#I hope she is proven right and the tax man comes knocking at some point

[chatosha]

Skylar white is such a girlboss. She is girlbossing this entire money laundering situation. The IRS would shoot Walt in the head if not for her

[neonponders]

I started writing this very niche au ages ago that @booksfoxesandcoffee and @demogirlfriend tinkered with lol​ it’s not quite what I wanted, but at least it’s done ~

Based on my post for This Steve with This Billy:

vampire/musician!Steve and mobster!Billy.

TW for briefly mentioned drugs and all manner of vampire things.

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

If Billy were being honest with himself, it wasn’t the man’s looks that hooked him. The way a superior dancer stands out in the ensemble, it was the musician’s energy that made Billy’s eyes keep finding him.

Every business that opened his his territory went through Billy’s strict legislature. And the whole city was his to play king.

He didn’t consider himself a strict businessman, but he did attend the new club with regularity to make sure they had what they needed to succeed. If they couldn’t succeed, then they’d have to rebuild elsewhere.

They did succeed. Because they had Steve Harrington.

On paper, he was lead guitarist. An instrumentalist. Vocalist if necessary. Billy Hargrove knew he shined in neon stage lighting and his special trick was swinging the instrument around his body so the guitar switched sides halfway through a song or riff, proving ambidextrous dexterity.

Billy knew Harrington was hard to get ahold of. So far, he’d hosted every member of the band and every guest musician at his VIP table. Harrington always had reasons for leaving directly after a show, which surprised Billy. The man’s band mates clearly revolved around him, looked to him for timing cues, and Billy even had the unique experience of seeing the man smack a drink out of the bassist’s hand because the guy could barely stand.

There was a personality there, and Billy wanted to see it up close. Taste it.

Somehow, Harrington had even avoided being invited to Billy’s table during the mid-show break. Always conveniently disappearing until the second he needed to be on stage.

Until now.

Billy’s guards stood up when Harrington approached with someone held firmly by the scruff of his shirt and jacket. Billy waved them aside, and the musician dumped the guy into Billy’s booth. Some heads turned in their direction, curious for drama but not for long. Anyone who hung around Billy, hungering for his attention, knew to be careful about annoying him.

“Is this one of yours?” Harrington prompted.

“Why would he be?” Billy inquired with a lethargic blink.

“I thought your sort had more class than distributing roofies.”

Billy’s pleased, large feline demeanor sloughed off as he turned his head to the man in his booth. Billy didn’t bother negating Harrington’s accusations. Anybody with sense knew who he was. The only thing that bothered Billy at the moment was the use of some nobody to get the musician’s attention.

“You’re right. He isn’t.”

Just like that, the guards lifted the sorry soul out of his booth and began ushering him out of the club. He made a weak attempt at promising an ability to make Billy money, but the latter wasn’t interested in a business centered around dangerous sex. Billy considered himself a purveyor of the opposite; of passion, and real passion only came when all parties were conscious for it.

“Steve.”

The musician paused to look back at him, already on his way back to the greenroom or wherever he hid in between performances.

“Sit with me.”

Steve’s gaze flicked down to the now available seat next to Billy. “No, thanks.”

As if he could - 

He did.

Steve walked away from the table. Billy saw the more discretely dressed guards loitering in the crowd turn and begin to approach Harrington...before distinctly letting him pass.

It was not a regular day that Billy Hargrove’s employees feared someone else more than him.

He pressed his back into the booth, and one of the women sitting along the back of the booth leaned down to hear him. “I want his file.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred. It took no time at all for her to return to his table with Harrington’s business papers. Typical tax form, resume, no cover letter but instead a CD with his music samples.

“What about his background?”

Her nails raked through her long, black hair. She played the part of groupie very well. “We don’t have anything yet.”

Billy found that hard to believe. “He’s worked here for weeks.”

She shrugged a bare, shimmering shoulder. “He hides very well. We’ll have something soon.”

Not soon enough.

Billy took to wandering his club instead of sitting. Why they didn’t just haul the musician into Billy’s office for questioning…no sensible person detonates a bomb without knowing the area is clear. They didn’t know enough about Steve. Whether he belonged to a family scouting the borough before encroaching on Billy’s property.

Would it be their fault for sending in a mole without honoring the proper channels? Yes.

Would it be Billy’s fault for starting an underground war for harming Steve first? Also yes.

So he watched. So he waited. And he began to enjoy this game he and Steve had developed. Because Steve wasn’t as oblivious. He looked pretty—the kind of pretty that some mistake as dumb—but Steve had proven in many, subtle ways just how observant he could be.

The way he managed his band members’ alcohol or obvious drug addictions.

The second time he hauled some petty dealer over to Billy’s booth.

When he flipped Billy off as he walked away after Billy tested, “I noticed you like brunettes.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Steve watched Billy. And Billy watched Steve. At least, Billy suspected. Billy hoped.

The confirmation arrived in the humid alleyway behind his club. He was already itching for a fight. For the last two weeks, a new asshole had been loitering around and inside his business. No one had yet been able to catch him doing anything—until Billy followed him out of the wrong exit. Nobody could use service doors at the back of the building; it was both a safety hazard for civilians to be in the way of delivery trucks, and any squeals about people coming and going from there would have the police riding Billy’s tail.

Then the bastard had the audacity to take two girls who were definitely sporting fake id’s outside.

He slammed the service door against the brick exterior to get their attention. All three of them were huddled and necking between two garbage bins. A real class act.

“Jail bait bimbos, get inside. This asshole can lock himself in a concrete box without your…help.”

The distinct memory of Steve delivering roofy dealers to him flashed in his brain at the sight of the blissed out girls using the alley walls to stay upright. The memory flew out into the main street at the glistening darkness on both of their necks, dripping into their low cut shirts.

In the window of Billy’s surprise, the guy attacked. Slammed Billy right against the other side of the alley, knocking the air out of him—

Billy’s brain couldn’t keep up. But his eyes could.

A large hand gripped the gelled hair and wrenched the guy’s head so far back that Billy heard a threatening pop.

Billy had never stood next to Steve before. He stood just a little taller than Billy—both smaller than the impressive figure he’d watched so many times on stage, but also bigger because he’d never been this close…

Billy was officially having trouble breathing as he watched the man’s wide eyes darting around his sockets despite his broken neck and the disgusting angle of his windpipe.

“This spot’s taken. Tell your hovel to skip town. You won’t get a fourth chance.”

Fourth?

Billy’s eyes stuck on the bloody, long teeth in the man’s gullet before Steve shoved him down the alley. The man landed several yards away—no ordinary shove—but he hauled ass to his feet, head lolling on his shoulders with more sickening crackles.

Billy remained stationary as Steve fixed the shirts and jackets falling on the girls’ shoulders went to hail a cab. One of them recovered faster than the other, and hauled her friend into the vehicle. By this time, Billy managed to say, “What will they do with those stained shirts?”

Steve looked at him, suddenly looking remarkably…normal. Even startled, like he’d forgotten Billy was there. He didn’t hold Billy’s gaze, instead looking a bit downward—

“What will you do about yours?”

Billy frowned, blinking twice before he looked down at himself. It took him a moment to see the difference in his dark blue button-up. But he glistened like the girls did. Slowly, his mind caught up and realized how warm the side of his neck felt, and how gross. Wet. Dry. Sticky. Crusting.

“How did I not even notice?”

Like a dream clinging onto his waking consciousness, the blurry numbness subsided, and Billy realized his throat really fucking hurt.

Steve’s gaze dropped even further, tilting away from Billy as he pointed at the doors. “Go and clean yourself up. Go home.”

Leave it to Billy Hargrove’s pride to stack his spine back together. He stepped off the alley wall and into Steve’s space.

“Don’t—” he turned his face further to the side.

“Explain,” Billy ordered, even as Steve’s hand lifted to cover his mouth.

Steve shook his head a little. “I don’t have to,” he muffled and lifted weary eyes. “Clean yourself up.”

The answers were right there. Yet it seemed…stupid to say any of it out loud. How many movies? Book? Shows?

Instead he said, “Show me.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “You don’t play with bears like this.”

Billy laughed. He laughed Steve all the way out of the alleyway. Billy only regretted this when the next evening, the secretaries of the business ran through the week’s itinerary. Steve wasn’t scheduled.

A long week progressed of Billy thinking over that night. How the hell a guardian angel with teeth and no wings lived his nights in Billy’s cage and Billy had just…taunted him into slipping right out of the bars.

When another week presented itself with still no sight of his musician, Billy knew he would have more than one inconvenience on his plate. His customers liked Steve. Statistically, the club was fit to bursting since a third more clientele showed up for the band’s gigs. Steve made the barkeeps laugh in between numbers. Billy had always thought he used the alcohol in the greenroom instead of taking up the bars’ time.

Instead he dropped rats right into the king’s lap. Creatures Billy never would have seen unless Steve made them visible.

“Schedule Steve’s group on Sunday.”

His secretary frowned at him. “Am I missing something? We’re off on Sundays.”

“He knows that. Just use whatever number he gave you.”

Billy waited behind the club. Perhaps he should have arranged a specific meeting time instead of just the vague Sunday, but…Steve was punctual to his usual call time. Billy heard his footsteps the same moment the lighter in his hands crackled softly under his cigarette.

Steve approached with his hands in his jean pockets. Then he entered the harsh lighting of the motion-detected beams above the doors. “You don’t look good.”

Because he didn’t. Steve made tired look good but he had met the line between tired and haggard. His lips were chapped and the lights above him put his eye sockets into harsh contrast. Billy missed the lush face he watched bathed in neon stage lights.

Steve only met Billy’s gaze briefly before looking back down the alley. “Haven’t been to the grocery store lately.”

“By ‘groceries,’ do you mean my place?”

“And if I do, then what?”

Billy smirked as easily as blinking. “I don’t recall firing you. You didn’t have to run—”

“Yes, I did. Dipshit.”

Billy moved his tongue over his teeth while he grinned. “Why didn’t you finish what he started? Three easy meals right there.”

“And swell up like a mosquito? Gross.”

Smoke sputtered out of his mouth. “You’re not what I expected. In any regard. It’s a wonder my employees haven’t been inspired by your recklessness. Or my letting you get away with it.”

“There’s no letting anything happen. We’re not all teeth. There’s nothing you could do if we don’t want it to happen. It’s the same on your side for humans.”

Billy’s next exhalation seeped out of his mouth. Slow. “Are you taking your time? Circling a stronger prey?” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and watched Steve’s irises flick to the movement. “Most people come to me for my looks, money, or power. Is it the same for you?”

“No.”

That might’ve caught Billy off guard, if he didn’t feel gently nailed in place by Steve’s eyes lifting to his own. It was Billy’s turn to look down—down at the fingers grazing Billy’s hand as Steve reached for the cigarette. Took it.

“You’re easy prey because you’re already dying. You smoke a pack of these a day. The rest of the criminal cityscape would celebrate your funeral. A wolf’s goal is to eat. Not bragging rights—well. For the smart ones. We go for what’s easy.”

Glass-blue eyes wandered Steve’s face as he took a long inhalation. “I’ve never been called ‘easy’ in my entire life.”

Steve shrugged and—politely—aimed his lips to the side. Billy wondered how much he’d mind if Steve’s smoke graced his skin. “What can I say? We hunt the same way lions, tigers, and bears to. We go for what’s attainable with minimum effort.”

“You’re lazy.”

That overarching fringe bobbed over his head. Of course Steve had taken the time to style his hair. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Billy took his cigarette back with a huff. “I’ll decide later how insulted I should be. Until then, you’re the one looking like easy pickings.”

“You haven’t thrown anyone out of your place lately.”

That took an extra minute for Billy to process. “You…huh.”

Steve’s head moved with his eyes rolling onto him. “You don’t really think people in this city leave any bar without a fight, do you? I’ve had plenty of dinners on your tab.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Steve’s mouth lifted slightly in a skeptical grimace. “What’s the catch?”

Billy took his time with the last drag and stepped on the filter on his way to minimize the distance between them. “Explain to me why some pervert bites me and I’m fighting a hard on for two weeks?”

A rigid second passed, and then Steve crumbled into laughter. He laughed like a kid. A really cute little shit.

As Steve recovered, he heaved, “I’ve never heard anyone complain about the bite boners.”

Billy followed him as he reclined against the alley wall. “How about, instead of avoiding what’s really at play here, you admit to wanting to bite me. You’re usually on top of the rats that enter my business. But not that night.”

Steve stood on his own feet, making Billy feel the one inch he had on him. “And what if I did? What if it wasn’t your smell that made me crave, but jealousy?”

His musician’s bravado flickered when Billy’s tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip. “How do I smell?”

“Like smoked peaches.”

Steve was proving an annoying skill at making Billy dumbfounded. “What?”

He giggled anew. “Are you the type to fuck without kissing?”

Billy absorbed that and returned, “You like to kiss after blowjobs, don’t you?”

Steve wagged his head, so his words drifted back and forth over Billy’s mouth. “Yeah? So what?”

Billy inhaled deeply to make a show of sighing like humoring Steve’s romantic ethics was tiring him out—

Steve’s hands cradled his head with care, the soft sound of Billy’s hair scrunching underneath his fingers filling his ears as Steve licked inside Billy’s mouth. The latter’s jaw went slack, letting Steve in and meeting his tongue to taste him right back. Apart from the smoke, Steve tasted mutely sweet. The way a clean mouth does; the way a man should taste. Billy had always thought the way a person tasted was a uniquely intimate thing. Like a special piece of DNA could only be read with the tongue.

Steve’s tongue retreated so he could fully kiss Billy’s lips. When the lazy, soft pecks seemed to be Steve’s only intent, Billy gripped his shirtfront, the only warning he got before Billy licked the seam of his lips, wanting more. Wanting what they started.

“Mhm…is everything…a power trip with you?” Steve mumbled, but his breath shuddered when Billy pressed his hard groin against Steve’s pelvis.

“Bite me and fuck me—”

The lights went out, because they were tucked far enough behind a garbage bin for the motion detectors to not see them. Steve’s attention moved between these details and he uttered, “Next to the trash?”

Billy growled, “Ughh,” and hauled Steve off the brick and into his off-day business. “I should’ve guessed you were high maintenance.”

But right inside the doors, Billy tapped in the access code to a private elevator. “Where are we going?”

“Top floor penthouse.”

Steve snorted. “You’re like my cockatoo bragging about the highest swing.”

“You have a bird?”

“Yes, I have a bird! A little asshole named, Orchid. He whistles to all of my songs.”

“You’re the strangest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen.”

“And you are easy. Thanks for showing me the key to your house.”

Billy looked at him and met a toothy smirk. “Pisces, huh?”

The elevator dinged and Billy was too deep to back out now. He couldn’t tell which of them was the hunter, but he was ready to share a hell of a meal.

[chibioomi]

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

￫ 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ! : akaashi x insomniac!reader

tags: angst, small mention of death [ in another life reference ], just a bunch of akaashi fluff

summary: akaashi doesn’t like calling it by it’s most common known name. instead, he calls it insomnolence, since the most beautiful people he knows have been diagnosed with it. 

thank you to my beta readers @dismalfairy​ and ant <3

[ 11:39 pm ]

your eyelids felt as if they had weights on them, but they just weren’t heavy enough to make them close. your vision was limited, your room an inky black. reaching your hand out in front of you, you attempted to outline your fingers, something you did out of habit at this point. you felt your fingers stretch, you knew exactly where it was, but you still couldn’t see it. did you really expect it to change ? not entirely, it didn’t stop you from hoping you’d, in some magical way, acquire night vision.

turning to your side, a quiet sigh escaped your lips. it had been about two hours since you’d made yourself comfortable under the cotton blankets, but sleep had been quite stingy with her presence. she never wanted to give you more than two hours. did she hate you that much ? did you not deserve to get some rest like the majority of the population ?

“mr sandman, give me a dream . . .”

[ 1:27 am ]

having gotten bored laying in bed, waiting for something you knew wasn’t going to happen, you’d gotten up and now you were standing on the balcony, a warm cup of tea encased in between your shaking fingers. due to the nipping cold, you pulled on a pair of sweats and an old, long-sleeved tee-shirt. settling on the large bean bag your best friend had gotten you as a housewarming gift, you lifted the mug of tea, taking a small sip. the warmth of the liquid spread through your chest, bringing a satisfied smile to your lips.

turning to face the sky, you tilt your head to the side as you squint at the moon. it had become something you’d become use to looking at, giving it it’s own personality in your mind. it was one of the only things or people you’d interact with at a time like this.

the moon, and your neighbor, akaashi.

the man seemed to notice your broken sleeping schedule in the early days that you moved in. you weren’t entirely sure if he had just as much trouble sleeping as you did or just chose not to, and at a point, it was a little worrisome to you. why would anyone choose to stay awake throughout the night ? when they could easily slip into the mysterious wonders of sleep. but after many different nights of being awake together, you learned that anytime akaashi did sleep, he was plagued by nightmares, so he settled for short napes throughout the night and day.

glancing over to his balcony, which sat right next to yours, you remembered the first night you two had met out under the soft, white light from your friend above.

“you have trouble sleeping, huh ?” the raven haired male’s eyebrow quirked up as he leaned against the railing, reaching his hand out to take the mug of tea you had offered to make him just a few moments before. you just nodded your head, slinking back into your seat, body heavy with exhaustion. the day had been long and taxing. you had locked your keys in your car and had to wait for someone to come get them, resulting in you being late to work. and it just had to be that day that you had an appointment with an accountant to set up the finances for the bakery food truck you were starting up. now you had to wait another week before you could meet her, and that meant another dreadful week at your current job, waitressing at a small cafe. and even though your body was screaming for just an hour of sleep, you just couldn’t seem to give it what it wanted.

“you could say that,” a dry laugh escaped your lips as you took a sip from your own drink. placing the cup on the ground next to you, your attention was brought back to the man in front of you. when you had moved in about three weeks ago, he’d introduced himself, offered his hand for any help you’d need settling in. all you could think was how lucky you had gotten to not only gotten a nice apartment with an amazing set of neighbors, but one of them just happened to be attractive. but you never thought you’d be sharing a midnight cup of tea and problems. “but what about you ? i couldn’t help but notice you’re awake around this time, too.”

“nightmares.” that was all he said before turning his head to look up at the moon. you just nodded silently, choosing not to ask any further questions.

“if you ever need a cup of tea, you know where to find me,” you said after a few minutes of silence, standing to your feet. taking the cup back from him, you gave him a small smile and bid him a goodnight before returning into the warmth of your apartment.

[ 3:43 am ]

“insomnolence.” the word caused your eyebrow to quirk up in curiosity. akaashi had stepped out onto his balcony while you were deep in thought, catching you by surprise. seeing the confused look on your face caused him to back track. “it’s insomnia but . . . a prettier word. seemed fitting.”

“akaashi, please don’t-“

“a pretty word for a pretty girl.” a shit-eating grin tugged on the corner of your lips, and you rolled your eyes at the small attempt at a failed pickup line.

“how would one even use that in a sentence ?”

akaashi shrugged, leaning over the railing to hold out a cup of tea, a bashful look flashing across his face when he noticed the one in your hand. “i should’ve guessed you already had one but . . . i just wanted to see if i made it the way you liked.”

a warm feeling spread throughout your chest and you pushed yourself off of the bean bag to take the cup from his dainty fingers. raising the cups to your lips, you tilted your head back to take a sip, quickly nodding your head afterwards. “i didn’t think you’d actually pay attention to my tea rants.”

“i listen to everything you say,” scratching the back of his neck, he turned away from you to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“you’re so cute, kaashi,” cradling the cup in your hands, you took another appreciative sip before placing the cup securely on the wooden panels before leaning against the railings of your own balcony. reaching out, you took one of his hands, giving it gentle squeeze. “i really do appreciate you, and these late night talks.”

“could i come over?” the question caught you off guard, but before you could even process what he had actually asked, your head had already started to nod a ‘yes’.

disappearing back into his apartment, you shook yourself back into reality. this would be the first time he’d actually been in your apartment. and you weren’t even sure if you cleaned that day. grabbing the two cups of tea from the ground, you slipped into the warm building, sliding the glass door closed behind you. internally glad that he was taking awhile, it gave you just a few minutes to clean around your the studio. just as you were putting the broom back in its respective place in one of the closets, you heard a knock at the door. glancing around once more for good measure, you hummed, satisfied with yourself.

skipping towards the door, you pull it open with a welcoming smile, as if you two weren’t just talking a few minutes ago. stepping back to let him in, you told him to make himself comfortable. slipping off his shoes, he glances around the one room studio, tilting his head to the side. “cute,” he mutters quietly, and that eases some of the nerves you were feeling.

“thank you, kaashi. next time, your place.”

[ 5:56 am ]

you two had done a few activities to pass the time, sang karaoke [ until one of your neighbors complained about the noise ], played a few different card and board games, and now you’d settled down, watching a movie.

your couch was small, hardly fit the both of you, and he had offered to sit on the floor. trying to get him to join you, he refused, saying he was comfortable where he was. rolling your eyes, you flicked his forehead for how stubborn he was being, which, in return, earned you a pout from the male.

now akaashi sat directly in front of you, your legs draped over his shoulders, his head laying comfortably between your thighs, your fingers raking through his soft curls, nails gently scratching his scalp every now and again. you realized he had fallen asleep sometime during the first half of the movie, one that you’d never seen before, but he said it was a ‘classic’. in your opinion, it was a little boring, now dragging on to the second hour. at one point you’d thought you were about to nod off, but you were proven to be wrong.

“are you still awake?” the voice hard brought you out of your trance, lifting your hand to rub your eyes. humming out a tired yes, you felt the male from from his spot, the cushion of the small couch dipping underneath the additional weight. a pair of strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, akaashi pulling your head to lay onto his chest.

“it’s kind of ironic, you know?” turning your attention to him, you raise a questioning eyebrow.

“what is?”

"remember my old friend i told you about? bokuto?" nodding your head, you shift in his embrace, fingers tracing absent shapes on the palms of his hands. "well . . . he also couldn't sleep, but it was to the point it killed him." he took a pause to take a small, shaky breath. in an attempt to comfort him, you laced your fingers with him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "i don't necessarily know what it is about you two that attracted me to you. but i guess what i really wanted to say is, that no matter what, or however bad it gets, i'll be there, always."

removing yourself from his embrace, you shifted in your position to face him, taking his other hand into yours. "i promise you're not gonna lose me anytime soon, keiji."

"i hope not because . . . i found you."

reaching up to encase his cheeks in the palms of your hands, you pulled him down, pressing your lips to his forehead. "you found me."

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins Based on our conversation about Fabian actually helping, then demanding credit.  Taking place in your alt-Marauders.  Feel free to ignore this completely if it contradicts something you were planning to write.

“I’m saying, it’s an outrage!” Fabian Cortez paced back and forth along the beach, hands waving in air dramatically.  Both the track dug deep into the sand, and the expressions on the faces of his unlucky audience indicated he’d been ranting in this fashion for some time.

“Yes, yes, you’ve been very clear about that,” said Sebastian Shaw dryly.  “Why don’t you go make yourself a fancy medal if it’s so important to you?  Or buy one in some curio shop?”  The slowly-healing burns on the Black King’s face and bandages around his chest and shoulder indicated that his weariness was not entirely caused by Fabian’s performance – but Fabian was contributing quite a bit.

“It’s not about me!” Fabian exclaimed, in what was quite possibly the most blatant and obvious lie in all of recorded history.  “It’s about respect!  I – mean, we taxed our powers to the limits, pushing ourselves to the very brink of death!  It’s a miracle that we all survived – and the Council cannot even afford me – I mean, us the slightest hint of recognition for our service?”

“I got recognition!” Shinobi beamed. “Jumbo Carnation designed this just for me.”  He twirled around, showing off the black fabric.  It could, with some imagination, be called a suit, in the same way that artfully arranged dental floss might possibly be called a string bikini.  The huge gaps in what was basically loosely connected strips of cloth showed off a whole landscape of skin.  Shinobi may as well have been wearing a net.

“I didn’t realize Jumbo Carnation held such hostility towards you, son.  I expect your revenge will be, if not subtle, at least swift and cruel.” Sebastian was praying that certain strips would not shift too far to the right or left.  

“Maddie thinks I look amazing,” Shinobi folded his arms in a ridiculously attractive pout.

“Yes, he does,” Maddie chimed in, staring Sebastian down, hands on her hips.  “I think he should wear it all the time.”

“Do you really want to do this, Madelyne?”

“You’re all missing the point!” Fabian broke in.  The group’s attention had wavered from him for almost a minute, and that was unacceptable.  “I’m not talking about gifts and praise from our fellow mutants, which we of course deserve. I’m talking about official recognition from the Council that supposedly runs this island! Some acknowledgement of our incredible courage and accomplishment!  A medal is the very least they could do!”

“Crikey, will someone please shut him up?  That voice is like hammers on my skull,” Pyro groaned, propped up on a beach chair with one hand holding a wet cloth over his eyes.  Between focusing his flame into a blue-white stream to melt through the creature’s outer carapace, and then extinguishing the massive fires raging across Krakoa in the battles wake, he was nursing an intense migraine.  

“Perhaps you should go lay down in a dark room if you feel so poorly, Mr. Allerdyce,” said Sebastian, with absolutely no compassion or concern.

“Fuck off, Shaw.  I ain’t missin’ the celebration for anything.  Mind yer business.”  Fumbling blind, Pyro picked up the beer nestled in the sand next to him, and took a long pull.  

“You really should rest, though,” Haven put in, her tone the exact opposite of Sebastian’s.  “You did amazing things today.  I know it took a lot out of you.”

“Awww, thanks luv.  Couldna done it without your help.”  Her gentle hands on his shoulders, her cool voice in his ear – it had created a pocket of calm in his chest that spread out to shrink the wildfires down to nothing.

“No, I didn’t really do anything at all,” Haven demurred.

“Yes, exactly!” Fabian chimed in. “She didn’t do anything!  None of them did.  That’s what I’ve been saying!  I’m the one who charged all of your powers beyond your natural limits!”

“Thank you, Fabian,” said Haven, and only an experienced ear would hear the exasperation hiding under her usual gentleness.  “You were extremely…” she paused for a moment, then decided the next word would not technically be a lie.  “…brave. I know you were instrumental in our victory.”  Cortez had, after all, dashed into the fray to charge up the mutants in direct conflict with the creature.  And then just as quickly dashed back out again.

“Yeah, he did a great job not fighting at all,” Pyro grumbled.  Haven laid a hand on his arm.  There was no implied order or chastisement, but Pyro sighed deeply all the same.  

“Thank you for your help, Fabian,” he forced out through gritted teeth.  

“Thank you, my dear lady,” Fabian beamed, completely ignoring Pyro.  He took and kissed Haven’s hand, suddenly a model of charm and chivalry.  “Risking my life, fighting to my last breath, it’s all worth it for the appreciation of someone as beautiful and wise as yourself. If only you were not, sadly, a human, you would be an ideal candidate for the harem that the Council will no doubt assign me to further the mutant race.  Once they come to their senses and realize the true significance of my accomplishments today.”

“Our accomplishments,” Madelyne corrected, rubbing her temples.  After protecting the entire island from the telepathic backlash of the creature’s death throes (which would have killed most people in range and left the survivors irreparably insane), she was dealing with quite the headache herself.  She remembered how Haven had held her hand in the moment, providing an anchor against the tidal wave of psychic energy that had threatened to sweep Madelyne away.

“And enough of this nonsense about a harem,” Sebastian scoffed.  “The Council has not resorted to assigning partners and forced unions.  And even if they did, you would be the last one chosen to pass on your genes.  Some of us have real power.  Some of us have already proven our ability to create powerful offspring, even if their character leaves much to be desired.”

“So you acknowledge that I’m powerful, Father?”  Shinobi asked, more sharp than hopeful.  “I did strike the killing blow.  I believe you were unconscious at the beach at that time.”

“I acknowledge your basic competence,” Sebastian conceded reluctantly.  “You did what the situation required.”  

“By which you mean phasing an entire ocean liner through the monster’s body,” Shinobi pressed.  “I doubt Pryde could have pulled that off.”  Kitty Pryde had, of course, once phased a massive bullet through the entire Earth, but Shinobi considered that irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

“It was very impressive!”  Haven assured him.  “I only wish we could have communicated with the creature and found a peaceful resolution….but you did what needed to be done.”  It had taken the combined efforts of Storm, Iceman, Meggan and every other mutant with weather or water-control abilities, plus telekinetics putting up a force shield to keep the island from being swamped by tsunami as the creature thrashed and died.  Even Aqueduct, a human visiting his former team-mate Sunstreak on Krakoa, had stepped up to help, despite his past as a terrorist and criminal.  The one silver lining of the day’s horrors had been how so many people had come together, selflessly working to protect the island. Even Fabian Cortez.

“And of course, that impressive feat would have been impossible without me, charging you up, pouring my own life energy into you.  I could have died.”

“If only,” Maddie muttered.

“I believe I’ve already thanked you for your contribution,” Shinobi drawled.  (He had not).  “But I’ll send you a card if it’s so important.”

“I think that would be the very least you could,” Fabian sniffed.  “Although I’d expect better from someone with such wealth and connections.”  

“You know, I think Cortez has a point,” Pyro began.  “There is someone that we need to thank for helping us today.  Someone who’s been overlooked – “

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Fabian interrupted, nodding sagely.  

“Not you, ya plonk.  Haven.”  Pyro pointed in completely the wrong direction.

“I’m over here, St. John,” said Haven softly.  “And there’s no need for-“  Whatever she said next was drowned out by Fabian’s strangled cry of outrage.

“I couldn’t have put out those fires without your support.  I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, but you helped me get there,” Pyro said.

“And you kept me grounded while I was dealing with the psychic wave.  Thank you for that,” Madelyne added.

“You’re the one who organized the evacuation of that ocean liner,” Shinobi offered.  “I mean, I would have still used it, but it might have broken that pesky little ‘kill no man,’ law.  Thanks for the support, Haven.”  He raised his glass in her direction.

“Normally, I would not indulge in this kind of sentimental nonsense,” Sebastian said.  “But you did pull me and Miss Renko from the water after the creature knocked us out.  Drowning would have been rather inconvenient.  I’m a man who acknowledges my debts, and I thank you.”  Claudine had gotten the worst of it, and was still unconscious in the infirmary, but Elixir assured them that she would make a full recovery.

“My goodness.  You’re all so kind, there’s really no need for this,” Haven exclaimed, her hands on her cheeks as a dark blush spread over them.

“Yes, there is.  You spent the entire battle in the line of fire, helping wherever you could.  Even with no powers, you were there by our sides.  That deserves acknowledgement,” Madelyne insisted.  She could understand the feeling.  Standing powerless beside comrades (and against enemies) that could knock down buildings, feeling like a useless fool, but charging in all the same. Doing whatever you could, because that was everyone’s duty, wasn’t it?  To do what you can.  She’d been so innocent back then, and the memory tugged at her with a sweet sadness.

“Thank you,” Haven whispered, as the group all raised glasses (or bottles) to toast her.  “You’re the ones who saved the day, I just….helped where I could.  I was proud to support you, and I’m sure Mr. Cortez feels the same way…”  She stretched out her hand, ready to share the moment with him.

But Fabian had already stalked off angrily down the beach.      

Notes: Sorry for leaving Claudine out, I’m unsure of how to write her and couldn’t fit her into the scene.  I don’t know if Sunstreak is actually a mutant, but I wanted an excuse for an Aqueduct cameo.  I have no idea what they were fighting – some kind of Lovecraftian cosmic horror, minus the racism.  Maybe it was just a giant fire-breathing crab.  

[ecotone99]

[MS] Russian Grandmother (Part two)

As you can imagine, Sabrina's dead and the death of the man in my car port made headlines news. The man who died on my car port was ID as a man named Riley Wilson. Didn't know the guy. Had never met him. I agreed to come down to the police station for questioning. A limo was in front of my friend's house and Markus came out and told me that he needed to talk to me. My friend and I ran back into the house.

"Please listen to me. I had nothing to do with Sabrina's death. Nothing to do with it. Please believe me."

My friend opened the window and Markus walked towards the window. I could hardly believe it.

"I'm not coming outside." I said.

"Okay, that I will talk to you thru the window."

"Okay, I said, "fair enough."

"I know that you two spent Thanksgiving together and you probably spent the entire weekend together."

"That's true but I never saw you at the house. "

"I left Thanksgiving morning and it was late so I was at the home of a friend."

I didn't tell him about my dream, it had to be a dream as according to my friends, I never left the house.

"I left Sabrina's home right before dark. I know that you weren't there. You never came by."

"Where do you go?" I asked.

"I went to the train station but realized that the Amtrak train wasn't running on Thanksgiving day. I then went to a hotel under an assumed name. I found out about Sabrina's death on the TV."

Two police cars pulled up to the driveway.

"Hey, people would you move out of the way. Out of the way.

Someone must have tipped off the press as they were there. Curious neighbors were inside peering out the window. It was like a media circus.

I've known Detective Dimitri Smirnov since he was a child. His grandfather was the first police chief back in 2000.

"I told you not to bother Mrs. Vasiliev. Is he harrassing you?"

"Now, he's not. He just wants to find out what happened." I said.

"OKay Mr. Wellson, please come inside with me."

Now we have Markus Wellson in the home of my friend.

He went into another room with Detective Bill Williams who was babysitting him until they could eliminate him as a suspect.

I told Detective Smirnov the entire story. When I told him about the dream, he looked at me like he wasn't sure what to think.

"So you are telling me, Mrs. Vasiliev, that grandma Tanya Vasiliev killed this Riley Wilson because he was going to burn down your house."

"Yes, I am. I also know that she left your some cookies in the kitchen for you and Detective Williams."

Detective Smirnov was dumbfounded. She hadn't been back to the house but seemed to know everything that had happened at her house. He knew something had happened to Mrs. Vasiliev but what.

His cell phone rang. He listened for a couple of minutes and then said okay, Bye. He went and knocked on the door.

"Okay, Mr. Wellson is free to go. He's eliminated as a suspect."

Markus Wellson usually hated scenes like this, the press and paparazzi but he gave them a statement and then left.

"Okay, well Mrs. Vasiliev, I don't think it's safe to stay at your home right now. We still don't know who this Riley Wilson character is, except that we believe that he killed Sabrina. You had said that Sabrina thought that Markus would be angry about the fact that she called and talked to William Molton. He told her not to and he was angry that she had talked to him."

"Sabrina had briefly dated William Molton, the baseball star. She didn't like him and said she felt like he was stalking her. She had called him to ask him to stop doing this. Markus had told her not to do this because it wouldn't end very well and he was right. "

I didn't sleep very well that night. When I did finally fall asleep, I heard my name called out. I looked up and there was Sergi standing by the foot of my bed. He could see that I was scared and told me that he had not come for me (it wasn't my time yet for quite a while). He walked closer to the bed. He looked very healthy, not sickly.

"I'm here to protect you. Sabrina was murdered by Riley Wilson. William Molton hired him to do the job. Markus Wellson doesn't know how close he came to be murdered as William had pictures of them sleeping in the hammock. I can't tell you how much I miss you. It's been rough for me. Really rough. I haven't totally left this world. I'm between two worlds, the living and the dead. Sabrina has accepted her fate and has moved on. I'm here until you are out of danger. Right now you are in grave danger but it had nothing to do with Sabrina's murder. It's stuff that I've done in my past that I had never told you about. This was to protect you but unfortunately sometimes you can not protect someone from another's person's past. The internet will tell all. I prayed that this would never come out but it has, but don't worry darling. The Russian grandmother will protect you and she will make William Molton's life miserable towards the end of all this. "

When I asked Sergi what he did, he wouldn't tell me. He then waked goodbye.

The next day I went to work and when I walked in, everyone stopped and looked at me. Not a pin dropped. Then everyone went back to work. My supervisor called me into his office and said that I would have to take a leave of absence for my own safety and the safety of the company. I looked shocked.

"You haven't seen the news on the internet."

"No, I haven't. "

We weren't supposed to be looking on the internet for news, but everyone did. The TV was now on.

"Some very interesting things about Sergi Vasiliev. He was born in Moscow in 1956 and after high school enlisted in the army where he was stationed in Siberia. Apparently when he was a baby his father was arrested by the KGB and sent to the gulag in Siberia. Sergi apparently became a KGB agent and volunteered to be sent to Siberia to try to find out what happened to his father. in 1980 he got married to a woman named Sasha whose father had suffered a similar fate. Both found out that their fathers had died shortly after arriving at the gulag. Sasha got caught and was killed in 1981. Sergi shot to death a prison guard the day before he was to be executed and then stole an army truck and escaped. This was December of 1981. The truck was found abandoned several days later and it was presumed that he had died. Shortly after this happened, his mother who was living in Moscow disappeared. Somehow both of them managed to escape Russia. They surfaced in the US in New York in June of 1982. Then migrated to Florida in 1984. In 1985 both became US citizens.

We do know that he married an US citizen Debra Miller in 1986 and then settled into what is Little Moscow, Florida. They had two children and Sergi died in 2001 of a massive heart attack. The people who live in Little Moscow had nothing but praise for the man. 'Leave him alone. He was a good man."

I still was in disbelief about Sergi killing someone. I still couldn't believe it. This was a man who would cry if he heard about animals being abused, a man who rather than killing a mouse that came into our home, captured it, took it out to the woods and let it go. He never spanked our children and he never raised his hand to me nor was he verbally abusive towards anyone. He treated his mother with the utmost respect and treated her well. She had a good son.

It was self-defense. He didn't kill this man in cold blood. It was either him or the security guard. He had always told me to be careful if you are poking around or investigating things. He said it could be your last day on earth if you weren't careful. Apparently it was almost his. "

At that point I broke down and cried. I was so upset I was hyperventilating and had to taken to the hospital. I didn't know that he was married before. It most likely was too painful for him to talk about and I know he never told me about his first wife. My son and daughter took me home, I packed and then I left. Two police cars were there for my protection and then we left.

I knew that this was the doing of William Molton. Because his hit man was found dead in my car port, he was now coming after me. What made me feel a little better was that I had the support of my family and friends. From the police I found out that many in the community had hidden pasts (this I knew) and no one in the Russian community wanted to harm me or my children. In a rare statement the Russian government, Russian businessmen and many other Russians denied having any involvement in Sabrina's death. They blamed William Molton for spreading false rumors although they didn't dispute the fact that Sergi was a KGB agent at one point and said that Sergi had been arrested for killing another KGB agent who was also a prison guard. He did escape afterwards. Those were the only things in the story that were true.

I would have hoped that this was the end of attacking Sergi but it wasn't. I shouldn't have watched TV that night but now there were internal documents from the KGB depicting Sergi as someone who was mentally unstable, violent and a loose cannon. I started crying. My son turned the TV off and scolded me for watching this trash. A couple of days later the TV network had to issue an apology as these documents didn't exist and they had been made up. They claimed they got the documents from Little Moscow PD but this was proven to be false. Most likely it was William Molton's doing but we could never prove it.

After ten days the lies and attacks on Sergi stopped. Detective Smirnov put a stop to it going on national TV. I was grateful to him.

I knew life in Russia was tough and many people got paid under the table for stuff. Some of it was legal, some of it was a gray area (not illegal but maybe not kosher). Not defending it but that is how it was. I know that in Little Moscow, things like gambling, doing odd jobs and sometimes being paid under the table to avoid paying taxes was done. This was done in other communities as well.

Sabrina character was attacked and she was portrayed as a sleazy type girl who used men for her own advancement. I knew this was false. She never was a stripper nor did she work as a prostitute. This was also said about her which was false. Her parents were killed in an car accident in Moscow and she went to live with her maternal grandmother who immigrated to the US sometime after 1995 (not sure when they came here). Both became US citizens.

About a month I went back home and felt safe. I knew that Tanya was looking out for me. I could feel her presence in the house. The story finally died down. William Molton's life was a beginning to be a living hell. Tanya decided to make his life miserable. Tanya was a terrible singer (you would cringe when you heard her try to sing). She sang in Russian and then would play very loudly Russian military music 24/7. Then you would heard a woman who was talking non-stop in Russian. A couple of times she scratched his face and neck and once slapped him good in the face when he cursed at her.

William Molton's wife left him, his kids moved out and he ended up having to retire from baseball as Tanya sang on the TV broadcast whenever he was playing on TV, at the clubhouse and locker room. She drove him to drink. Finally after 3 months of this constant singing and music playing, William Molton finally told police what he had done. After this, Tanya left him for good. He also admitted that he was behind the Death threats that I received by e-mail and mail at work. He had someone who used a fake Russian accent to call me at my son's home and threaten my son.

A couple of days after this I felt totally at peace. I looked up and saw Tanya and Sergi looking at me. Sergi blew me a kiss, Tanya waved goodbye and also blew me a kiss. I saw their souls go up into heaven and I knew both were finally at peace.

The murder of Riley Wilson was never solved although police said that the killer was the ghost of the Russia grandmother Tanya Vasiliev.

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