#if i see a block of text half this size my eyes glaze over

[anarchicarachnid]

It's interesting how America's centuries of derivative, uncritical, cherry-picked bastardizations of Judaism, which includes a glorification of the race of the Jewish people, has lead our global politics to this point, our foreign policy.

We as a country are a comical amalgamation of nationalistic evangelicals and basically just build-a-christianity.. all of which are built on a very inaccurate foundation of historical beliefs and rules built up by an entirely different people, with different religion, different race, living in a different region. Mistranslated, heavily edited over and over to suit people's preferences, completely ignorant of historical contexts. And they don't teach the individual the differences or the history.

But somehow our country can foundationally agree to very racially supremacist concepts when it comes to the race that happens to be the main characters of the Bible. Or.. Bibles.

In a surprising way, it actually doesn't contradict our most right-wing citizens' ideologies at all. Ethno-nationalism based on cherry-picked religious concepts is always far right, even if it isn't white Americans believing it about themselves.

It just goes to show how our chickens had to eventually come home to roost. We spread nationwide Christianity as a means of making the population easily manipulated and uncritical, pretended it was "Judeo-Christian", all the while constantly editing it to our needs. Then combining it with our government even though it's totally inconsistent.

And now we're just about the only ones who openly support ethno-nationalist genocide within the Middle East, simply because we don't have it in us to be critical about the Fascist Nation which happens to be home to the people who are in the Bible.

(And all the while fighting our massive problem with very real conspiracy minded antisemitism. Plus uncritical claims of antisemitism levied against antizionists. It's an issue for which all criticism had only ever been set up to fail)

[paper-chain-queen]

The Bake Sale * Yuki Soma X Reader

I know I’ve been kind of MIA. Just been caught up in a lot but I do want to get back to posting one shots and short stories now and then. I’ve had this sitting around, practically finished since early Summer. Just got distracted and kind of forgot about it... whoops XD

This is just a little something I thought would be cute :) hope you enjoy

Summary: Kakeru decided that he needs to be a good wingman and his best plan? Lie to the girl that Yuki keeps staring at about a bake sale that’s in need of cookies.

Also a huge thank you to @bubblegumnnebula​ for reaching out to me with such kind words of encouragement and reading this one over before I posted <3

Rating: Teen

Words: 5,000+

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The first week of the new school year and soft pink petals fell like snow in the courtyard. First-year student Sohma Yuki was finally able to find some space from groups of giggling girls as he carried his lunch in one hand, looking for a spot. 

“That’s not much of a lunch.” A matter-of-fact voice spoke out, and it made Yuki slightly jump as he looked over and saw a cute girl looking at the single rice ball he had bought for the convenience store last night. 

“Oh. Um. I guess I never really learned how to make myself lunch.” Yuki admitted, slightly embarrassed, but the girl just smiled, and Yuki felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Well I’ve got lots! Come on.” The girl took him by the hand and started heading to a tree were a few other students were hanging out. 

“By the way. I’m (l/n) (f/n). From class 1-B. Nice to meet you.” 

“Sohma Yuki. It’s nice to meet you too.” 

“Where is Nabe-Kun?” Another student asked as he raised a brow at Yuki, who clearly wasn’t ‘Nabe-Kun.’ 

“He stole my pudding cup and ran off! But look, a fellow first year!” (y/n) cheered as if she made some great discovery. 

It was a group of people he had never seen, but he looked over at the girl who had all but pulled him over was smiling at him. She wasn’t blushing and giggling like all the other girls. 

(l/n) (y/n) was just treating him like he was just another student, welcoming him into her group of friends like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

He still felt anxious about the new school and worried about by mistake exposing the curse in a school full of girls. But there seemed to be kind people who only wanted to sit and enjoy the sunshine and good company. Even with all of Yuki’s fears about the new experience, he looked over at the girl who had befriended, and she was happily chatting away with her friend before turning back to him. 

She was just smiling at him, offering him a tart pastry from her yellow bento and saying that he was free to take whatever he wanted. A smile as warm the sun, and Yuki felt his heartbeat quicken as he joined the small group and took part in their lunch.  

Yuki brought the desert to his mouth and timidly bit into it. He was with a burst of flavour and quickly devoured the treat that was a hundred times better than anything that could be bought in a store. 

The boy was looking forward to spending more time at school, with people who were kind and shared their lunches. Perhaps even make friends with people with warm smiles. 

. 

. 

 * year and a half later*

“Have a good weekend!” A cheery voice called out to a few girls who were on their way out. 

“You too (y/n)-chan!”  

2nd-year student (l/n) (y/n) waved to the girls before checking her phone. Something made her giggle to herself before pressing a few buttons and slipping the phone into her school bag. 

“What are you looking at, Yun-Yun?” Vice student council president Kakeru Manabe asked as he tried to follow the popular boy’s eye line. 

“Huh, oh um, nothing.” 

Kakeru looked over to where the school’s Prince had been looking, and there stood a fellow classmate. (L/n) (Y/n) from Kakeru’s class slipped on her shoes while putting away her school slippers. 

“YO! (l/n)-Chan!” The energetic boy yelled out to the girl who looked over at the boys. 

“What are-” Yuki tried to stop his VP, but he’d already skipped over to the girl and started up a conversation, throwing his arm casually over her shoulder, and they seemed to be close. Yuki battled with himself on whether to walk over and smack the boy upside his head. 

Kakeru said something which made the girl laugh sweetly, and Yuki couldn’t help but glare. 

What are they talking about? 

The Vice President looked back over at Yuki and waved him over, and the grey-haired boy suddenly felt very nervous. Yuki let out a sigh and walked over, hoping that no one would notice his sweaty palms. 

“This is our president, Sohma Yun-Yun.” This earned Kakeru a cold glare from Yuki, but his eyes widened when he heard the girl’s light giggling.  

“Ah, we’ve actually met before. But nice to see you, Sohma-San. I’m from 2-A’s class with Nabe-Kun (l/n) (y/n).” She bowed, and Yuki mimicked, trying to fight back the urge to deck the Vice President for dragging him into this. 

“Prez and I were just talking about a fundraiser for the cultural festival, and we thought maybe a bake sale.” 

“Wait No-” Yuki was about to correct him, but Kakeru brought him into a headlock and covered his mouth. 

“AND I know that your parents have the best bakery in town, and I thought maybe you could whip up some treats. With the Prez and my help, of course!” Kakeru proposed a broad grin on his face. 

“Sure, I would love to help. I’m working today and tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday if you guys want to come bake. Ah, speaking of work, I’m late. I gotta go, later!” The girl was off, waving to the boys as she speed-walked away before disappearing around the corner. 

Yuki was finally able to break free and brought a fist to the top of Kareku’s head. 

“Why would you do something like that?” Yuki scolded him, but he just gave him a cheesy grin before raising his arms and resting them behind his head. 

“Aww don’t be like that, Yun-Yun, I just thought I would help move things along. You’re always looking at (l/n)-chan.” Kakeru wiggled his eyebrows, and Yuki felt his face go hot. 

“I do NOT!” 

“You do” 

“NOT.” 

“Do too.” 

“DO NOT! Enough I’m outta here.” Yuki angrily put away his school slippers and marched off. 

“Don’t forget about Sunday! I’ll text you her address.” The energetic vice president waved vigorously at the blushing Yuki, who tried to block him out as he marched home. 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

The Prince stood in front of a baby blue and white two-story building. It looked like something out of a small European town, a wooded sign in the shape of a bird reading - ‘blue whisk bakery.’ The display window was full of baked goods, from loaves of bread to glazed donuts. 

Just looking at the delicious display made his mouth water. 

“Need something?” A tall man who looked to be in his early twenties, a large crate in one arm, glared down at Yuki, and suddenly, he felt like he was the size of a mouse. 

“I’m... I’m here to see (L/n)-San?” Yuki told him, a little nervous with the way he was looking at him. 

“I’m (L/Y). What do you want?” Yuki was now able to see the slight resemblance between this man and the girl from his school. It was subtle, but it was there. 

The colour of their eyes.... but (y/n) ’s are more...welcoming

“(L/N) (Y/N).” Yuki corrected, feeling smaller and smaller the longer he stood there. 

“She’s not here. Go Away.” 

“Nii-san!” A voice broke through, causing the two boys looked over, and there stood (l/n) (y/n), hands on her hips wearing a baby blue apron with daisies over her simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair up in a ponytail. 

Cute... 

“I don’t remember saying you could have a boyfriend?” The older boy scolded, but the slightly annoyed girl just rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, first of all. Where do you get off telling me that I can’t have a boyfriend? Secondly, He’s not my boyfriend. He’s the student council president, and he’s here to do baking. Remember? I talked about it at dinner last night?” (y/n) explained to him as she put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.  

The tall man then scoffed and turned away, muttering something incoherent. 

“Fine, whatever. Figured he’s not your boyfriend, he’s almost prettier than you are.” The brother smirked as he kicked her behind the knee lightly, just enough to make her stumble.  

“Just go make your deliveries already, or I’m gonna tell Mom that you’ve been hiding a pet tarantula in your room.” (y/n) threatened, sticking her tongue out at the tall man. Yuki had to slightly turn his head to try and hide a laugh. 

“Alright, alright. I’m out.” the man scoffed before adjusting the crate in his arm before putting it in the back of the bike and driving off. 

“Sorry about him, he’s kind of annoying, but he’s my brother.” The girl apologized as she smiled at Yuki and invited him in. 

Before the two could step in, Yuki’s phone went off, and he excused himself to check it. 

A text from Kakeru -  

‘Can’t make it, sorry! Enjoy your date Yun-Yun. Oh and don’t worry (l/n)-Chan isn’t one of your fangirls XD’-  

“Is something wrong?” (y/n) asked as she noticed that Yuki had stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Kakeru-San can’t make it.” Yuki said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, is he okay?” She brought her phone to check her texts and seemed to roll her eyes at something. 

He won’t be when I’m done with him 

“He’s fine.” 

“We can do this another day if you want?” (y/n) offered, worrying that maybe it would be uncomfortable with just the two of them. 

“No!” Yuki yelled out a lot louder than he meant to as he reached out and (y/n) widened her eyes a bit. 

“.. I mean.. Um. I wouldn’t want to put you out anymore. We should get on with it.” Yuki quickly rushed out awkwardly. 

“Okay?” (y/n) seemed unsure, and Yuki cursed himself for his poor word choice; his nerves felt like they were all over the place. 

Stepping into the cute bakery, his senses were met with the smell of freshly baked goods. 

“Oh is this the boy?” The woman from behind the counter had just finished helping a customer and turned to the two teens. 

“Sohma-San this is my mother, (mother’s name). Mom, this is Sohma Yuki, my school’s student president.” (y/n) made the introductions while her Mother fixed something on (y/n) ’s apron, fussing as he supposed good mothers did. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you (l/n)-San, thank you for having me in your shop.” Yuki was sure to be polite and bowed to the kind-looking woman who certainly shared many similarities with her daughter. 

“Hello sweetheart, nice to meet you. So exciting that you asked our honey bun for help with a bake sale. She’s been so excited, she was basically vibrating when she told us.” Her Mother teased as she gave the two teens a knowing smile. (y/n) only smiled back, a slight blush on her cheeks. 

“We’ll be in the back. Come get me if you need a hand with anything.” (y/n) told her 

“No need, enjoy yourselves.” 

“Oh, and Yuki-Kun. These cheese and jalapeño scones are delicious. She made them fresh this morning.” The woman grabbed one from under the counter and put it in a small bag before handing it to Yuki. 

“(l/n)-San I couldn’t possibl-” 

“Please, it’s on the house.” she winked; Yuki bowed his head and tucked the baked good in his bag before continuing to the back of the store. 

(y/n) was running around, grabbing containers and placing them at a station in the corner. The back of the bakery was bustling with a few other people working, baking, mixing ingredients and checking the oven for their baked goods. 

It smelt amazing, Yuki felt like he could practically taste the air if he just stuck out his tongue. 

“So what would you like to make?” (y/n) asked as she washed her hands at the sink and gestured for Yuki to do the same. 

“Umm.” 

Yuki wasn’t actually very familiar with sweets and (y/n) had might as been speaking another language because after cookies and cakes, what else was there? 

“We could do cupcakes or cookies? Cream puffs? Eclairs? Macarons? Macaroons? Or maybe even strudel? Oh, how about tarts!?” 

Yuki noticed she sounded a little more excited about the final suggestion. 

“Tarts?” 

“I’m in charge of the pastry shells, so we already have a lot in stock. We would just have to make a filling. Maybe a lemon meringue tart, they’re pretty easy to sell.” 

“........” 

“You’re not very familiar with sweets, are you?” The girl noticed the clearly bewildered look on the Yuki’s face and worried that she had overwhelmed him. 

Yuki just shyly shook his head, feeling like a fish out of water. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

(y/n) returned with a plate of various cookies cut in half and a few different tarts. 

“I figure we should have a little variety, and cookies would be simple enough to make alongside the tarts.” 

“Now, here is a small tart sample, and then these are a few cookies types.” She gestured for Yuki to try them, and he polity thanked her for the desserts. 

“The chocolate chip is a classic, but the oatmeal raisin sells well along with the molasses sugar, or we have delicious peanut butter cookies, and then there is the bird-nest, and we have sugar cookies with blueberry glaze. Those are a specialty.” (y/n) spoke with such enthusiasm that Yuki could hardly pay attention to anything but enjoy the beautiful smile on her face or the excited look in her eyes as she explained each cookie. 

“But my favourite is the macadamia nut cookie with white chocolate chips.” 

(y/n) was about to hand the cookie to Yuki, but it was snatched right out of her hands. 

“Thank’s for the cookies.” 

“We’ll take those too.” 

“WAIT, we were using those!” Yuki’s schoolmate raged, fire in her eyes as she looked at the cookie thieves. 

The identical-looking boys just stuck their tongue out at (y/n) before running off. 

“Sorry, my brothers are a bit of a pain.” She laughed while shaking her head. 

“How many brothers do you have?” The grey-haired boy was still in shock over how quick the two boys came and went. 

“Five.” 

“Five?!” Yuki’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as his jaw dropped, and this caused (y/n) to giggle. She had seen the infamous Prince around the school but never imagined him, such as an expression. 

She liked it. 

On the other hand, Yuki was still having trouble imagining having 5 brothers, he only had one brother, and he was a handful, sounded like some sort of nightmare. 

“Yep, and I’m the youngest, my parents REALLY wanted a girl.” She laughed while rubbing the back of her head, a small blush on her cheeks. 

The two got back to trying to decide what they would bake, but the answer seemed obvious to Yuki. 

“Let’s do your favourites.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, but it was hard to hide her grin, excited to share her recipe with the boy. Yuki nodded, and she rushed to grab him a plain blue apron for him to throw over and even tied it for him as she rambled on about what she had to grab from the pantry. 

The counter was soon filled with various sheet and mixing bowls, and lots of different ingredients. Yuki could only recognize one or two. The flour and sugar. 

 (y/n) learned that Yuki is very much useless in the kitchen, but she helped him with everything. Patiently teaching him to properly whisk ingredients and roll out dough.  

The brother that been out on deliveries was back and was now working in the kitchen, he made sure to keep his eyes on Yuki, and the boy could feel his stare. Looking over his shoulder as (y/n) was busying and measuring something out, he caught the brother’s eyes as he took two large trays down with perfect balance. Even spinning them one-handed as he was trying to assert dominance over the workplace. 

It was slightly impressive to see a big guy so delicate with the baked goods; Yuki would give him that. 

“Soo, how long have you been baking?” 

“Probably since the moment I could stand up on a chair and reach the counter.” Yuki watched her soften as she thought back on the happy memories. He could just picture it, her as a little girl excitedly helping her mom make cookies in the kitchen, laughing and making a mess. 

“You seem to really enjoy it.” Yuki’s small smile made (y/n) ’s heart race. 

“I do. I always feel happy when I’m in the kitchen, like everything in the world is right. I get to create something that many people can enjoy, and I get to experiment with things to make something new every now and then.” 

“Sorry, I must sound so silly.” 

“It’s not. It’s... I think I understand, actually.” 

While Yuki wasn’t a cook or a baker, he was a gardener. It was something he did that made him happy, something that needed him, and he felt he could make the world maybe just a little greener. 

The two we’re placing their finished creations on the cooling rack when the bakery’s back door was pushed open, and a booming voice filled the work kitchen. 

“We’re home!” 

“Hey Pops!! (y/n) has a boy in the kitchen!” The twins piped up and (y/n) let out a sign while muttering that she was never gonna do anything nice for the twins ever again. 

“WHAT?!” Yuki heard heavy footsteps rushing through the room, and a part of him felt the need to run. 

Yuki was now looking up at two tall men, one was clearly (y/n) ’s father, and the other just seemed like a younger, male version of her Mother. 

Another one of her brothers? 

“And you are?” The tall man stared down at Yuki as if sizing him as he crossed his arms. 

“Dad! I told you-” 

“Sohma Yuki, I’m the student council president at our school.” Yuki subconsciously put on polite prince act, hoping it would be enough to get him by. 

“And you’re here because?” 

“....” This man’s stare was something else, and Yuki wished Kakeru was here to help. Or at least there to suffer with him at the mercy of the tall, intimidating man. 

“Dad, I told you! There’s a bake sale.” 

“And they couldn’t do it themselves?” The man didn’t take his eyes off Yuki, and the teenager had to gulp a bit. 

“Dad!” (y/n) whined, embarrassed over her father’s attitude, and that’s when an angel must have been listening to Yuki’s prayer because a saviour appeared. 

“Okay dear, that’s enough out of you. How about you go get started on closing up, and I’ll get started on dinner.” (y/n) ’s Mother came to the rescue as she dragged off her husband and what had to be another one of (y/n) ’s brothers. 

The Mother sent a wink Yuki’s way, and he covered his face, exhausted by everything. 

“I’m so sorry. They’re just... well protective, I guess.” (y/n) sighed as she continued topping the lemon tarts with the meringue. 

“I should tell you the truth..” Yuki decided to come clean. 

“huh?” 

“There is no bake sale.” 

“What?! Then... why?” (y/n) looked at him, and Yuki really wished there was a bake sale, so he didn’t have to come clean right now. 

“Kakeru-San was trying to help me, I guess..” Yuki admitted, and it made (y/n) freeze in her actions and turn to face him. 

“Help you with what?” (y/n) truly had no idea what he was getting at. She was honestly surprised that Yuki, the most handsome boy in school, even knew who she was. The brief meeting in the first week of school was most likely forgotten by the popular boy. 

Why would Yuki need help from her friend Kakeru with anything concerning her? 

“…. what happened?” Yuki asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

Yuki had been racking his brain, wondering what had made (y/n) stay away. He had seen her around the school; she had a warm laugh and always seemed to be a kind and friendly person. 

He couldn’t help but notice that she would smile at him when he passed her by, but it wasn’t like the other girls. She wouldn’t blush and get all fluttery and call him prince Yuki or anything, just smile like a passing hello and then return to her friends. 

“Did I do something to offend you, maybe?” Yuki asked, and (y/n) let out a sigh, and Yuki decided to push forward, knowing he probably wouldn’t have another chance. 

“No that’s” Yuki had stepped too forward and somehow pushed the bowl of the whipped meringue into the air, and it flew before landing. 

Right on top of Yuki’s head. 

I want the ground to swallow me up 

Yuki stood there with the silver bowl on top of his head, the white froth of the meringue and a gentle hand lifted the edge, peeking under while trying not to giggle. 

“I imagined none of your fangirls have ever seen you this side of you. I feel a little bad for them.” (y/n) giggled cutely as she lifted off the bowl and handed him a towel. 

Yuki looked over at her and the soft look on her face, her cheeks’ gentle flush, and warm, inviting eyes. Yuki felt his heart race as she reached out and wiped away some of the sweet froth from his face with a wet cloth. It was done so tenderly, and he found himself wanting to lean into her touch. 

“Back at the beginning of first year. You invited me to eat lunch with you but then..” 

“Oh..... well... um.” 

“You’re… fangirls made it pretty clear that I was to stay away.” (y/n) remembered that day like it was yesterday. She had been cornered the day after she had lunch with Yuki. One of the girls was even in his class and insisted that she had bothered Yuki with her presence. 

It had hurt. 

Because she was interested in getting to know the quiet boy with the small convenience store lunch. Yuki had been a little awkward at lunch, but there was something aloof and awkward about him, something that made (y/n) want to know more. But there was never a chance to talk to him, and the Prince Yuki Fan Club was more like an army then it was a fan club. 

So, she stuck to just giving him friendly smiles whenever they would pass each other in the hallway, which she doubted he noticed. 

“And then you never seemed to... always feel so far away. I figured that you just didn’t want to be friends-” (y/n) was cut off by Yuki, who had reached forward and grabbed her hand and (y/n) felt a jolt of electricity from the skin on skin contact. Both looked a little taken back, but Yuki continued on, wanting to be heard. 

“I really wanted to spend... More lunches together.” Yuki admitted, and it felt like some sort of mysterious weight had been lifted from (y/n) ’s shoulders. 

“Really?” 

“I’ll get the bath ready.” 

“And... maybe you wouldn’t mind staying for dinner? I know my family is a bit much, but my mom is a great cook.” 

“I’d love to stay.” 

. 

. 

. 

Yuki was now wearing some of (y/n) ’s brothers’ clothes, the second oldest who was away for college. He was studying business and was supposed to be graduating come the spring. He even came in for video chat for a bit while the Mother fussed over how he was eating and if she needed to go pay him a visit to restock his fridge. 

This was a close family, and Yuki felt like it was something that he wanted so bad that it almost hurt. 

Yuki was properly introduced to all of (y/n) ’s five older brothers, and while a few poked fun at (y/n) for having a boy over, it seemed she wasn’t afraid to sick her father on them. A glare from him was enough to shut them up. 

Yuki couldn’t help but notice that throughout dinner (y/n) would give the best things on her plate, which led to the brother who had come in with her father earlier, cutting his portion in half and sneaking it onto her plate. It was a sleight of hand, but he caught it. 

Conversations flowed with ease; Yuki had worried that he would feel like an odd man out, but somehow the family made room for him. 

The food was delicious, and the company was warm, and they made him feel like he had been simply part of their family for years. He could see where (y/n) seemed to get her cheerfulness and confidence; how else would one survive in a family with 5 older brothers. 

There was a bit of a break between dinner and dessert which (y/n) had made, and there was time for some sort of game that Yuki had never played, but (y/n) ’s father was actually quite patient in telling him the rules of ‘Cheat.’ 

Turns out the best player in the house was the Mother who came in for one last round and wiped the floor. The woman had a powerful poker face, which was surprising coming from the seemingly innocent woman. 

The strawberry shortcake that (y/n) made was the best thing that Yuki had ever eaten, and he even got dragged into an arm-wrestling contest for the final piece. He lost, but the other brother just laughed and split the last piece in two while saying ‘no hard feelings, pretty boy.’ 

Maybe it should have bothered him, but it also felt like he could fit in, just a little. 

A spot for him in that large warm family. Where the siblings looked out for one another, where the parents fussed over their kids’ eating habits, where everyone laughed together as they shared a meal. 

“Thank you for having me.” Yuki bowed to the family, and the Mother gushed over how polite he was while the father said he was welcome to come back. 

Y/n walked him to the door downstairs. 

The two teens stood on the sidewalk; the display window of the family baker way now empty. A ‘Closed’ sign hanging off the door. It had gotten so late, but Yuki had barely noticed as the time really had flown by. 

“Here, the cookies we made together and a few tarts to share with your family.” (y/n) handed him a nice blue bag paper bag that had some weight to it. They had certainly made a lot of goodies. Okay, (y/n) had done most of the work, but she would insist that they had shared the work. 

“I’m sorry about lying to you... about the bake sale” While Yuki hadn’t been the one to tell her about the bake sale, he had still gone along with it. 

“Don’t be, I know how Nabe-Kun can be. I’ve known him since middle school, should have known. I hope you had fun, though. I’m sorry about my family. They can be... a little much.” (y/n) loved her family but they had undoubtedly given Yuki a hard time it seemed, she worried that they had scared him away.

“Your family is very kind. I enjoyed getting to know them.” (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and gave Yuki a smile that could have lit up the darkest nights. 

“But I was really happy.... that you wanted to bake with me... And that you spent time with my family and me, Sohma-San.” 

“Please... call me Yuki... And It... It made me happy too.” Yuki admitted, and he wondered if only he had been braver, then maybe they could have been making cookies and having dinners together a long time ago. 

“See you at school tomorrow?” 

“Let’s have lunch.” She smiled, and Yuki couldn’t help but stare at cupid’s bow of her lips. 

“oooooh are they gonna kiss?” The twins called from the upstairs window, and the teens both erupted into red. 

His heart was hammering in his chest, still not believing he had been so close that maybe if he just leaned down a little, they would have connected. 

And soon, the entire family was popping their heads out the windows of their second-story apartment and peeping on the two teens. 

“Aww he’s so cute, honey bear, you better catch him before someone else digs in.” (y/n) ’s Mother teased, and she called out to her family to please stop. 

“Wait, no! No one’s touching my baby sister!” The 1st most protective brother called out, waving his fist at Yuki. 

“Wait I’m not-!” Yuki shook his hands and stepped away from (y/n) as if to give her space, but this started a whole new argument with the brother. 

“Are you saying she’s not good enough!” 

“NO! I-” 

“Then, What?! Do you not like her!? I OUTTA-” The older brother was practically hanging out the window with the middle brother holding the back of his shirt to make sure he didn’t actually fall. 

“I DO LIKE HER!” Yuki snapped under all the pressure as he clenched his fists. 

Silence.... dead silence, except for maybe the sound of his heart beating so fast that it wanted to jump out his chest and get out of there. 

“I like you too.” (y/n) broke the silence, and everyone watching from the balcony above laughed and started goading the two teenagers on. 

“Just kiss already!” The twins called out, laughing as they taunted, and Yuki could hear the parents scolding them and trying to get all their kids to leave their only daughter in peace. 

Both of the teens were bright red, but Yuki’s chest somehow felt so light. This family was certainly... loud and a little out there. But there was nothing but love and joy to be felt all around. (y/n) smiled up at him, her cheeks still dusted with pink, but her eyes kept looking up at him and then averting to the ground shyly. 

Adorable

Yuki wasn’t sure what came over him. He certainly didn’t want the large audience of her family’s hooting and hollering, but how could he resist when she was finally within reach? 

The teen leaned down, careful to keep the distance between them, even using his hand as some sort of force to hold her back and slowly, gently met her lips with his. 

As he expected, she tasted so sweet, but with a slight tang, a tartness from the strawberries they had been eating earlier. 

He wanted to lean down again, but an angry voice brought him back to earth. 

“Thats IT!!! I’M GONNA KILL HIM!!” 

“You better run.” (y/n) advised, unable to hide her giant smile and her pink cheeks, even in the dim lighting. 

“Lunch tomorrow?” Yuki asked, feeling confident that they would no longer just share brief smiles in the school hallways. 

“It’s a date.” And she leaned up and placed a quick kiss to Yuki’s cheek before he ran off before (y/n) ’s brother could lay his hands on him. 

As he walked home, Yuki felt like he walked on clouds and never looked so forward to school. Yuki could barely wait for the lunch hour where he could look upon that bright smile and perhaps even sneak a sweet kiss. 

His phone beeped, and Yuki checked the phone to see another text from Kakeru. 

- How did it go, Yun-Yun????????? I GOTS TO KNOW?!?!?!- 

Yuki never thought he would find himself doing this, but he was in such a good that he figured it would be fine. 

 - Thank you - 

Yuki also made a note NOT to share any of the tarts or the cookies he and (y/n) had made together. 

…. 

Okay, maybe just one, but that’s it. 

. 

. 

. 

[greenninjagal-blog]

Loop Number Three Hundred Twelve

Hello who wants a quick one shot about Time Loops!

Summary: Patton is having a really bad day, and Virgil and Janus might just have a fix. He just wishes he found them three hundred loops ago.

Word Count: 5453

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on AO3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Janus is folding origami snakes when Virgil finds him. 

Which, in itself, is not new or unusual. Janus has been making origami creatures since before Virgil had ever met him: cutting perfect squares of papers, folding along invisible lines, creating something new from the boringness. Some people like making tiny stars, but Janus turns squares of paper into pocket sized friends. Some of Virgils’s favorite presents are books in which he found little purple and gold paper spiders tucked between the pages, or the cranes that he unfolded to find little sweet and sappy messages for him, or when he was emptying out his school bag and found butterflies hidden in the depths, left there with care and love and waiting to be discovered on a rainy day.

Janus folds origami and Virgil keeps every single one he’s ever gotten his hands on-- sometimes even going as far as to dig the few Janus recycled out of the bin and keep them in his collection.

So the origami isn’t necessarily new or weird or confusing. 

Finding him behind the school building, cutting class to fold them is.

Janus is, despite his outward appearance and his claims to the otherwise, a huge nerd. Virgil finds that adorable about him: the way he gets excited to go to school and learn something new, the bounce in his step when he was heading towards his psychology class, the rumbling of his words when he forgot to take a breath while describing history to him. He’s a nerd who reads autobiographies with crappy romance novel covers strapped on them and begs Virgil to watch the new Netflix documentaries with him.

When they had been seven, Janus had been very adamant about being a host on the History Channel. Virgil had been interested as long as he got to be the guy that went out and found Mothman to invite on to Janus’s show. 

(Sometimes Virgil finds himself missing the simplicity of being seven-years-old and knowing what he wants to do with his life.)

Still Janus isn’t the type to cut class usually. Playing hookie was Virgil’s game, not his. But Janus hadn’t shown up to meet him outside his locker at the break between their classes, and Virgil had made the decision that locating Janus took priority over Personal Finance. 

 Its nice outside, far nicer than it has any right to be. The sun is shining, with just enough heat to make Virgil consider taking off his jacket (he doesn’t), a breeze carries through the air playing with his bangs, and the bells had just rang so everyone is in class and not outside. There’s barely any noise out here: a zombie apocalypse  picturesque scene. It used to unnerve him, but now it just gives him peace of mind.

Behind the school is his fifth place to check, right behind: the far corner of the library that Janus likes to power nap in during lunch, the stairwell to the roof that is supposed to be locked but they’d jimmied open last year, Janus’s actual class where his seat was empty and several kids glanced at Virgil as he had scurried by, and the parking lot where Virgil checked to make sure that Janus hadn’t just driven away and left him in this hell alone without even a text message goodbye. 

Janus is, in fact, still at the school, sitting in grass against the wall of the school that faces the parking lot. If Virgil hadn’t been looking for him, he might have mistaken him for a dark shrub or the Art Club's newest modern art installation. His bag is next to him, half his books spilling out into the lawn and at least a whole tree’s worth of folded paper around him. The piles of origami snakes remind Virgil of noodles, a mixture of colors and then twice as many in just plain white. 

“Hey,” Virgil says, approaching slowly in case this is one of those times when Janus wants to be alone more than he wants to feel alone. 

Janus folds another crease with the edge of his thumb nail and throws his sloppily made friend into the pile with the others. There’s a stack of pre-cut paper next to him, but it's all loose leaf paper. Which meant that he had folded his way through his stash of actual origami colored paper, which meant that he had been doing this since a lot longer than before second block, like Virgil feared.

Janus sighs thumping his head back against the brick walls and picks up another sheet. Virgil takes that as a sign to sit down next to him. He drops his bag off at his feet and reaches around the assortment of pins (Xmen, Marvel, gay flag, banned books week, one from a video game he liked the art of but had never played, etc) to unzip the smallest pocket. He pulls out another stack of the thin paper in an assortment of colors and places it on top of Janus’s current stack.

“So,” Virgil says, picking a snake off the ground. “Wanna talk about it?”

Janus flips the snake over and begins the process of folding the tail, ruthlessly. “Do I want to talk about it,” He echoes sourly, pressing each fold like it was a matter of life and death. “No, I do not want to talk about it. Because its stupid and a waste of time and I shouldn’t care but I still do and you have so many better things to do than listen to me whine about Patton Hart, yet again!”

Janus folds the head down and then stars into the empty eyes with a glare.

Virgil points his own snake at Janus and wiggles it a bit, “If its bothering you this much, then it can’t be stupid. And besides I love hearing about how much you hate Patton Hart. What did he do this time?”

“I don’t hate…” Janus lets out a sigh, “He didn’t do anything. In fact he didn’t even show up to class today. I heard a couple sophomores say he was acting funny earlier so I assume he went home early.”

Virgil frowns at that, trying to think back to the morning. He’d been running late and preoccupied with a Spanish test that he had forgotten he had first block, but he does remember seeing Roman and Patton in the halls. They hadn’t been holding hands like usual, which is probably why it stuck in Virgil’s head. They were the most lovey-dovey couple in the whole school: holding hands, kissing, flamboyant declarations of love... Virgil has nightmares about the way that Roman had asked Patton to Prom Junior year and had made Janus swear that if he ever plans on taking Virgil to a dance, he wouldn’t do it with glitter, the marching band, and in front of the whole school.

Patton had also looked different, Virgil remembers. Less cheery, more despondent. He had a smile on his face, but it looked forced and his eyes were glazed over like he wasn’t listening to anything at all.

Which, okay, fair. Roman tended to say the same things every day but phrased them differently. There were really only oh-so-many ways to say the words “I love you” and Roman had used up all of them in freshman year.

“So he wasn’t there,” Virgil says, shrugs, and takes a moment of silence to hope that Patton is getting some well needed sleep: Patton is one of those guys that just...finds a way to be involved with everything. Bake sales, choir, poetry club, talent show, office runner, treasurer of the student council-- if there’s something anyone needs to get done, Patton probably can do it. Not to mention he’s the nicest person Virgil has ever met. He honestly sees the good in people and its a shame that he’s dating Roman, because otherwise he and Janus would have invited him into their relationship a while ago.

(Roman isn’t exactly someone Janus or Virgil could stand on a weekly basis, much less daily. Virgil is pretty sure if Roman ever tried any romantic shit that he pulls on Patton, on Virgil he’ll spontaneously combust. Janus gets hives from being in close proximity to the gooey lovefest that Roman brings around any time he opens his mouth. And of course, Roman isn’t the type to share anything.)

((Ninety percent of their relationship these days is locking eyes while Roman did something and fake gagging like the mature adults they were.))

“What’s the big de--” Virgil stops, “Wait, isn’t debate today?”

“And take a guess who was my partner,” Janus summarizes. He tosses the snake to the ground and picks up another sheet of paper. “He...The Dragon Witch immediately failed me because he didn’t….and I couldn’t…”

He messes up the fold because his fingers are shaking too much. Virgil gently reaches out and takes the paper from his fingertips. It floats down to join the other snakes, and Virgil gives Janus’s hands a squeeze. 

There’s a welt of anger in his chest, bubbling up in a nice simmer. He hates the Dragon Witch, although he’s never had her class or even knows her real name (Roman had coined the title in freshman year back when he had been a benchwarmer for the football team and it had caught on until the whole school used it). She’s known for being generally awful to every student that came in, a little unhinged, and even her own daughter-- a girl in the grade below them-- agrees that nobody wants to be in her class. Unfortunately, despite the many protests held by small pockets of students, the Dragon Witch has tenure and the school board’s stance is “if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it”. Ergo, she still lives on this plane of existence and Virgil thinks about egging her car often. Probably too often.

“Its stupid,” Janus repeats and the cavity where Virgil’s heart should be aches a little for him, “I know she’s had it out for me. Ever since that first day when I pointed out all the books on the syllabus were written by rich white men. But it was just… I felt really good about this one, Vee.” 

Virgil knows this. Janus had been practically vibrating since the assignment had been given out. He’d gone above and beyond with his research for the topic-- something about selflessness that had gone straight over Virgil’s head when Janus had been talking about it. Patton hadn’t even been that bad of a partner, Janus had said, despite never having time to practice for it. They had exchanged numbers and texted details and notes to one another all week.

If Virgil hadn’t spent most of the afternoons lying next to Janus playing League of Legends and listening to Janus’s black pen scratch out preparation notes, he might have been jealous of how much attention Janus had been giving Patton. (and vise versa.)

“We were going to win,” Janus says softly. “And then Patton decided to just not show the fuck up! Why can’t I count on anyone but you? Why must I suffer in a world full of idiots?”

“Hey, at least he’s cute,” Virgil says.

“At least he’s cute,” Janus agrees, resignedly. “Do you think he’s going to break up with Roman?”

Virgil shrugs, “Do you want to ask him to join us if he does?”

“I would never pass up an opportunity to spite Roman like that,” Janus says, which is actually code for “I would never pass up an opportunity to dote on Patton and Virgil, do you think he’ll let us paint his nails, I have the perfect shade of blue to match his shoelaces--” 

(They’ve had this conversation at least once every season since Janus had caught Virgil sighing at the smaller boy in the halls midway through freshman year.)

Janus wiggles his hands from Virgil’s and picks up the unfinished snake but its softer now, less angry and more care. When he completes it, he points it at Virgil and offers a guilty half smile.

“Sorry for making you miss class.” 

Virgil wants to laugh because really that was the last thing on his mind right now. He shuffles through the snakes on the ground picking out his favorites to add to his collection. “Nah, its cool. You can just do my taxes and budgeting in the future and we’ll call it even. What are you gonna do with all of these?”

Janus hums, looking at all of them, “Maybe we can hide them around school to confuse people.”

“Can we write “you’re next” in a red pen on the inside of them?” Virgil asks with a grin, “like some horror movie shit?”

“Whatever you desire, darling,” Janus says and Virgil is incredibly grateful that he’s in love with his best friend. Virgil doesn’t usually count himself as lucky, but Janus had to be some kind of miracle: a person who understood Virgil the way that no one else ever bothered to. Janus has the type of laughter that makes everyone else want to laugh as well, the type of smile that begs for mischief, the type of loyalty that reassures Virgil no matter what happens they have each other’s backs.

Also he’s pretty, and Virgil likes staring at pretty things.

Janus leans forward and gives him a peck on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You missed,” Virgil says with a stupid ass smile, because he’s stupidly in love and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Janus rolls his eyes very fondly and leans in again, until Virgil can see every shade of brown and green in his mismatched eyes, until he can feel Janus’s breath on his face, until Virgil loses track of the nanometers between them. Virgil’s eyes are half closed already, anticipating how the rest of their newly established free time is going to be spent and not feeling a speck of embarrassment or guilt about it--

And then he sees the movement out of the corner of his eyes and freezes up. He’s certain without looking that it is a teacher and oh god they were going to get expelled for something. There’s too much stuff around them-- their bags, the millions of snakes, their own bodies-- and even if they left everything there they’d surely get found out from that stuff, and then the school would call his mom and Virgil did not want to have that conversation with her again. 

But then he does look and its not a teacher at all. Virgil blinks, once, twice to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.

“Virgil?” Janus says, still several centimetres away from kissing him and obviously aware of how Virgil had tensed to high hell.

“I thought you said that Patton went home sick,” Virgil says absently.

Janus sits back, following his line of sight to the corner of the building where-- sure enough-- Patton Hart was walking without a care in the entire world. He was dressed differently today than Virgil remembered him ever dressing: the memories of his polo and his cardigan give way to the reality of sweatpants and a soft sweater that cannot be comfortable in the heat of the day. Virgil tries to remember if that’s what Patton had been wearing earlier and… yeah it was. From this distance Virgil can’t tell the look on his face, but he doesn’t look like he’s worried at all.

He’s walking with a purpose. And that purpose looks angry. 

“Does Patton have a car?” Janus asks.

“I don’t...think so…” Virgil says tracking Patton’s progress across the lawn.

“Then who’s keys does he have in his hand?” Janus says not entirely rhetorical.

With barely a nod between the two of them, they scoop all the paper snakes into Virgil’s bag and take off after him.

Its extremely weird, Virgil thinks. Because its so quiet that their footsteps sound like slaps, and they have to duck around a red truck to avoid Patton’s glance back. Janus crouches delicately, slinking between the cars and Virgil wastes a moment watching how gracefully he moves. 

He’s like water flowing, controlled and effortless and an undercurrent of power. Virgil doesn’t doubt his ability to fight right this moment, doesn’t doubt his killer left hook, or his dirty fighting tactics that Janus picked up in the name of self defense and preservation. Virgil’s body hums with adrenaline as he watches Janus follow after Patton.

He leans against a jeep that doesn’t actually have a parking pass but no one’s complained about it and Janus peeks around the bummer to see where Patton was heading.

For a second, Virgil thought he was going after Janus’s car-- the little gold mazada 3 thats a year and a half old and a gift from his parents. He’s just about to yell, to scream, to ward Patton off, because it was already shitty of him to not show up to the debate, but touching Janus’s car? That’s like super assholeish and Virgil has never once wanted to call Patton an asshole.

Janus, however, is quicker and covers his mouth with his hand. “Look, I think...he’s crying,”

“What?” Virgil whispers, squinting-- oh shit, he should probably get an appointment to update his contacts soon -- and Patton is crying. Its the silent type of crying that's born from using a smile to hide the hurt too much and Virgil immediately decides that Patton doesn’t deserve that ever. He feels each one of those tears like a punch to the gut, each soft barely audible gasp like a knee to his jaw, each sniffle like an elbow to the back of his head.

Patton storms past Janus’s car and goes straight to the fiery red Prius that Roman (and his twin Remus) share.

“Oh my god,” Virgil breathes at the same time as Patton takes the blade of a key to the side of the car.

The noise is awful. Janus flinches curling into Virgil as they watch with morbid fascination: Patton doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate as he carves deep into the paint and the metal, perfecting each and every letter.

By the time he’s finished, he’s bawling big fat crocodile tears that soak all turn all his cheeks puffy and soak the collar of his sweater and Virgil’s stomach is a twisted knot of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with.

“FUCK OFF” written on the side of Roman’s car explains things very well, anyway.

Patton drops the keys on the ground and then follows after in such a dead weight fall that Virgil feels the shockwaves from where he is. He curls in on himself, sobbing horrible, gut-wrenching howls of pain.

Janus leaps around Virgil to run after him, and Virgil only stumbles slightly trying to come with him. 

“I didn’t…” Janus says, loudly--loud enough to make Patton jump and Virgil flinch and the empty parking lot feel crowded, “I didn’t know you were into Modern Art, Patton.”

Virgil thinks that if it were any other situation, he might have snorted. But when Patton turns to them with his blue eyes so full of tears that Virgil thinks he might drown in them, he forgets every other thought he has had.

Its just...rage.

“I’ll kill him.”

And Virgil means it, the same way he says that the sky is blue, or that he won't take off his sweatshirt, that he loves Janus with all his soul. He means that he will go right back into that building and search through every single fucking classroom until he finds wherever Roman spends his third class of the day and then he’ll drag him out to the parking lot by his stupid perfect hair and run him over a couple hundred times.

Virgil will go to jail for manslaughter and he wouldn’t even feel sorry.

Patton lets out a shuddering sob and frantically tries to wipe away his ugly tears, making noises that Virgil assumes are meant to be words but they come out scrambled and grated and wrong. And Patton who’s never done a single mean thing in all the time that Virgil has known of him, does not deserve to feel a hurt that bad. How dare Roman make him feel a pain that bad.

Virgil rolls up his sleeves and spins on his heel to go take care of the issue-- but Janus catches him by his hood and yanks him back.

“Patton,” Janus says softly (a tone that's normally reserved for two AM sleepovers and lazy saturday movie marathons and sad boi hours that come and go like the seasons), “What can we do?”

Patton lets out a shriek, and when he looks back up there’s no sadness. Its a fury, an anger, its frustration that boiled into a suffocating gas and Virgil guess that he’s not going to need to end Roman’s life because Patton is perfectly capable of doing himself.

“You can shut the hell up!” Patton screams, “And Leave me the fuck alone!”

Virgil and Janus share a look.

And well...Virgil has been breaking rules since he was a kid and Janus isn’t the type of follow orders simply because. Without discussing anything they both sit down next to Patton, and Virgil starts pulling out the origami paper again.

“What are you doing?” Patton hisses in a way that Virgil has never once seen him do. His fingers shake, but he keeps himself calm and cool and collected.

“Its called origami,” Janus says, although he knows very well that’s not what Patton was asking. Virgil watches his fingers flick in the air, a mesmerizing dance that once Patton looks at he couldn’t look away from. 

Patton’s tears drop, his face is still puffy and dangerous, but Janus says nothing about it. Virgil holds his breath and watches as Janus folds, unfolds, pinches, twists the paper into a jumping frog. He sets it out on his palm and lets Patton stare at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“I like making things when I get upset,” Janus says. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I…” Patton sniffles, rubbing away his tears again. He sounds so small and insignificant that Virgil wants to wrap his arms around him and protect him from everything. “Why…?”

“I know how to do many animals,” Janus continues on, “frogs, snakes, spiders, cranes… Or we can just fold paper in any way we want to, too.”

Patton is silent. Janus picks up another piece of paper and begins folding it in half. There’s a breeze through the parking lot, colder than before, bitter and smarting. Virgil tugs the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and tries not to wonder what happened to the sun. 

“The motion is calming to me,” Janus explains, “I like the creation of something new and different, the repetition--”

There’s a huff.

A snort.

And then...well then Patton is laughing a terribly wet, mean laugh. Janus pauses halfway through folding the head of the frog to make sure Patton hasn't been replaced by a skinwalking alien wearing Patton’s face, and Virgil can’t really blame him at all. The small boy kneels over laughing so hard he ends up gasping for breath and Virgil shivers at how the noise steals all the warmth from the air.

“Fucking stupid,” Patton manages, through gasps that sound suspiciously like whimpers. “Everything is so fucking stupid.” 

“I see someone taught the five-year-old a new swear word,” Janus says. “Who was it? Remus?”

“Just go away, Janus,” Patton says, laying his head on the asphalt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Janus tuts finishing off his second frog, “You really don’t know where that piece of road has been.”

“Actually I do!” Patton bolts upright, “I do know! Its been right here! Its been here no matter what’s happened, never moving, never changing, and even if I marked it with chalk or paint or took a jackhammer to it or blew it the fuck up it will still be here when I wake up tomorrow! Now fuck off!”

Virgil blinks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. 

“I am learning so many things about you today, Patton,” Janus says without missing a beat. He picks up another sheet of paper, “You’re into modern art, you’re passionate about parking lots...my, my, my. Perhaps we should have done our debate on road construction instead. Would you have bothered to show up then?”

“Like it matters.” Patton says, even more unlike himself. Virgil thinks he’s seen Patton overbook himself for commitments more times than he can count and apologies are nearly always coupled with food of some sort: cookies, fudge, pasta salad. Sometimes even to things he never even said he could be there for. Patton is more apologetic than Virgil ever has been, and Virgil likes to apologize for existing.

But here is a Patton, or a version of him, that seems so defeated, so angry, so sad and upset and miserable that he’s just...given up. Consequences be damned.

“We lose,” Patton says looking up at the sky, “We lose because Mrs. Hydrus hates you, Janus, and so she makes us do it without any notes, then every time you stumble, she interrupts and asks for clarification despite being the moderator, and she cuts down our time by a whole minute. And when you say anything back to her she sends you to the principal's office and gives us a zero for the assignment, anyway. We lose. But its fine because you never remember anyway and then you get to wake up and be humiliated all over again. And it doesn’t matter what I do! Okay? We lose!”

Janus stops folding his frog and turns to look directly at Patton. Virgil is too, and he can scarcely breathe.

“What did you just say?”

Patton turns to face him swiping away another round of tears. “Go ahead, Virgil! You’re just like everyone else. Go and call me c-crazy! Tell me I’m insane! T-take me to the doctors! Whatever! I’m so t-tired of this and I can’t even die.”

Virgil swallows hard. There’s a lump in the back of his throat, a lump that’s growing until he can barely breathe around it. Janus brings a hand up to his mouth like he might be sick right there on the concrete. 

“Patton…” Virgil breathes. “Are you a paper frog?”

Patton stares at him like he’s stupid so Virgil reaches out with shaky hands and picks up one of the finished frogs from the ground. He carefully unfolds it, piece-by-piece, until its back to the original square. Then he holds it up for Patton to see, and begins to refold it the way that Janus had.

“Are you,” Virgil asks, “being refolded like a paper frog?”

Patton’s face says everything.

“H-how,” Janus asks, “how many times?”

The other boy blinks long and slow and sniffles. “I-I don’t know. Around three hundred twelve? Maybe? I lost count so long ago.”

“Three hundred twel--” Virgil repeats, “Holy shit, Pat! That’s almost a year.”

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Janus asks, although they all know why really. Despite them being debate partners, Patton and Janus don’t talk. Janus and Virgil admire him from afar, and only talk to him in passing. For the longest time Virgil didn’t even know if Patton knew his name, and now they’re sitting here wondering why strangers would ever interact with one another?

“What about…” Virgil motions to the car, the keys, the fun words written in the red paint.

Patton shakes his head so hard his body trembles. “He doesn’t...he never...I tried so so hard but its so much easier to leave him be. It takes so much to convince him and then… then its not a true love’s kiss solution.”

Virgil’s gut twists just thinking about that. About how many times that Roman made him prove that he had seen everything before, and then for a kiss not to work when they both were head over heels in love with each other and then waking up again, convincing Roman again, then telling him the kiss didn’t work? Virgil could guess it didn’t go over well at all. 

Knowing Roman it had probably dissolved into a “we’re not meant for each other?”, followed by a “i will always love you no matter what.” , and finished with a “If it will save you from this loop then we’ll have to break up”.

From the sight of the keys on the ground, Virgil can guess how far it went this time.

“I do love him,” Patton says almost desperately. “I do, I do, I do! I swear I love him so much--”

Janus puts a hand on Patton’s shoulder and he falls silent immediately. “I believe you,” Janus says, “I’ve seen the way you look at him, Patton. No one here thinks that the two of you aren’t perfect for each other.”

Its a pain to admit because its friendzoning both of them right now, but Virgil would weather that if it meant Patton wouldn’t sound so heartbroken. Janus meets his eyes over Patton’s shoulder and gives him a nod. At least they’re on the same page for this.

“Three hundred twelve time loops,” Virgil says, “does not sound like it was fun at all.”

“Are any loops fun?” Janus asks.

“Fruit loops are fun,” Patton sniffles again. He rubs his eyes and hunches over in his sweatshirt. “Do you guys...do you guys really believe me?”

Janus’s lips curve into a wry smile, “Patton in all the time that I can remember, I’ve never seen you have the guts to key someone’s car. And now you’re saying fuck? And telling me off? That's a whole lot of character development to happen without me noticing, unless it was a time loop.”

Patton giggles, just a bit. It's still weepy but it makes Virgil feel like he can breathe for the first time. 

“Don’t worry, Pat,” Virgil says, “We’ll figure this thing out.” 

“H-how?” 

Janus sighed leaning back a little, “Well we could ask Logan.”

“Logan?” Virgil echoes, “you mean Remus’s boyfriend? You think he’s got something?”

Janus shrugs, “He is a witch.” 

“A what now?” Virgil says. “Since when was he a witch! You never told me that!” 

Janus grins sheepishly, and rubs the back of his neck, “I forgot? I love you?”

Virgil blows a raspberry at him. “Just like how I’m gonna forget to mention you when I find Mothman. But I love you, too.”

“Its a cruel love, this thing we have.” Janus says rather poetically and Virgil reaches over to shove his shoulder. Janus laughs sways so he falls onto Patton’s shoulder. Patton for his part smiles, bright and blinding and it takes both their breaths away when he laughs again.

Virgil can’t imagine having to redo the same day twice, much less three hundred times. He wonders vaguely if Patton has any idea how strong he is, how amazing, how inspiring he is to keep that glow inside himself despite everything.

He’s smile fades for a moment and he perks up all of a sudden. “Oh My Gosh! Logan’s a witch!” He makes a flurry of arm movements that forces Virgil to duck, “Oh my gosh that means--!!”

“Deep breaths, dear,” Janus suggests, although it goes ignored.

“Yesterday--like actually yesterday, your yesterday, not the last loop, Logan and Remus got into an argument over a bottle and I thought it was gatorade! Remus was trying to drink it but Logan wouldn’t let him and they ended up spilling it on the floor! I helped them keep it up but I got a little bit on my hand! I didn’t think too much of it but what if it was like some sort of potion?”

Janus considers it, “Hmmm, its a good starting place. Let’s go ask him what it was.” He stands up and offers a hand down to Patton and Virgil each. Virgil takes it and turns back to also offer his own hand to the smaller boy. 

“Come on, Hart, this is going to be your last loop.” Janus says.

Patton stares at their hands almost as if he was afraid to take them. He glances down at the origami frogs, at the keys, and their bags, then back up at them with an fearful expression. “You...you promise?”

Virgil laughs, “Yeah, we got you, Pat. Promise.”

Patton shakes from head to toe, but he grabs both their hands and smiles like he has hope for the first time in three hundred twelve days.

[cagestark]

Would love a vengeful Tony - those who ignore, insult or hurt Peter in any way find that texts intended for mistresses are sent to wives, their names go missing off guest lists for important events, shady business deals are exposed, etc. Those who are kind and thoughtful to Pete reap rewards, their businesses thrive, their children gain scholarships, etc. Everything is done quietly, discreetly. Nothing can be connected to Tony, but Peter is a genius too - he knows and loves Tony all the more. 😍

Read on AO3 here. 

Hope this is okay

Warnings: dark!Tony who will do anything for his precious boy. Explicit sexual content. Peter is 18+ though. Violence. Dark stuffs. But it’s still pretty soft IMO

-

Alternate universes are infinite. That means that there are an infinite number of worlds out there where Tony Stark does not own Peter Parker. In those worlds, Tony’s must be soft-bellied, burden with consciences that bow their backs over things like right and wrong. Maybe the attraction is there still, the lust for a boy with curls and eyes like liquid cedarwood. He probably jerks off in the dead of night for a kid less than half his age and then cries about it afterwards.

Tony feels sorry for those poor sons of bitches.

He has no such qualms. When Peter applies for the Stark Industries internship, freshly eighteen years old, Tony sees, wants, and takes. Finding out that his boy is also a super hero feels like kismet. Peter adores him. Its visible in the wide wet eyes, the flush that still blooms on his cheeks when he sees Tony naked even months after the first time. And maybe a little begrudgingly, Tony begins to feel the same way about him. His worth to Tony grows exponentially until he can no longer ignore that the boy is the most important thing in his life. Peter is precious. He is kind-hearted (foolish as kindness is), thoughtful, and intelligent.

And he is damaged.

It is months into their growing relationship when Peter finally confides in him, but Tony is no fool: he knows the signs of a bruised apple when he sees one. Peter is shy to the point of insecurity, apologizing for his enthusiasm, for the way his body looks naked, for using the wrong size coffee grounds in the French press. Tony himself has never felt the need to apologize for his own existence, so the habit in his young lover is particularly unfathomable.

Then they get drunk. Peter isn’t legal to drink—not in this country—but if he’s responsible enough to fuck who he wants to, he should be responsible enough to partake. Tony drinks scotch, but Peter coughs his face red when he takes a sip. Instead, he prefers the softer, sweeter or sour liquors and mixed drinks. They have a full bar, so Tony spends the evening making one of every kind of drink he knows just so Peter can take little sips of each, flushing with alcohol, eyes shy as he proclaims it’s good, if he like it and it’s alright, if he doesn’t.

They end up on the couch together, Peter reclined between his legs. It’s there in a soft, trembling voice that Peter begins to cry in his drunkenness and admits the love he had before, the one who bruised him.

“Tell me his name,” demands Tony.

Peter shakes his head.

“He never like, hit me,” Peter says. “But he did slap me sometimes. It didn’t really hurt, but it was so embarrassing. Like I was a, a child. Or a dog.”

Tony just hums, waiting. On the back of the couch, his hand in clenched into a fist, but still he waits. A sniper holds his breath when he needs to steady the scope.

“We went to school together—” yes, yes, go on, Tony thinks. “—he bullied me for a while. Innocent stuff. Then one day we had a heart to heart and he admitted that his animosity towards me was because he was gay. He didn’t know how to express himself, I guess. Or maybe he resented me, because I was out and he wasn’t. I don’t know. We started dating in secret, and I thought—god, I’m such an idiot. It sounds so stupid now—I thought that it was cute. We were like, enemies to lovers. Like the stories. But it wasn’t a story. Not a good one.

“Even after he came out, it felt like no matter what I did, he wasn’t happy with me. Sometimes, it seemed like he enjoyed being unhappy with me. My body was always too scrawny—this was before the bite—and I was always doing things wrong. He said that I embarrassed him. Maybe I did. I don’t know. He’d invite his friends over, the ones who used to bully me with him. They would make fun of me and he, he never stopped them. They’d say the m-most humiliating things to me. Why didn’t he stop them, Tony?” Peter asked, voice cracking, weeping into Tony’s chest.

“A name, darling. Be brave for me. Give me names.”

Peter turns to look at him, eyes red and glazed from alcohol, cheeks wet. He is painfully beautiful. “What will you do to them?”

“Nothing, my sweet,” lies Tony. Some lies are necessary things. “Nothing, unless you tell me to.”

He gives names. A whole list of them, and Tony doesn’t need his artificial intelligence recording to remember them. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to remember them. They are burned into his brain along with the image of Peter now only thinner, cheeks wet and red because he was slapped like a dog.

Peter cries himself to sleep. Tony carries him to bed, undresses him with glazed over eyes. His mind is miles away. Once the covers are pulled up snugly against Peter’s chin, a wastebasket beside the bed should he wake and feel sick, Tony goes down to his lab, still buzzed, wearing nothing but his pajama pants. The air is cold, but he doesn’t feel it.

“FRIDAY, baby?”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ve got work to do.”  

-

Peter is naked in his bed, artfully covered by a sheet still damp from their lovemaking. Belly down, he props himself up on his elbows with a Stark tablet in front of him, scrolling through news stories, filling Tony in on news articles involving him.

“This article says you’re trying to create a new world order,” Peter says. This is like after-play for Tony. Besides his cock, his next favorite thing to have stroked is his ego. When he hears Tony snort, the younger man glances over, lips still swollen from the tender abuse they suffered between Tony’s teeth. Peter smiles. With a flick of his finger, the tablet goes dark. He nudges it onto the end table and rolls so that he can spoon his naked body against Tony’s side. When he speak next, he sounds sleepy. “Can you imagine that, Tony? You ruling the world?”

He hums. He can imagine that. He does. Sees it in his dreams, knees bending in supplication to him, wills bending to his way. “Can’t you, Pete?”

The boy presses a hot kiss to one of Tony’s pecks. It’s amazing how little water can help a blossom to bloom, and for Peter, he would bring down a veritable rainstorm. Look how far he has come from days when he would hesitate to brush their fingers as they watched a movie together or were in the back of the car together. He is becoming a diamond, Tony’s crown jewel. “I can see you as a king,” Peter says.

Tony grins. “And where are you, my sweet?”

Peter hums. His hand drags across Tony’s flat stomach, gently scraping blunt fingernails against where stomach becomes pelvis, feeling the muscles beneath it twitch to his whims. The boy has come twice in the last hour, but he is already hard against Tony’s leg. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. The hand drifts lower and brushes his soft cock, which makes a valiant stir. “Maybe I’ll be your—paramour. Your willing slave. At your feet to take care of all your needs.”

Tony frowns. He leans away, loathing even the brief look of anxiety on Peter’s face at his withdrawal, the cheeks flushing with anxiety, wondering did I do something wrong, did I sound stupid? Taking the softly pointed chin in his hand, he brings them so close their noses almost brush. “You are no servant, and I don’t intend for you to be anywhere near my feet. You will be my queen.”

And like that, his blossom blooms a little more, leaning forward to press their mouths together, soft and sensual as rose petals.

-

The galas are a treat since he’s starting dating Peter. They make games of them, usually delightfully sexual ones that have them tugging their dress pants down in the limo on the way home so Peter can sit on his cock—though there was that one lovely night that Tony took him into the bathroom during the speeches, locked the door behind them so he could bend his boy over the sink and rim him within an inch of his life. For the rest of the night, Peter hadn’t been able to look away from his mouth, blushing and adjusting himself.

Tonight, Peter is wearing a plug. Watching him shift restlessly at dinner has had Tony half-hard for the better part of the evening. Desperate for a reprieve to clear his head, he stalks to the bar to order them drinks: a glass of champagne for Peter and a scotch on the rocks for himself. If they know he is giving his underage date alcohol, they don’t dare say anything.

It’s there leaning up against the polished bar that he overhears Peter’s name spoken from a group nearby. His hearing is excellent, and it takes little effort to block out the white noise of the room to listen in to the conversation taking place among three heads ducked together. He recognizes them: the man is CFO of a private security franchise in upstate New York that made several attempts to offer Stark Industries security services. Tony had humored him for far too long, asking detailed questions about the company’s capabilities before turning him down—and why shouldn’t he know what techniques the little guys are using? It’s smart strategy. Hacking into the man’s private servers to read his emails had been purely for entertainment. All work and no play would make Tony a very dull boy indeed.

Beside him are two women, most likely a wife and a secretary, probably interchangeable.

“—look ridiculous together. Like father and son. If he wanted to feel twenty years younger, a prostitute could have done the same thing for him and with half the work.”

“He’s a cute kid,” the secretary or wife says.

The CFO snorts. “Have some taste, Margot.”  

Tony doesn’t see red. His hands don’t turn into fists, his teeth don’t gnash. He doesn’t get angry, he gets even, wracking his brain for the most insignificant details, anything that he could use to his advantage here—and then he remembers, something about a food allergy, berating the PA who went out to the local bakery for breakfast and brought pastries back to the office.

“Three more glasses of champagne,” says Tony, leaning against the bar. “And tell me. Do you have strawberries?”

When Tony appears behind them, drinks in hand, CFO’s soul nearly leaves his body. All the blood leaves his face. Even the secretary wives look anxious. One of them can’t even meet his eyes. There are probably rumors about the kind of man that Tony is and the kind of business he conducts. When his reputation does half the work of intimidating scum like this, then he considers himself thankful for it.

“Drinks?” Tony says, passing around flutes. “It’s an open bar. Please make sure to partake.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Margot says. Sensible woman. If only she kept better company.

When Tony returns to the table with Peter’s champagne and his own scotch, the ice hasn’t even begun melt. “That was fast,” Peter says. This is his second glass, and he is already looking more relaxed, eyes a little lidded. Whether it is from the alcohol or the plug inside his ass, Tony doesn’t know. What he does know is that he himself is unbearably hard, has been since the strawberry idea came to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

It’s as they’re leaving that the other shoe drops. It must have started as a tickle in his throat, maybe the buzz of numb lips. By the time CFO realizes he’s having a severe allergic reaction, his throat has swelled and his face is turning purple. A crowd gathers, and he and Peter are part of it, the boy pressed against him back to Tony’s front. From what he can gather, the man has an epi-pen that his secretary carries, but she has left it in the Rolls Royce. By the time the valet finds her car among the sea in the parking lot, the man is unconscious.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peter asks, watching as the paramedics administer an emergency shot of epinephrine.

“I’ve done quite enough already,” purrs Tony. His hips give a tiny aborted thrust, cock aching. Peter’s chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly. It’s a warm enough night for them to shed their jackets, holding them over their arms and in front of their erections like the gentlemen they are.

But nothing they do in the limousine on the way home is gentlemanly, and that’s the way Tony likes it.

-

There are three names Peter gives him. By the time FRIDAY is done working her magic, Tony has entire life histories, not just for the three boys who graduated alongside Peter at Midtown High School, but for their families. Their ancestries. Tony doesn’t know where inspiration will strike, so he has FRIDAY compile everything. He reads the files leisurely in the evenings when Peter is lounging between his legs watching television or even in bed when the boy slumbers next to him.

Of the three, he knows that Flash will receive the worst of it. Tony will be the old testament God, cursing Flash and four generations of his descendants. That is where he puts his true energy, drawing from that dark well inside of him where is wrath pools. It makes him giddy, wondering how far he is willing to go.

The inspiration is endless, with Flash’s life laid out in front of him. After graduation, he went to a second-rate technical school in New Jersey after a series of rejected applications to MIT. Had he been trying to follow Peter?

Afterwards, he moved north to Maine where he works for the Gulf of Maine Research Institute, probably spending his days smelling of salt water, working on electric monitoring systems meant to replace human observers on commercial fishing boats.

Digging into his criminal record is where it gets personal. Because there is very little. One domestic violence charge, the plaintiff being the State of New York, but it takes only a little elbow grease to see that it is Peter. Flash had pled no contest. He served no time in jail, just faced parole for 18 months and a required anger management class.

Besides that, there is nothing. No more charges. Tony tells himself that the vast majority of such personal crimes go unreported—and really, would it make Peter feel any better? To know that it hadn’t been personal, it hadn’t been just him that Flash had abused?

Tony has never been a victim of abuse. While he usually doesn’t have difficulty imagining how people will feel, even in such instances of heightened emotion, Peter is an enigma. The consequences of being wrong, of hurting his boy. It’s too much to bear.

Still, he digs deeper. Flash is married to a native Maine woman. FRIDAY has social media photographs included in the file, and they look—like a couple. He won’t say a nice couple, because he desperately wants them dead. But they would probably look lovely in side by side burial plots. The smiles look genuine, arms wrapped around each other. Pictures of them together on the beach looking out at the bleak Atlantic Ocean. But he knows the kind of masks people put on for the public. He’s more interested in knowing about Flash’s relationship when the camera is off, pointed elsewhere.

“Get me their phone conversations, FRIDAY, baby.”

But whatever he expected; it wasn’t this. The tenderness between them. The loving messages sent in the middle of the day. The largest argument they have is over what they will have for dinner after Flash comes home from work, and the boy apologizes for his terse messages within twenty minutes of sending them. He sounds contrite. He sounds genuine. He sounds in love.

Why does that make it worse? Why does that make Tony angrier? Tenderness existed inside this Flash the whole time—why wouldn’t he give it to Peter?  Tony logs off, turns off his systems, shuts down the lab for a while. Sometimes the wrath he keeps deep in that well inside him swells up like the tide, swells up like a spring after rain. It no longer feels like the well is inside him, but that he is in the well, looking up through a haze of fury towards a sky he can’t see.

He doesn’t want to act in anger.

The kind of justice Peter deserves is cool and calculated.

-

His boy is in his lap, confident enough to crawl there while the movie they were watching draws on behind them, their kissing a sensual soundtrack. Peter is so beautiful like this, when the slightest arousal melts away his inhibitions. It is animalistic, the way they lick into each other’s mouths, the biting of lips and gnashing of teeth. There is a restlessness though, a rising fever that isn’t being quenched quickly enough. More is needed. His boy needs more.

“You’re going to top tonight,” says Tony lowly, dragging his teeth across Peter’s hairless, cut jaw. He’s close enough to hear the boy’s breathy gasp. He clams up, going tense, drawing away. When they meet eyes, Peter is already anxious, unsure.

“Why would you want that?” he asks.

Tony frowns. “Why do you like having someone in your ass?”

Peter flushes. “I just—I guess I always thought that the person who. You know. Received—it’s, like, a power thing. People top because they’re stronger.”

“Are you not strong? Do you not want power, Pete?”

“I—I’ve never. I was always the one who. You know.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Tony assures. He presses his palm flat against the boy’s clothed chest, feeling his heart hammering away. When his thumb brushes the pebbled nipple, Peter shudders, eyes fluttering. “But you have power here. I’d like to show you.”

Peter swallows. “I’ll try.”

Tony blows him first, just to take the edge off. Peter’s stamina, while better than it once was, isn’t legendary. With the taste of cum in his mouth, he kisses his lover, legs spread and Peter propped between them. The amount of lube he slathers on his fingers is overkill, but it makes Tony warm: the innocence, the desire not to hurt his partner. How someone could hurt this sweet creature, Tony will never understand.

The first finger Peter presses inside him, the boy groans like he’s fingering his own ass. It’s been a while for Tony, but Peter’s pace is slow bordering agonizing, thrusting in carefully, catching softly on the rim as he pulls free. Two fingers feel fuller and Tony groans. Could he convince the boy to take him like this, half-prepared so that it might sting? But half the joy is the look on Peter’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack as he crooks his fingers to rub so gently against Tony’s prostate. When Tony moans, Peter’s entire body shakes, his cock hard and leaking, giving aborted little thrusts against the bed.

“Take me, Pete,” he asks. “I’m ready. How do you want me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Peter whimpers. He’s already gripping the base of his cock, knuckles white, wincing at the ache. Tony strokes his back to let him recover giving him the time he needs. Maybe he should suck him off again—but now he’s getting desperate himself. Let the boy come quickly. That in itself is a turn on.  

Desiring to watch, Tony just presses a pillow underneath his hips to improve the angle, holds his cock and balls in one hand, and lets Peter press forward, the head of his cock nudging Tony’s rim.

“Jesus,” Peter gasps, even though he hasn’t even pressed in. “I can’t do it Tony, I can’t—”

“You can,” Tony says, low and dark. “Fucking look at yourself Peter. So goddamn strong. So powerful. You could pin me to this bed and fuck me half to death if you wanted to, and god do I want you to. You could snap me in half, couldn’t you sweet boy? Take me. Overpower me. You’re strong enough.”

Peter keens. Wet and warmth hits Tony’s hole as the boy’s hand flies down, too late to stop himself and instead wrapping around his shaft to jerk himself off, strings of cum spurting onto Tony’s cock. He watches, half-amused and more than half-aroused. Wiping a hand through the cum, Tony wraps it around himself and fucks into his fist to spill onto his own abs.

“What did I say?” he says afterwards, pressing a kiss to Peter’s embarrassed face. “So powerful. God that was hot.”

“I didn’t even get inside,” mutters Peter.

“We can try again. If you want.”

He feels the boy smile against his chest. “I—think I’d like that.”

-

Justice starts closer to home than Tony thought it might, because on the first page of FRIDAY’s report about Flash Thompson, Tony discovers that Flash’s father works for Stark Industries and has for years. With thousands of employees, it isn’t difficult to fathom that a well-off man growing up in New York city, but it still irks Tony to know that at any time coming and going, Peter might have crossed this man, might have had to remember. Harrison Thompson is a consumer relation’s specialist working in their marketing department. The man looks trepidatious when he enters Tony’s office bright on Monday morning.

Tony can see the resemblance between father and son. He knows a lot about this man too. His record is not nearly as clear of domestic violence charges as his son’s. Abuse is a vicious cycle in which the offended can become the offenders. The seed of violence in Flash was probably cultivated for years before he met Peter—then again, after remembering the graphic images of a battered Mrs. Thompson, Tony can’t deny that Flash’s DNA probably came from the seed of violence.

The man sits, looking like he’s ready for his own execution. “Mr. Stark.”

“Harrison,” Tony greets. “Have we met? Tell me, in all the years that you’ve worked here, have I ever bothered to meet a little pissant like you?”

“Once, sir,” Thompson says, slow. He’s sweating. “We spoke on the phone.”

Tony coos. Inside his top desk drawer is a stack of papers, which he draws out onto his desk. Forging them took no time at all. He must look unhinged, eyes glittering like hellfire is just behind the pupils, grinning the way he is. “What a shame then, that we’ve had to meet under these circumstances.”

-

Everybody is talking about it, Peter texts. Tony is in a meeting when he sees it, but he has no qualms about answering his boy when he should be listening to shareholders complain about the way the media is spinning Stark Industry’s image.

Talking about what, baby?

An employee you fired yesterday.

From 5th floor.

Caught him stealing from me, baby.

Firing him was just the start.

Wait until the police get their hands on him ;)

Tony. You must know.

Know what, my sweet?

Peter doesn’t answer. If he is worried that the boy will be cold to him when he returns to the penthouse for the evening, his worries were for nothing. There is dinner on the table, with candles. Dinner is only half eaten when they end up in the bedroom, and after undressing him, Tony finds that Peter has shaved. Everywhere.

“Wanted to do something nice for you, daddy,” he gasps while Tony rims him, shifts to mouth at his tight balls.

The sweetest boy.

-

Flash himself, Tony never even meets. Tony has maids to take out the trash in his penthouse, custodians to take out trash from Stark Tower, and Bucky to handle the more personal refuse that Tony would rather not dirty his hands with. He has a thing about his hands.

It is handled all through phone calls from his untraceable line. Bucky is one of the only men in the world besides Peter that Tony would admit he likes: the man listens twice as often as he speaks, has incredible loyalty, and also takes initiative. “How bad do you want him?” Bucky asks.

“Use your discretion,” Tony says, feet braced up on his desk. That’s code for let him live, but not easily. Through the glass walls of his office, he sees Peter getting off the elevator, waving cheerfully to the secretary. When they spot each other, the boy blushes softly, and Tony winks. “But I’m sending you a little extra compensation. There’s an additional detail that’s very important to me, and I want to see it come to fruition.”

The others are child’s play. Via anonymous tips, he alerts the IRS about one of the boys’ fraudulent tax returns. The other keeps his nose cleaner, but that is no problem for a man who doesn’t mind playing dirty: Tony empties his bank accounts, trashes his credit score, and sends several fake incriminating messages to his wife. It barely scrapes the surface of what they are owed, but he figures that there will always be time to expand on a solid foundation of misery.

The pictures arrive one after the other an hour after the sun sets on the East Coast. The boy is barely recognizable: face swollen nearly to bursting from the shattered cheekbone and orbital fracture. Bucky’s gloved hand is visible in the last picture, clutching a head of dark hair to pull the boy’s head back so his throat is visible, wreathed in livid bruises. But the dog collar looks good.

Pet Supply, Bucky says. $4.99.

Tony sends him five grand. Then he saves the pictures on a private server that FRIDAY is under orders to destroy should it be breached or should Tony die. He’d delete them altogether but…one day, Peter might want them.

And he would give Peter anything he wanted.

-

“Boss, you’ve received a text from Peter.”

“Read it to me, baby,” says Tony, welding mask on, sweating. FRIDAY’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the blowtorch.

“It’s a news article, sir, from Portland Press Herald, dated this morning. The headline article is titled GMRI Employee Left Paralyzed After Overnight Attack.” Tony turns off the blowtorch. He takes off the mask to reveal his smile. Peter knows how much Tony loves to hear news about himself. “Shall I keep reading, boss?”

“Please do.”  

-

Peter never mentions it, but sometimes Tony catches him staring. The look on his face is one that isn’t easily read. On anyone else, he would expect to see fear, but this boy is finally starting to grow into his own. He is finally starting to see how he should be treated, and the ramifications he—and Tony—can rain down on those who treat him poorly. Instead, Peter looks hungry for him. So, fucking, grateful to him.

“Do you want to try topping again tonight, my sweet?” Tony asks in bed. “Do you want the power?”

Peter plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the mattress. Eyes heavy, he is sure the boy will finger him open, thrust desperately inside him to completion. Maybe he won’t even pull out, just rest his cock there until it hardens, and then Peter will take him again. Until he is strong and satisfied.

Instead, Peter throws a leg over Tony’s hips and sinks down on his cock. The look he gives is positively devilish, resting his hands on his thighs while he begins a brutal, perfect rhythm. He smiles, impish, delighted. Bruised apples are soft, riper and all the sweeter in spite of it.

Peter says: “I already have it.”

[morgansmornings]

ship meme Jayden and Beth

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor:

It was hard to tell who’s clothes belonged to who. Red, greens, and blues clashed with pastel and paisley. Skirts and jeans tossed about being left where they landed. Fabrics of all sorts scattered and making a collage of colour across the dark brown floor that was standard within the dorms of the campus. 

“Beth…. Have you seen my green shirt?” 

Wha kine?

“The green spaghetti strap. I want to wear it for my date tonight.”

A pause, the shift of an over sized sweater being pulled around tawny slender shoulders. 

Nooo…

“Are you lying?” 

Nooo…

“Are you lying about lying.”

Mebbe…

A sigh.

“Blue one it is then.” 

forgets to run the dish washer:Neat freak. Organized. Dishwasher always running both us stairs and down stairs to keep up with the health standards. 

At least that was how it usually was. 

But there were times that the Janissary couldn’t be assed to use Forces or Correspondence to poke one stupid button. It was usually after covert missions where she had the hardest time having the will to do much of anything but breathe. During those times she had given Beth permission to make sure that the mountains of leftovers found homes in the bellies of those that needed it most. 

On this night however, Jay was not as bad off as she usually was. No, this night she was just tired. Prue was off digging into a rumor to see if it was something that she could deal with at a later date or not. So she had the brownstone to herself. Finally a moment to unwind. To come down from the soul crushing pain that was both inflicted to her prey and that she received herself. 

She pulled the dishwasher open, taking a cup from the top rack and poured herself a healthy amount of cold coffee. She reached up and scratched the back of her feeling the grime clinging to her skin. Taking a long pull she immediately turned and spit the mouthful out. 

“God… Damnit.” She held back the sudden urge to gag as the taste of dish soap. 

“I love her… I love her so much Andy…” Jay whipped the back of her hand across her lips. “One of these days, I might strangle her.”

Though it wasn’t Beth’s fault. She did wash the dishes. She just forgot that the dishwasher was there to make things easier. pumps gas for the car:“Onna d’ese days, I’m gonna do it.” Beth said curling her legs under herself to rearrange the knitting supplies she had brought with her. 

“I’ll let you pump gas into the Caddy the day you can see over the wheel kid.” A ball of yarn bounced off the door. Jay couldn’t help but chuckle. With all the powers Beth had it was a miracle she was still the same sweet tiny and innocent soul in the world. Jay was certain that Beth could achieve peace among the others and bring the Wyrm to heel and purify whatever had driven it off the deep end. 

There was some mumbling that Jay chose not to make out because they wee already behind their, her, schedule. It was going to be a long drive to the east coast. Sure Jay could have gotten tickets, but there was not enough tranquilizers to put Beth to sleep long enough to fly that distance. Which is why there was a cruise bound for Hawai’i waiting for them in California. drives when they’re going somewhere:

“And then when we get there… Beth are you even listening to me?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm-hmm.” That was the moment Jayden pulled over into a parking lot. She knew Beth wasn’t paying attention. That much was obvious by how she was leaned against the passenger door with her chin propped on a delicate palm. Green-hazel eyes were glazed over not yet realizing that they had stopped. Jay reached over and took Beth’s hand in hers, tugging gently.

“Hey Tiny Dancer?” 

“Huh?” The Hawaiian turned to look at her best friend over many lifetimes. “Did we stop?”

“Figured we could stretch our legs. And after…” Jay shrugged a shoulder and pulled her hand away leaving the keys in Beth’s hand. 

“But ya alw-”

“I’m tired.” She wasn’t. “Not safe for me to be behind the wheel Tiny Dancer.” 

A light began burning that settled whatever worry had come over the Janissary.

“Copy d’at Rubba Ducky.” 

rearranges the furniture:It was mapped out clearly in her mind. To the point that she could walk around with her eyes closed and not once drop, trip, kick, or stumble over anything. Every item had a place and every item was kept just so. Even when she cleaned. Some called it obsession. Other called it a well maintained lifestyle. 

So when Jayden opened the door and dropped her keys to the floor she knew something was wrong. Looking around her living room, pool table, and most of the bedding from her guest and master bedroom was strewn about. Cushions and fabrics lay draped up over each other and her staircase leading up to the master bedroom floor had been turned into a keep of sorts. 

“Beth?” 

“D’e no be a Beth. Bu’ Lady WiggleWag an’ her fai’ful sworn hound Bitestwice.” 

“Don’‘t forget me!” 

“An’ Lord Noah of da far off lands to the South.” 

“Beth.” 

“Have ya tribute ta lay before mah noble feet?” 

“Beth!” 

“Wha?!” 

“Next time, just text me when you plan on babysitting.” Jay shook her head shrugging out of the leather coat she was wearing. Next came the heeled boot. “But if the Lady, Noble Knight, and High guard dog would allow, the council hath sent me, a humble peasant to bring tribute of cake and cocoa.” 

There was a moment of muttering, hushed giggles, and the soft bouf of Prue before she was answered. 

“Da lord bide ya welcome, stranger. As long as d’ere be ice cream.” 

“But of course.”

falls asleep with the TV on:Beth had always had a hard time sleeping. The Sandman kept away from her and when he did come, so did the Night terrors. Which is why Beth was always working strange hours at the hospital. Or going on late night ride alongs with Luc.  But on occasion there was a movie night. 

And this time, the soft sounds of Beth’s little voice spoke along with Inigo Montoya as he advanced upon the six fingered man. She mimicked his elegant moves with her own hands. Thrust. Parry. Block, slash, parry. Her slender form twisting on the recliner only once nudging the familiar once.

She turned to take Jay’s hand to find the younger woman asleep on the other recliner. one foot thrown over the arm, her head lolled off to the side and one hand still in the mixing bowl of Popcorn and M&Ms. 

“Good Night Jay. I mos’ likely kill you in da mornin’.” gets to use the bathroom first:Pulling herself up and out of the chair every joint she had creaked and popped as protest. Shuffling more in the style of a zombie rather then a human being she headed upstairs for the master bathroom. One hand ran through her hair  to push it from her face. She could already smell the coffee which meant Prue had set it up before the sleep over ended.

Rounding over the last step she could hear her shower going. A raised brow, a deep frown, and one arm crossing over her chest to scratch the back of her shoulder. The Janissary pushed the door open with a yawn. Sitting on the counter, a toothbrush moving with far more vigor than was humanly possible at this early time of the morning. “Dude, did you even sleep?”

“MMM!!” 

“Sorry. Knock first I know. But you’re dressed and a nurse. This isn’t the first time another woman has walked in on you.” “Mmm!” A finger waved way too close to Jay’s face for comfort. 

“Alright downstairs it is. But I’ll remember that the next time you have to piss.” Jay moved just fast enough to dodge the tube of toothpaste. But not the bar of soap that came right after. decides the temperature for the ac/heater:“Beth… it is 89 degrees. How can you be cold?” 

“Please?” 

“Oh.. My Gods okay! Fine!” Jayden flipped the switch for the seats heating coils built into the Cadillac. “Now flip the vents on your side so I can run the AC.” 

“But d’at doesn’t..” 

“Ah! Tch!” A hand puppet came up from the steering wheel. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m hot. Driver gets control that was the deal.” 

“Okay, but ya have any kine blanket?”

A pause. A sigh. 

“For the last time… NO!” sets up holiday decorations:When Christmas comes to town

The lights were strung over all the windows. Garland hung from the banister and the pegs for the stair case. Gingerbread wafted through the air. The Polar Express was playing just loud enough that the girls could sing along.

And all the dreams of the children

Flour coated the front of Jay’s apron, while steady hand folded the shortbread batter together. Small feet galumphed around chasing the clicking of sharp nails. The youngest chuckled at the panicked look in betrayed dark eyes. 

“Don’t look at me, you promised.”  

Once lost will all be found

“Traitor!” A pathetic whine came as the Hawaiian grabbed Prue from behind, with the over sized sweater. 

“Gotcha!”

It took several moments for Beth to bend in ways that would have been painful to others to get the familiar into the human made sweater. It was just this side of Ugly Christmas sweater. The soft fabric all hand woven from well kept and happy Angora Rabbits. 

That’s all I want when Christmas comes to town

leaves the lights on:Prue panted hard and heavy. She was struggling to stay up right but it was hard to do with a gaping hole that the burglar left as a parting gift. The storm raged outside and had knocked the power out a few minutes before hand. Limping across the wooden floor she collapsed not but three feet from the entrance. 

“Jay!” Beth’s voice echoed down the hall from the stairwell. At least that is what Prue assumed as she let out a whine. 

“Beth! Hurry! She’s been shot!” Jay all but sobbed as she dropped to her knees and began petting the dog’s head. 

“I..” 

“Beth please!” 

“Get da flashlights!” Jay nodded and turned on her phone’s light. She was speaking in half words and muted cries of heartbreak. Soon she started getting the mag lights to help illuminate the apartment. Soft but firm hands covered in some kind of gloves started prodding at the wound. Prue whimpered and yowled, but was not willing to snap out. 

“Jay, ya need for get me some candles.” Beth’s voice was a salve to adrenaline fried nerves. 

Minutes, hours it was hard to tell but the power came back on and Both Beth and Jay were sitting on the floor near the couch. Jay’s eyes were bloodshot while Beth’s were sympathetic. Even though all the lights were on, neither moved to turn off the flashlights or put out the candles. 

uses the bathroom with the door open:Beth always had the door closed when she went to the bathroom. It was habit. In through the door, turn, close, lock. When she was done it was unlock, open, and leave. Between the Admiral and her brother it was just a habit that had been instilled into her at a young age.

So imagine the heart attach she had the first time that she came back from class to find their shared bathroom wide open. And a nude Jayden backside pointed towards her. One strong leg propped on the bathroom ledge with razor in hand. 

“I’m sorry!: 

“Oh hey kid. Was wondering where you ran off too. Can you do me a favor and grab me my underwear. I left them on the dresser.” 

“I…” Beth learned and then made Jayden promise to never again, leave the bathroom door open after that. fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber):

Beth reached as far as she could while keeping Jayden pinned onto the couch. It would be the best, fastest, and the least amount of explaining needed. Jay however was of the opinion that He was a last resort call. Plus it wasn’t like he wasn’t already there. Watching and waiting for the right moment to interrupt the squabbling. 

“I said no.” 

“But he’s good.” 

“No. I am not letting that happen.” 

“But d’ats my phone.” Jay put her hand in Beth’s face to try and push her away.

“Ow! Stop with the biting!” 

“Den gimme da phone.” 

“No! I’m not calling Clint!” 

“Good thing I’m standing right here then. Things would get a little awkward if the pipe keeps leaking and you both fall on the floor. Might give the next person the wrong impression.” 

“HOW?!” 

“I texted him before ya took my phone.” Beth said with a victorious tone as she gave a sun-bright smile. 

This Meme: Accepting.Honorable Mention: @brooklynislandgirl and @multi-mused

[mostlymaddie]

Sorry I'm Allergic

A/N: Okay so warning this has smut also I started this at 4:30pm and now it's 4:24am like this looks like it was done in one second Harry always made sure everything in his life was how he preferred it. If he wanted something he got it, if he wanted certain things changed they were changed in a heartbeat. Now, Harry wasn't cocky about it this was just something he had grown accustom to, so getting what ever he wanted came like second nature. Although it wasn't just him getting "special treatment" he made sure his family always had what they needed in a matter of seconds. The only thing Harry actually wanted was someone to be with, share his thoughts with, and put his love into. Don't get me wrong, Harry put his life and soul into his music no questions asked but he just wanted someone  that could share their feelings with him and every thought they had ever come across. And that's where you came along, well in Harry's book. When Harry first saw you it was at a smoothie place near his house. You were ordering a Groovy Goji with a grilled chicken wrap. Harry didn't know what attracted him to you he didn't think it was your face seeing half of it were covered by Hangover styled Aviators. Maybe it was your voice, while it did sound beautiful it was the perfect mix of nasally, soft, and filled with confidence. The only words he heard there 'goji' 'also' 'chicken' since the strong wind was impairing most of his hearing. Goji and chicken sounded great to Harry but that wasn't it either. So Harry decided it was the way you carried yourself, you stood tall and determined not to mention the natural glow you had. Harry quickly ordered his food and sat at the table in front of you hoping to catch a glimpse of your face. A little after you both got settled you took off your sunglasses and he finally saw your full face. Harry was completely floored, it was obvious your beauty wasn't the reason you attracted him but it was just a little bonus to finally see your face. Harry sipped on his antioxidant smoothie and tried to get a your attention buy dropping things and and coughing very loudly but you never made an effort to look up. Harry grow frustrated very quickly, everyone in the damned store looked at him with the "Oh my gosh it's the Harry Styles" but the one girl he wanted wouldn't even glance at him. As said before Harry always got what he wanted, right now Harry wanted this girl to notice him and he got none of that. A hour passed of Harry ordering numerous drinks and still no contact from this girl. When he almost gave up the girl closed her laptop, shoved it in her bag and walked toward the door. "See you again Y/N" the barista called out behind her. So that was her name it most definitely fit her face. Now Harry had a name and a face but he still seeked more. It was obvious he could have came back tomorrow and seen you, the barista's words as evidence, but that just wasn't enough. So the only thing that made sense to Harry was to follow you yes full on stalker follow you. Harry made sure you were out of sight of the shop windows before towing after you. He pressed in his mind which direction you were going he all so made sure he was a good ten feet behind you at all times. While in this pursuit of you he's learned a lot if things, everyone and he means everyone knew who were he watched as you received "Hi Y/N!" "Hello love, how are ya?" You replied with smiles, waves, and answers to those question. This whole ordeal made Harry more curious as to who you are. As he pondered who you might be he didn't notice you stopped and turned to face him, causing Harry to crash into you. "Okay listen here mister, I let it slide when you stared at me back at the shop even when you followed me for two blocks. But now you're just being creepy so can you just please leave me alone?" Harry's heart dropped down to his stomach, blinded by the thought of this girl he completely forgot right and wrong. For god's sake he had followed this poor girl. " 'M so sorry. I didn't mean ta freak yeh out I just wanted to talk to yeh." Harry explained. "Mmm really? Ever tried 'Hey wanna talk'?" "I'm sorry. Can I please make it up to you? I just wanna talk to yeh a bit. Maybe over a goji berry smoothie?" Harry proposed, hoping for a positive response. "Nope sorry I'm allergic" with that she turned on her heel and kept walking down the street. Harry had properly blew it and he was more than frustrated. On his walk home he thought about what he could do to try and make the situation better. The last thing Harry wanted to do was leave a bad taste in your mouth, that's when he thought about the barista's words "See you again Y/N!" Harry woke up the next day with a plan already in his head, it wasn't that elaborate but it was a start. He woke up and put on his best outfit, with the help of his sister, and walked to the shop that got him in the mess in the first place. Harry ordered his antioxidant smoothie and a sandwich for himself with a groovy goji and a grilled chicken wrap for Y/N. Merely minutes later you walked in  "Hey! Over here." Harry called. You looked in the direction of the voice, once you saw who it was you tried to leave immediately, but Harry was too fast. "Please jus sit down with meh so we can talk." "No, I don't talk to people like you." Harry has never gotten that response before when he asked to talk to someone. This girl really put up a challenge but that just enticed him more. "Just because 'm famous doesn't mean 'm stuck up if tha's what yeh think" Y/N looked up at Harry with dulled slow blinking eyes. "Famous?" she chuckled " When I said people like you I meant creepy, if we're being honest here I have no idea who you are." Now that was a huge blow to Harry's ego, not only did she not know him, she called him creepy. "Yeh don't know who I am? 'M Harry Styles I'm from the band One Direction well I'm doing my own thing for the time being but." Y/N racked her brain for 'Harry Styles' or 'One Direction' but nothing came up. Of course Y/N didn't live under a rock she always knew the latest songs and Netflix TV shows but she had never heard of Harry and his band. Now she was being pursued by this hot shot since yesterday that she hasn't heard of mainly because their prime years were covered by her emo phase which left no room for boy bands. Since My Chemical Romance and One Direction didn't mesh well on a playlist she was left completely clueless "Yeah dude, I don't know who you are." Harry sighed but maybe this was a good thing, since Y/N didn't know him she may not associate him with the womanizer image that didn't represent him at all. "Okay well maybe we could chat about it ovar some food and such?" Y/N thought about it, if this guy really was a creep she could rely on the employees to save her since she's on a first name basis with all of them and even texts a few of the baristas from time to time. There was no doubt his name held weight because yesterday everyone flocked to him as soon as they walked in. At first she just thought he was a local like her self but some people asked for pictures and autographs, she thought that was odd but the letter she was writing to her brother overseas was way more important than some pretty boy local. After a long sigh Y/N says "I guess so." with a smile that made Harry's heart flutter. Harry lead you to the table where your food was set up " I got what I heard you order yesterday. That's not really helping the creep case but." Harry said while he sat her down and pushed her chair into the table. "Yeah no it's fine, really sweet actually." Harry and Y/N talked about a lot first was about his first band and his experience on the X Factor. Harry's talk lead more into One Direction and the great times he's had with all four guys and even giving Y/N insight on some of the worst. Then Harry let Y/N have the spotlight where she talked about her upbringing. She told Harry just about every embarrassing story in her life because that's what made him laugh the most. Y/N and Harry talked the whole entire day, in fact they didn't even notice until one of the employees told them the place was closing. They walked outside the shop to bid a goodbye to one another but they both didn't want the night to end so Harry had an idea "Come ovar my place for a bit? We could talk some more." Harry leaned his forehead on to hers and intertwined their fingers. "Yeah" Harry and Y/N walked back to his house, they talked some more about TV shows Harry spewed out his favorite in a heartbeat since he barely watched TV but he always had a few he tuned to immediately. Y/N however recommend every show on HGTV like Flip or Flop and Vintage Flip just to name a few. Harry never heard of these shows but seeing the excitement in her eyes made him want to watch them more so they agreed to watch it when they got to his place. They got to his place in a matter of minutes he ushered her in just incase any paps were waiting to catch a glimpse of him."So this is my place, it's not much but I call it home." This place looked beautiful to Y/N different art pieces decorated the white walls, different crystals sat on side tables each were different in shapes and sizes but were all connected by a common color of red. The living room and a color plan of yellow, black, and red it was weird but Harry made it work. The two walked to his couch and took a seat "Now show me this House Hunters you go on about." After about four episodes and Harry yelling at the wifes when they complained about the light fixtures our the shower head, the two found themselves cuddling on his couch. Y/N lifted her self from his chest to get to his face "H, calm down show's fake anyways she's just bitchin' for no reason." Harry looked up at her, her eyes were glazed over and her hair was a hot mess because Harry ran his fingers through her hair, getting it tangled, but she looked absolutely adorable. "It is? Tha's upsetting." Y/N chuckled and started to ramble about something but Harry was too focused on her lips, they were puffy and looked so soft Harry couldn't help himself. Harry reached up to capture her lips Y/N was caught off guard but it felt right and she quickly melted into the kiss. This wasn't the 'sparks are flying' 'fireworks in my stomach' type of kisses because those just didn't happen, but this was the best kiss Y/N has ever had in her life no doubt. Push came to shove and they're in his living room making out like horny teenagers.Y/N was the one to break the kiss "Can we, I don't know. Go to your room or something?" she said gasping for air Harry didn't hesitate before he lifted Y/N up and wrapped her thighs around him. He ran upstairs and dropped Y/N on the bed before crawling over her. "So beautiful love, jus' layin' here fo' meh." Harry kissed her cheek trailing down to her jawline then neck. Y/N started to moan when he sucked a sweet spot under her ear. "Oh babe that feels amazing!" she moaned and grabbed a hold of his hair. Her moans ignited something in Harry that caused him to rut his cock on her thigh. Harry made sure he had two beautifully colored marks on her neck and collar bone before continuing. He lifted the bottom of her shirt to under her breast. Harry kissed, sucked, and kitten licked her lower stomach. Different profanities including fuck and shit leaving her mouth her skirt created no barrier as Harry continued his assault while rubbing her panty clad clit. Y/N took her shirt off and massaged her breast through her bra "Fuck Harry do something please I need you!" Harry decided to give her what she wanted, he reached up to undo the clasps on her bra and slid it off her arms. "You're such a fooken sight to see petal. Your tits are so perfect, let me get us situated then I'll get back to those, okay beautiful?" Harry went down to her lower region he pulled down the zipper on her skirt and slid them down her legs. Then Harry leaned in to place a kiss her her clit he licked and sucked as much as he could seeing she still had underwear on. "Sweetheart, these little thongs yeh have on are so beautiful pet, bet they make ya ass look incredible. In fact turn around and let me see it babe." Y/N whined "Baby please I just want you in me please H I'll do anything!" "Love when I say do something, yeh do it. I don't wanna spank that pretty ass red. But I will." Y/N groaned but turned around on her stomach. "Christ sweetheart I was right." Y/N's ass was beautiful it was the perfect size for Harry her ass turned Harry's semi hard straight into a raging hard on. He dove into her ass, Harry licked and kissed under her left ass cheek while the right hand grabbed onto her other ass cheek. Y/N never thought someone paying this much attention to her ass would feel so good but now that it's happened she doesn't want to have sex again if it didn't include this part. Most of her moans were muffled by Harry's pillows but they both knew how aroused she was especially Harry since he could smell her dipping in between her legs. "Sweetheart, yeh smell absolutely wonderful take off those pretty panties fo' meh." While Y/N took care of that, Harry quickly stripped out of his clothes, leaving his cock angry red and throbbing. Harry laid down between her spread legs as she still laid. Harry spread her pussy lips apart and blew cold air on her opening. "Har baby that feels so good, you're doing me so good but please baby fuck me." "In a second love." Harry tongued her entrance. He took his time while he ate her out he'd smack her ass a few times just to watch it bounce luckily it turned her on so it was a win-win. After Harry ate her to the verge of tears "Harry baby I'm gonna cum I'm so close babe I'm right there jus- Harry!" "Yeh aren't cummin' 'till I'm deep inside you pet. But I got one more thing to do." Harry flipped her over to see her face, her face was flushed she she was sweating, not to mention the tears going down her face. Harry cooed and wiped her tears away "I'll let you cum in a second pet, just let me play with those pretty tits first." Harry leaned up to circle his tongue around her nipples, making them hard. He took her pointed nipples in between his teeth and tugged on them. Y/N wanted him to fuck her so bad but this felt almost as good almost. "Harry please fuck me!" "Okay love I gotcha. Hand meh a condom outta that drawer." after Harry got the condom on he rubbed the head of his cock on her slit. He got whines in return from Y/N so he finally thrusted in. "Fuck Harry! You're so big my gosh fuck me baby" The words coming from her mouth made him thrust faster, her cunt was heavenly around his cock since he had a condom on he couldn't feel everything he'd like but he still felt on top of the world inside of her. Harry held her legs at his hips then reached down to capture this girls lips. Harry got his deepest and thrusted his hardest into Y/N and he could cum at any second. "Harry please I'm almost there!" that's all he needed before reaching down to rub her clit. That's what pushed her over the edged, Y/N came on his cock "Tha's it baby cum all over Daddy's cock I got you pet I'm right here." Y/N's climax crashed down on her while Harry's followed shortly after. Harry laid down beside his lover. "Stay tha night, I'll make you breakfast in the morning and maybe we can have a round two." Y/N obviously didn't need to think twice about this offer. "Okay but next time I want to be in charge." "I think we can work sum out."

[agosnesrerose]

Studio Saturdays: Mixed-Media Planner

We’re waist-deep in January, so what better time to get organized and start a new planner? I was so taken by the planner featured in the article “Creative Days Ahead” by Dawn DeVries Sokol in the January/February issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine that I had to make one for myself. It seemed like the perfect project for Studio Saturdays.

If you haven’t caught planner fever, this project will convince you to get on board. Keeping a planner like this isn’t just about writing your to-do list; it’s about making something unique, using your favorite supplies and techniques, and documenting your creative life.

This Create Along series is in three parts: In Part One we’ll create the cover, in Part Two we’ll bind the planner, and in Part Three we’ll decorate the pages, using fantastic collage, painting, and layering techniques. If you’ve never made a book before, you’ve come to the right place. This project uses a repurposed book and a very easy binding stitch, so there’s nothing difficult or intimidating. If you’re a veteran bookbinder or book artist, you’ve also come to the right place. We’ll do some fun techniques for painting and collaging the cover, and the binding stitch is quick and eye-catching.

Let’s get started! Here are the materials you’ll need for Part One. Don’t freak out about the number of supplies—I urge you to use what you have on hand, and to experiment. This is all about making something that reflects you, so feel free to try something different, do a variation on a technique, or break free altogether. Some supplies, as you’ll see below, are optional.

• Book with an intact spine about 2″ wide: A book bound for the recycling center is great for this project, but make sure the book is sturdy, and the spine is not split or coming apart from the covers. The spine width is important—make sure it measures about 2″. The book I used is 6″ wide x 9 1/4″ deep.

• Utility or craft knife

• Scissors

• Sandpaper

• Ephemera, such as book pages

• Regular gel medium

• Paintbrushes

• Gesso (optional)

• Acrylic paint, white or ivory, and burnt umber, plus a variety of other colors in dark, medum, and light values

• White chalk pencil (optional)

• Paint pen (optional)

• Black permanent pen (optional)

• Baby wipes or paper towels

• Stencil

• Cosmetic wedge

• Soft gel medium, gloss or matte, or acrylic glazing medium (optional)

• Palette paper or palette

• Palette knife (optional)

• Acrylic ink (optional)

• Stabilo Woody Crayon, black (optional)

• Number stamps (optional)

• Stamp pad, black, permanent (optional)

Quick tip: When choosing the book for your planner, think about where and how you’ll use it. If you want to carry it with you, choose a small size. I knew I’d be keeping mine at home, so I went with a fairly big book—I also wanted larger pages to work on.

To remove the text block (the pages) from the spine, pull on one of the covers while holding the text block, and you’ll see them start to separate. Put the tip of the craft or utility knife blade in between the cover and the endpaper, and start cutting downward, making sure your hand is out of the way. Also make sure that you’re not cutting into the spine or any part of the book. Repeat for the other cover, and reserve the pages for later. Clean up any jagged edges along the inside of the spine with a craft knife, scissors, or sandpaper.

Use a utility or craft knife to cut the text block away from the covers.

The book I’m using was a prop leftover from a photoshoot, and it had been painted red. I left it that way because I already had the color in my palette. You can leave your cover the way it is, or, if you want to cover it completely, brush on one or two coats of white gesso and allow it to dry completely.

Collage some papers on both covers, leaving the spine intact. I used a variety of book text, but use whatever you have that’s interesting and has some contrast—this layer will show through, so papers with some kind of pattern is good. I adhered the papers with gel medium; allow this layer to dry.

The first layer of the painted covers starts with collaged ephemera.

Now it’s time to really have some fun. Paint a great big mess on the planner covers. Really go nuts and layer colors and shapes and brushstrokes, and make marks in the paint while it’s still wet with your fingers or the end of a paintbrush. I started with a palette of blue, teal, and turquoise, and added pops of red for contrast. I mostly used tube acrylics, but fluid works just as well. Use whatever you have on hand. If you’re incorporating complementary colors, wait for one layer to dry before going on to the next so you don’t get mud. If you’ve obscured the collage papers, knock back the paint a little in those areas with a baby wipe or paper towel. Let everything dry.

For the underpainting, get messy with brush strokes and colors.

Choose a design and paint over the first layer with a very light color (I used titanium white). You can freehand it or draw it first with a chalk pencil. Choose an open design that allows the underpainting to show through; I painted leaf shapes. If you have mad painting skills, now’s the time to turn them out. If you don’t, like me, simple shapes are absolutely fantastic, and you can’t go wrong. As before, make marks in the wet paint as you go. If you don’t like something, a baby wipe will take it right off. Let dry.

Brush on a light color, letting the underpainting show through.

Here are the planner covers after the second layer of paint. I drew some veins in the leaves with a paint pen. Also, you’ll see that I didn’t go completely up to the spine. That’s because we’ll be covering it later.

The underpainting shows through the white, creating depth and interest on the planner covers.

For the next layer, choose a stencil with a pattern that complements your design. With a palette knife, mix some acrylic paint with soft gel medium or glazing medium in a 1:1 ratio; I did this because I wanted the paint to be somewhat translucent, but you can just use the paint straight. Dip a cosmetic wedge in the paint, pounce some of it off, and stencil onto the cover, however you want the pattern to appear. Let dry. When my cover was dry, I outlined some of the stencil shapes and created some random dots with a white paint pen, and outlined the leaf shapes with a black permanent pen.

Stencil over parts of the design, using a mixture of paint and medium.

With a palette knife, blend a small amount of burnt umber paint and soft gel medium or glazing medium in a 1:1 ratio. Dip a paper towel into the mixture and lightly swipe it across the covers. I wanted to create a bit of depth and warmth with this layer, so I didn’t use a lot. A baby wipe will be your salvation if you apply too much.

A few swipes of burnt umber paint warmed the painted covers of this planner up a bit.

The next step happened because I made a big goof. Big. I thought the planner cover would look cool if I dripped some dark blue acrylic ink on it, but the drips were so large and ugly that I panicked and grabbed a baby wipe to try to take the color off. In the process of wiping it, I created a beautiful blue stain. This became one of those happy accidents that I will now use in a future project. Try this technique if you’re feeling up for it, but you can also skip it.

I don’t know if you’ve discovered Stabilo Woody Crayons, but if you haven’t, you should check them out. These big fatties are water soluble, and you can draw with them, or hit them with a wet paintbrush or water brush and get beautiful watercolor effects (Spoiler alert: I used them for my planner pages as well.). I used a black crayon with a water brush, painting around the leaf motifs, waiting about 30 seconds, and then rubbing in the color with my fingers. This created a kind of shadow/stain effect that I absolutely love. You can also get this effect with a black Stabilo All pencil, or plain watercolor.

A water-soluble Stabilo Woody Crayon added even more depth and shading.

I wanted to represent the year of this planner, so I stamped 2017 with the Montreal Large Numbers set by Michelle Ward, using permanent ink. Since the cover is textured I didn’t get solid impressions, so I filled in the spaces with a black permanent pen. I liked the way the zero looked, so I left that as is. I then added some dots on top of the numbers with the white paint pen, and enhanced some of the dots on the cover so they’d pop a bit more.

For the planner cover, the year was stamped with permanent ink and embellished with a paint pen.

Quick tip: To hasten dry time, use a heat tool. Be careful not to heat the area too much—acrylic paint can start bubbling.

Since I’ll be using this planner for a year, I need it to be sturdy. In the next installment we’ll reinforce the spine, collage the inside covers, and also bind the book. So you can get ready for next week, here’s what you’ll need:

• A piece of bookcloth 1 ½” taller than your cover and 2 ½” wider than the spine. Bookcloth can be found in some art supply stores, and online. You can substitute fabric, but if so, you’ll need dry adhesive, such as Grafix Artist-tac Permanent Dry Adhesive.

• PVA glue

• Glue brush

• Waxed linen thread, 4-ply, about 7 yards

• Bookbinding needle (you can substitute a sturdy darning needle)

• Bone folder

• Paper for the pages. Determine how you want to use your book, and choose your paper accordingly. I wanted to use wet media, so I chose 98-lb. paper from a Canson XL Mix Media pad. You’ll need 35 folded sheets. To determine the size for your planner, measure the pages from the text block. If those aren’t available, subtract ¼” from the height of the book, and measure from the flattened spine to the front edges of the cover (called foredges), and subtract ¼”. Your pages will be that height x double the width, and then folded in half. Based on my dimensions, my pages are 12″ wide x 9 1/8″ high. You’ll need 36 folded sheets.

• Scissors

If you have any questions on the techniques or supplies, please leave them in the comments. See you next Saturday! In the meantime, if you’d like to learn more about this article and other book-related resources, take a look at these great products from the North Light Shop.

See Dawn DeVries Sokol’s planner project in the January/February 2017 issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine.

Make your own custom three-ring binder, and turn it into a planner; see how in this Colorful and Custom Three-Ring Binder video with Erin Zamrzla.

Discover how easy it is to make your own travel journal in this Travel Journal video with Erin Zamrzla.

Delve into the world of artists’ books in the eBook Book + Art by Dorothy Simpson Krause.

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Technique Tuesdays: Recycled Art

An artist’s imagination spins into high gear when working with recycled and repurposed items. In the hands of a mixed-media artist, rusty gears, an old book, or plastic mesh have the potential to become much more than what they were intended for. The exciting ideas below for creating recycled art can be easily incorporated in your next work of art. Don’t miss the great extra resources at the end for even more creative inspiration.

1. Mandy Russell discovered a great way to repurpose plastic switch plates–she turned them into felted book covers. In the Winter 2015 issue of Pages magazine, she explains that the plates’ firmness makes them perfect for wet felting, and the openings can become little windows. To wet felt a plate, Mandy begins by wrapping 3′ lengths of wool top fibers both horizontally and vertically around the plate, until the entire plate is covered. The wet felting process involves adding dish soap and hot water to the wool and gently rubbing it, rinsing it with hot water, and repeating those steps 5-8 times until the wool is well felted and tight around the plate. See the rest of the article to see how the covers and pages are sewn together, creating a uniquely bound—and very cozy—book.

Who knew switch plates could become the base for felted book covers? (Art by Mandy Russell, photo by Sharon White Photography)

2. Artist Rae Missigman found creative inspiration in the unlikeliest of places—the laundry room. She discovered that after going through a wash cycle, dye-trapping sheets are perfect for mixed-media recycled art: “Once I realized they could trap large amounts of dye,” she says, “I began to experiment with using them in my art.” Not only did they show off deep, vibrant color when dyed, but they were also very strong. Once laundered, they are sturdy and fabric-like. Rae uses these dye-trapping sheets in Art Lesson Vol. 5: Recycled and Re-inked: Bold, Colorful Embellishments. She first mists a shallow pan and the sheet with water, then adds several drops of acrylic ink (in analogous colors) to the pan. The sheet is placed in the pan and left to sit a few seconds to absorb the ink, then removed and placed on scrap paper to dry. Sheets can be cut into shapes or strips and sewn like fabric, and added to any mixed-media project.

With some ink and stitching, dye-trapping laundry sheets become colorful embellishments. (Art and photo by Rae Missigman)

3. Have you ever thought of recycling your own artwork? Danielle Donaldson got the notion when she realized that she had a huge collection of art that included pieces made at retreats, half-finished projects, and work that was sitting in a storage bin. In her book CreativeGirl: Mixed Media Techniques for an Artful Life, she uses the term “creative repurposing” to describe the process of taking parts of various pieces and combining them to make unique artwork. “Repurposing,” she writes, “gives me the freedom to hold on to just the bits and pieces that speak to me.” For one project, she starts by cutting up her old watercolor pieces, along with patterned paper. She then machine sews the strips together, using a variety of stitches, until she has a piece large enough to cover a birch panel. Danielle cuts the piece to size and adheres it with Mod Podge. The result: brand new artwork to fall in love with.

Repurpose your own artwork into new art by piecing and stitching it together. (Art by Danielle Donaldson)

4. Mandy Russell has another fun recycled art idea, and this one starts with vintage envelopes, used or unused. The text, postage stamps, and graphics on the envelopes, she discovered, are all great foundations for doodling. In “Zenvelopes: Inspired by Vintage Envelopes” in the Spring 2016 issue of Zen Doodle Workshop magazine, she recommends looking for jumping off points on the envelopes, such as a border, design, or logo. These become the anchors for doodles, or the beginning of a design. She drew pebbles, or small circles nested together, on the border of an Air Mail envelope, then drew fanciful flowers and plants growing out of them. She shaded the design and continued to add to it. On other envelopes, a business logo and return address became doodle anchors. Designs can be left black and white, or embellished with color.

Vintage envelopes can become canvases for doodle art. (Art by Mandy Russell, photo by Sharon White Photography)

5. Assemblage is a fantastic way to incorporate recycled pieces. Bits of hardware, broken plates, game and toy parts, and vintage typewriter keys can become whatever you want them to be—it’s all in how you see them. In “Artistic Salvage” in the January/February 2015 issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine, Jen Hardwick offers insight into the process she uses to collect, sort, and use odds and ends for her stunning detailed pieces, some resembling birds, people, and robots. “A rust-speckled washer may serve as a bug’s right eye, or a tarnished chrome wrench can become a robot’s left arm,” she writes. “As soon as I choose them and lay them out, my sense of order kicks in and I seek out ways to balance them on the other side of the piece.” Part of the inherent fun and challenge of found material assemblage, she adds, is gathering parts that complement each other, rather than trying to create precise matches. Take another tip from how Jen organizes her vast collection: “Putting like parts with like parts gets me thinking about patterns before the assemblage even begins. It allows me to see what’s available, and how things will fit together: hardware in one pile, game pieces in a second, old tools in a third…Once I’ve started to work on a piece and the creative flow is high, I know exactly where to go for the next shape, texture, or color that I want.”

This recycled art piece, “Queen of Things Discarded and Forgotten,” is made from hardware, kitchen tools, and game pieces. (Art and photo by Jen Hardwick)

6. For an artist, old or discarded books are a treasure trove of recyclables: pages, covers, and even a worn spine can be used for art. In “Books Unfurled: Altered Book Art” in the Fall 2014 issue of Paper Art magazine, Kathy Baker-Addy shows how an entire book can become a dimensional, sculptural recycled art piece simply by cutting and folding pages. Gather a group of about 50 pages in the front, middle, and back of a book that’s about 1″ thick, and hold them together with binder clips. Slide a cutting mat under about 5 pages and, with a craft knife, cut swirls, stars, leaf shapes, or other continuous designs into the pages; you can incorporate folded pages as well. Make sure to leave the pages attached to the book. When all pages have been cut, allow them to cascade out, arranging the pieces as you want. Kathy suggests practicing first on scrap paper to test your designs. See the rest of the article for how to turn the book into a showpiece.

With some strategic cutting, an ordinary book becomes a stunning work of art. (Art by Kathy Baker-Addy, photo by Sharon White Photography)

7. Hardware store finds can be repurposed into reusable printmaking tools. In her book Printmaking Unleashed, Traci Bautista says hardware stores can be gold mines for items like plastic sink and bath mats, and fence materials. To start, spread fiber paste over a plastic page protector and add a few drops of fluid acrylic paint. Place an open-design bathmat, plastic fence material, and pieces of a plastic needlepoint canvas over the paste and press with a brayer. Remove the fence material and canvas, and dab on acrylic paint through the bathmat with a foam brush. Add a touch of white paint. Continue to add paint through the bathmat, and remove it to reveal the final print.

8. Instead of tossing empty aluminum cans into the recycling bin, use them to create mosaic art. That’s what Dawn Hunter did in “A New Kind of Pop Art” in the March/April 2014 issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine. Start by drawing a simple design on tissue paper, then transfer the design to a piece of rigid foam insulation board by laying the tissue paper on top and poking shallow holes about ¼”-½” apart through the tissue and into the surface of the board with an awl. Paint the image with acrylic paint, approximating the colors of the cans you’re using. Cut the tops and bottoms off the cans, cut the cylinder apart, and trim any ragged edges. Sort the cans by color and cut them into a variety of shapes. Beginning at the top of the design, place the can pieces one at a time, gently poking through the metal and into the board with with an awl. Put glue on the tip of a wire nail and push it into the board until the head is flush with the metal.

This mosaic was made from cut up aluminum cans. (Art by Dawn Hunter, photo by Hornick/Rivlin Studio)

9. With a little color and some stitching, plain quilt batting can become eye-catching recycled art journal covers. In “Quilt Batting Journal Covers” in the Summer 2014 issue of Pages magazine, Rebekah Meier attaches quilt batting to fusible stabilizer, then machine stitches the piece, creating patterns and texture with the stitches. Hand embroidery can be added as well. Next, she paints the piece with clear gesso and adds vivid color with paint and Inktense Blocks. Pages are then machine sewn to the cover to complete the journal.

With some paint and stitching, plain quilt batting transforms into vivid book covers. (Art by Rebekah Meier, photo by Sharon White Photography)

10. In that same issue of Pages magazine, Carol Sloan turns a gallery-wrapped canvas into an artful home for tiny book in “Making Your Own Niche.” After plaster strips are applied, covering the canvas, cardboard is adhered to the front. Then, joint compound is spread over the back of the canvas, including the inside of the niche. When dry, the joint compound can be sanded smooth. The piece can be arted up at this point with stencils, Thermofax prints, carved marks, or drawings, and then it gets layers of acrylic paint and glazes to build up the surface. Antiquing medium and wax medium complete the look. Fill the niche with a small handmade book or other treasure.

Repurpose a gallery-wrapped canvas into a unique niche for a tiny book. (Art by Carol Sloan, photo by Sharon White Photography)

Learn more about recycled art in these resources from the North Light Shop!

Learn creative ways to artfully recycle in the March/April 2014 issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine.

See what can be recycled into book art and art journal pages in the Summer 2014 issue of Pages magazine.

Rae Missigman artfully turns die-trapping sheets into beautiful embellishments in Art Lessons Volume 5: Recycled and Re-inked.

Learn how to make a one-of-a-kind journal from recycled materials in Upcycled Fabric Books with Erin Zamrzla.

The post Technique Tuesdays: Recycled Art appeared first on Artist's Network.

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