomenal. In the nearly-a-month since I've been here it has rained exactly once, and for less than five minutes. And that wasn't even really rain, but more like a freak hail storm coming from a cloudless sky. Basically, some Day After Tomorrow-level shit.

So it's generally warm when I get out of the house. It's also epically hilly. My walk is just over twenty minutes, and I don't think I walk on flat ground at any point during that. I am out of breath and sweaty ninety per cent of the time because I am very glamorous and physically fit. In fact, I think part of the reason I like getting to work so early is because it gives me a chance to down an entire pint of water before anybody else gets into the kitchen, and then collapse at my desk while the worst of the sweat dries.

So, in getting to work yesterday, I was as rushed as I think I've been so far. But I made it, because I'm a professional. And, as previously mentioned, I am also busy, important, and glamorous.

So, imagine my surprise when I went to the toilet later in the morning (it happens, guys. Let's all just chill out about it.) and realised I'd somehow managed to dye the tops of my legs and my, um, crotchular area a vivid shade of pink. It definitely must have been down to the the morning powerwalk, and either my pink underwear or my maroon jeans. But both of those things had been washed, so by rights they shouldn't have been able to dye me any colour. Which means I'm actually not sure what happened.

So, the mystery continues. My legs and other regions remained bright pink until the next time I had a shower, which is perhaps not quite as soon as it should have been, but it's a bank holiday. Perhaps I should have retired the underwear and the jeans until I could figure out what's, well, staining me. But as I am living life as a solo renter these days I can't afford to take such drastic measures. Instead I continue to play Russian roulette with my skin, and thank my lucky stars I'm not at the beach this weekend. At least it's adding a sense of peril to my morning commute which has definitely been missing since I stopped travelling through Harrow on a daily basis. I've never felt more alive.