#ah what a downer story in the morning

[spookidema]

A Were(wolf) of Your Situation

Genre: Slight Angst and Mostly Fluff

Pairing(s): Min Yoongi/Kim Seokjin/Kim Namjoon, Background OT7

Summary: Music, sleep, coffee, and a pack that he isn't a part of was the only thing that Min Yoongi cared about. Being the only human in his friend group was a downer sometimes especially when they were all in a relationship together, but Yoongi never let anyone know his true feelings about that situation trying and failing to put some kind of distance between himself and the pack. But when an accident leads Yoongi to get hurt, something things come out and they just might be what Yoongi needs to hear.

Tags: @multistanisms and @alwayschoosechocolate

"Fuck my life."

Yoongi would have thought after 27 years on this planet he would have an inkling to not fuck with the supernatural. The same supernatural that has been out and about publicly since the '60s. The same supernatural he works with every day as a music producer. Faries, weres, vampires, kitsunes, and many more outnumbered humans 2:1 meaning for every one human there are two supes. It was never an issue until right now.

Yoongi just so happened to piss off the wrong kind of werewolf yesterday morning before he had even gotten coffee in his system. All he did was accidently bumped into the guy as Yoongi was entering the coffee shop causing the guy to spill his drink all over himself. Yoongi had apologized to him, but the guy just growled that he was going to regret that pushing passed Yoongi. The werewolf ended up being a fellow worker at Yoongi's company, and as Yoongi left the company that night, they were chased Yoongi into the wooded area close to the company. As the moon hit its peak, the werewolf took its chance and attacked Yoongi as he was tiring biting him the shoulder. Yoongi screamed and the sound of wolf howls sounded. The wolf, that attacked Yoongi, dropped him, and turned tail and ran.

Somehow while still in extreme pain, Yoongi managed to stumble his way out of the woods feeling eyes on his back the whole way. After leaving the woods, he is vaguely aware of how he managed to get into his car, drive home, cleaned up, and into bed. And this is where our current story starts.

Yoongi stared at the circle of teeth marks that were hidden under the gauze on his shoulder in horror. Anyone in their right mind knows that if you get bitten by a were during a full moon, you become one. Yoongi had no idea what to do in this moment. He wanted to call into his job and tell them he couldn't come in because he is sick, but he normally doesn't do that. He sighed running his hands down his face.

Suddenly his phone started ringing.

"Yoongi-ah, open your door. I have coffee and breakfast," Kim Seokjin, his cafe owning friend, sang through the phone.

"Hyung, this is not the best time," Yoongi tried to argue wrapping his shoulder with fresh gauze.

"Pup, just open the door," Jin lightly ordered kicking Yoongi into gear.

Opening the door to reveal Jin and one of his partners Kim Namjoon, who also works with Yoongi.

"Hyung, this is not a good time," Yoongi sighed as Jin squeezed his way passed and into the kitchen."Nams, did he drag you here for a reason?"

"Come eat while Joon-ah checks out your shoulder," JIn said setting everything out on the counter.

"Nothing is wrong with my shoulder, Hyung," Yoongi said letting Namjoon in and closing the door.

"Hyung, we can smell the saliva in the wound on your shoulder," Namjoon spoke matter of fact. "Did you forget the pack are weres and run in the wood by the company?"

Yoongi grunted as he dropped himself into a chair and started nibbling on his food. "So, you saw the bastard bite me?"

"No, or he would be dead for attacking part of my pack," Jin growled. "We weren't aware of anything until we heard you scream."

Yoongi grunted again making his trademarked :| face holding his arm out for Namjoon to unwrap and check the bite for his own self. Namjoon's eyes set into a glare and breathed in deeply.

"The scent on this bite smells familiar," Namjoon growled softly. Yoongi shrugged and winced when he pulled at the wound. "How did any of this happen, Hyung?"

Yoongi reluctantly retold everything the day before as Namjoon cleaned the bite a bit better and rewrapped it. Jin and Namjoon gave each other a look as Namjoon finished.

"I think I know exactly who this was," Namjoon stated crossing his arms. "That new transfer teacher to the dance department. The one Jimin is always complaining about at game night. He apparently doesn't like any of us in the pack."

"But I'm not part of your pack," Yoongi grumbled. "I was just a regular human minding my business."

Jin's eyes soften at the wounded man in front of him. "Oh honey."

"I'm not," Yoongi affirmed crossing his arms carefully. "You guys have four others in your pack and polycule. I'm just the pet human - well used to be human, and outlier."

"How have I allowed you to feel like this?" Jin questioned as his eyes set on Yoongi's face." How have I allowed you to feel like you are not part of my pack? Yes, you were human, but you are one of the fundamental parts of it?"

"That's not true," Yoongi argued rolling his eyes. "I'm just the friend sitting on the sidelines only needed when someone wants something."

Jin and Namjoon growled warningly as Jin came around the kitchen counter and put his hand on the back of Yoongi's chair tipping it backwards. Yoongi let out a meep clawing at the edge of the counter to stabilize himself. Jin grabbed Yoongi's chin making him look Jin straight into his eyes.

"Min Yoongi, you have been part of my pack since the moment Namjoon dragged you to my cafe years ago when he first met you," Jin growled out." You are the second person who joined even if you didn't know it yet. You stole all of our hearts with gummy smiles, sarcasm, and quiet caregiving. Have we all not made it obvious that we care and love you, pup?"

"Hyung, you can't really believe we don't love you in more than a platonic way," Namjoon asked gently," not when you always have one of the pups or Hobi hanging off you 90% of the time?"

Yoongi tried to look anywhere but Jin, couldn't. "I didn't want to get my hopes up," Yoongi admitted softly," especially if my feeling were not reciprocated."

Jin's eyes soften as he caressed Yoongi's cheek with his thumb." How long have you felt like this?"

"Love you all or feeling like the outsider," Yoongi questioned.

"Both," Namjoon answered for Jin.

"Love you guys? About a month after meeting, you and Jin, and it got worse as Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook joined," Yoongi answered. " Outsider? Started over the last few months."

"And you never said anything," Jin simply asked.

"You never said anything either," Yoongi glared slightly at the oldest in the room.

"Cheeky pup," Jin chuckled." We will inspire to show you how much we care and love you in the future if you allow."

Yoongi stared at Jin for a moment searching his face for any lies before doing the same to Namjoon. As he moved his eyes back to Jin, he gave to tiniest of nods causing both Jin and Namjoon to smile widely.

"Please, can I kiss you," Jin begged." I've been waiting for years."

"Su-," Yoongi started before he was interrupted with a passionate kiss. All of Yoongi's problems seemed to melt with the kiss. Nothing matters except Jin's plush lips and the feeling of knowing the pack loved him as much as he loved them.

As they parted, Yoongi tilted his face toward Namjoon and nodded his head giving Namjoon the answer to his silent question. Namjoon captured Yoongi's lips in the second kiss of the morning.

"This wasn't what I was expecting for today," Yoongi mumbled as he and Namjoon parted, and Jin let his chair settle back on the floor.

"You gotta expect the unexpected in this pack, Yoon-ah," Jin giggled." Just wait until Hobi and the maknaes get their hands on you."

Yoongi groaned loudly. "I would rather streak naked in the woods."

"Oh, that's going to be next full moon," Jin stated simply." Your first shift, and first run. Thank the moon goddess that after your first shift, you can shift whenever after."

"I was joking, but pop off, I guess."

"Love you too, pup."

[alphadaddyderek]

Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

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

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

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

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

[marktuansvevo]

got7: valentines day dates!

warning(s); a little bit of suggestive content in youngjae and bam’s parts, cursing

happy valentines, babes!! ♡

mark;

mark showers you with fancy gifts, no matter how hard you protest. “you don’t have to so much money on me,” you would say through the bathroom door as you slipped into the pretty baby pink floor length gown you had just unwrapped. “you know just spending time with you is the only thing i ever want.”

mark hummed at the sentiment, not looking up from his phone. “i would have whisked you away to taiwan if there wasn’t a goddamned pandemic.”

when you walked out of the bathroom, he instantly brightened, motioning for you to turn around so he could see how well the dress fit. “you always look so pretty,” he said, giggling. “can you wear that to dinner? i love how you look in it.”

now it was your turn to coo. “mark, valentine’s is cheesy. we don’t have to go out, i can order us takeout.”

“stop avoiding all the attention. why can’t i properly show the world how much i love you?” mark raised his eyebrow at you. “you deserve to be spoiled. period!”

“you can show the world how much you love me publicly,” you got on your tiptoes to kiss right below his ear, nipping a little. you smiled at the small giggle he let out. “but just know, i’m showing you how much i love you privately tonight.”

you expected him to blush, mark always got flustered when you talked to him about the bedroom. instead, he smirked at you, biting his lip. “good, because i bought you lingerie for tonight, too. you can be my pretty model.”

now you were the one blushing.

jaebeom;

different from mark, jaebeom keeps the valentines festivities private. he knows that you had a big presentation to pitch in front of the higher ups at your company, so he knew you were stressed. he wanted to relieve you of any and all stress and take care of you for the night. jaebeom made you your favorite meal, as well as a red velvet cake, and had bought three beautiful rose bouquets for you, each one representing one of the years you had spent together.

you walked through the front door, and even from the kitchen he could hear you sigh loudly. it must have been a long day.

“y/n?”

“hmmm?”

“happy valentines,” he whispered, pulling you into a hug and giving you a peck on the lips. “i love you.”

“i love you too. uhm, i don’t mean to be a downer baby, but i don’t feel like going out tonight,” you sighed, resting your head on his chest.

“rough day?” he frowned when you nodded. valentines was always one of your favorite days, so seeing you so down made his heart hurt. “well, good thing i made us dinner so we don’t have to go out.”

you picked your head off his shoulder, looking up at him. “you did?”

“yes, baby, don’t look so surprised,” he laughed, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen to see pasta and cake on the stove and the three bouquets on the dining room table. “we may have to sit at the island tonight, there’s a garden at the table.”

the two of you sat as the island of the kitchen, him listening intently as you told him about your day from hell. he could tell by your voice that you were exhausted, so once you finished with dessert, he took your plates and put them in the sink.

“cmon babe, you deserve to relax. let me run you a bath and i’ll do the dishes tonight.”

“why don’t you join me instead?” you asked sweetly. “just wanna be close to you.”

he winked at you. “anything for my valentine.”

jackson;

you were under strict instructions from your husband to meet him at a fancy restaurant with your two beautiful daughters in tow, since he had to work all morning and couldn’t make it to their schools valentines class parties. he felt so bad when his youngest, elizabeth, who was still in preschool started to cry when he told her he couldn’t come to her party. the oldest, natalie, who had just turned nine, put on a brave face, but you and jackson could tell she was crushed.

“cmon, girls, daddy doesn’t like when we’re late,” you urged, smiling softly as you watched natalie help beth change into her jumper.

“does daddy have gifts for us?” natalie asked, her eyes wide.

“mm, yes honey, and i have one for you too,” you smiled knowingly as your girls began to scream in excitement, almost knocking you down as they exited their shared room.

you made it to the restaurant, where you let out a breath of relief.  the girls wouldn’t stop pestering you about what your present for them was. you thought you might drop the ball and spill your little secret, but you kept your mouth shut, singing along to one of your husband’s songs that was on the radio, and the girls followed suit.

you walked them into the restaurant, where jackson was sitting alone with balloons and three gift bags – one for each of his girls.

“daddy!” your girls screamed in unison, running through the restaurant to get to their daddy. you watched the looks on the couples face as you passed by – some looked at the girls with joy in their eyes, while others just rolled their eyes, probably just wanting a quiet, romantic night out. you just smiled, nothing could bring your spirit down.

“ah, my girls! i missed you so much!” he said, scooping them both into his arms. “how were your parties, sweeties?”

you sat across from your husband who was taking in the stories of his daughters days, replying with the same amount of enthusiasm that they did. after the girls were done talking, natalie crossed her arms.

“daddy, are you trying to distract beth and i from these gifts?”

you giggled as jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “isn’t valentines supposed to be about love? i just want to hear how my girls are. i love you all very much, you know.”

your heart somersaulted. you fell more and more in love with him day after day.

the girls opened their gifts – a stuffed clifford the big red dog for beth (he was her favorite right now), and a lego set for natalie. they both thanked him endlessly. “daddy, will you help me put this together?” natalie asked, almost shyly.

“of course, baby girl.”

“mommy, what is your gift for us?”

jackson studied your face as you took the rectangular box that was tied up with a single black bow out of your pocket. there was a big, stupid grin on your face. “this is for all of you. i want you all to know i love you so much.”

“go ahead, girls, open it,” jackson urged, still studying your face. you winked at him.

“uh, mommy, what is this?”

jackson’s eyes were blown wide as he looked at the two positive pregnancy tests. “tell me you’re joking?” his eyes were misty now. the two of you had been trying for a third child for two years and had been failing. your daughters looked at the two of you, dissatisfied with your present.

“do you know what this means, girls?” jackson asked in a whisper, squeezing your hand from across the table. “you’re going to have a little brother or sister in a couple of months.”

“no way!!!” they cheered, hugging each other.

“this is the best valentines gift i have ever received, thank you baby,” jackson said. you sent him a wink.

“couldn’t have made it without you.”

jinyoung;

you were glowing as you looked over at jinyoung from across the table. he smiled as you just beamed at him, playing footsie under the table. it was 3am at the diner off campus, and nobody was around to see you two. you were happy, sucking on your milkshake. jinyoung just admired you before saying; “you have sex hair.”

“and who’s fault is that?”

the two of you had been the best of friends for as long as you could remember, and now, your senior year of college, the two of you had been best friends with benefits. you had been hooking up since the day you had called him sobbing about an exam, and he had consoled you by kissing you. it’s been history ever since then.

“when are you going to admit that we were made for each other,” jinyoung was nothing if not blunt. he smiled gently, reaching across the table and holding your hand. you shrinked in on yourself, blushing.

“i thought we agreed it’d be too much,” you said, stealing one of his fries off his plate, avoiding his gaze. “with senior thesis and projects…”

“i never agreed to that. you said that and i just went along with it because i didn’t want to lose what we have. i think it’s bullshit to say that us dating is too much. we see each other at least twice a week,” he paused before smirking. “you’re sitting here in my pajama pants with sex hair. on valentines day”

he had a point. the two of you always made time to see each other – studying at a local coffee shop on mondays and sometimes hooking up on the weekends (to relieve stress, of course).  you couldn’t deny the chemistry that the two of you had…and graduation was only a couple months away...would it really be so crazy to start dating right now?

“i know you adore me,” jinyoung smiled, saying it softly. “and i know that i adore you. so what’s the problem?”

you looked down. “i’m scared. i don’t want to lose you.”

jinyoung knew you had insecurities in relationships – the last guy you dated had moved away without even telling you and moved in with one of his girlfriends. he has helped you through that time of heartbreak in your life…and he didn’t want that to ever happen to you again. he wouldn’t stand for it.

“y/n, i would never hurt you.”

you squeezed his hand. “just give me some time, okay? you’re right, i do adore you.”

“i���ll give you whatever time you need.”

jinyoung picked up the tab and you drove back home in silence, your fingers interlaced with his. you looked over at him in the passenger side. “nyoungie, will you spend the night?”

he kissed your fingers. “of course, sweetheart.”

when you woke up the next morning, you’re alone. you immediately panic until you smell….eggs?

you walk into the kitchen to see jinyoung flipping eggs, and pretty flowers on the countertop. he smiles widely. “good morning, my valentine.”

cheesy bastard.

you wrap your arms around his back, breathing in his scent. “i don’t need anymore time.”

“hm?”

“i want to be yours, jinyoung.”

jinyoung turns around in your arms before kissing you. “i have always been yours.”

youngjae;

“youngjae, are you there?” you giggled as you sat on your shared bed.

“im here baby,” he said. “jinyoung keeps bugging me to watch with us.”

“tell him no! it’s date night,” you frowned. “im gonna go get a bottle of wine.”

“okay, honey.”

you walk into the kitchen, admiring the flowers youngjae had ordered for you for the tenth time that day. you grabbed your favorite bottle of wine and scooped up the little sleepy ball of fluff before heading back into the bedroom. although you would have loved to have physically spent valentines with youngjae, you realized this was the best it was gonna get.

“get the wine?” your boyfriend asked before squealing at the screen. “coco!!! oh, i miss you both so much!!!”

“is that coco!!” you heard jinyoung squeal too. mark came into the frame and started cooing too.

“jinyoung, mark, date night!” you giggled, lifting coco into your lap, shaking the little paw to say “hi.”

“i miss you guys,” you tell the boys. “i really do, but can jae and i enjoy valentines together? we just want some alone time.”

“ahh, okay y/n, happy valentines,” jinyoung winked at you.

“you really should come out here with us, they never listen to me that well,” youngjae says. “you look so pretty. i wish i was there with you.”

you and youngjae had been in a long distance relationship for three years now, and it got easier, but there was just some days you longed for each other. you knew this was one of those days, you could tell by the longing in his eyes.

“jae. i miss you,” you pouted. “coco, say bye to your daddy, mommy has to show him something.”

youngjae knew you were up to something. “jae...how about we skip the movie? i bought something for you,” before you could hear him answer, you started stripping out of your pjs, showing off your brand new lingerie. it left absolutely nothing to the imagination and made you look so sexy. and it was red, too. you could hear youngjae gulp, his pupils blown wide.

“why must you torture me?”

“oh, i mean, we can watch a movie instead....,” you teased, pulling down a strap to reveal more cleavage to your awaiting boyfriend. “its up to you, ill slip into my pajamas and we can —.”

“don’t you even think about stopping,” he growled, shifting the computer down to show you him palming his bulge. you grinned.

your plan was unfolding marvelously.

bam;

you didn’t want to make a big deal about bam working on valentines day. you knew it was a cheesy and cliche holiday...but that didn’t stop you from feeling sad that you couldn’t spend the whole day in your mans’ arms. you pushed the feeling away, texting your boyfriend “happy vday! love u”

you busied yourself with school work to ignore the hurt you felt in your heart, but you couldn’t get your mind off bam. you scrolled through your camera roll to pick the pictures for your instagram post. before you could post a picture of you posing with bam on the beach, a call interrupted you.

“y/n, what are you doing right now??” jackson asks in a panicked voice.

“uh, working on a project...are you okay?”

“bam just fell, he’s in pain. he keeps asking for you, can you take him to the ER??”

“ill be there in ten.”

you sped all the way to the dance studio, bracing yourself for a broken ankle or a gash in his face. oh, god, you wanted your heart to stop racing.

“where’s my baby boy??” you asked jaebeom, who was smirking when you first saw him, but the smirk was completely wiped off his face when he saw your misty eyes. “jaebeom, is he okay? why couldn’t you have brought him to the ER! i could have met you there!”

“uh, y/n, come with me. and stop crying,” jaebeom led you into the studio where bam was sitting on the floor. the studio was surrounded with gifts all wrapped up in pink and red, heart shaped balloons, as well a buffet of your favorite foods. you looked at jaebeom in confusion, who just winked at you and closed the door behind him.

“happy valentines, baby,” there was a knowing smile on his face.

“you are such an ass. i almost had a heart attack driving over here,” you whined, pulling away from his hug.

“y/n!! i was just trying to surprise you,” your boyfriend said, picking one of your gifts up and handing it to you. “please let me spoil you all day. i knew you were upset with me for coming to work, let me give you the valentines i know you want.”

you smiled. “how can i argue with such a big softie?”

“shut up, i cant help that i love you,” he was pouting now. “now let me eat whipped cream off of your body.”

yugyeom;

“how do you expect to meet someone if you have an engagement ring on your finger when you’re a single woman?” your new friend, yugyeom asked you. “seems strange to me.”

“maybe i don’t want to date anybody, did you ever think of that?” you asked him. “besides, it wards off all the creeps. hey, there’s a diner at this exit, wanna stop?”

you pulled off the highway to the diner. it was valentine’s, so of course the place was crowded. yugyeom whined. “can’t we just get mcdonalds or something? we’ve been in the car for six hours and im hungry.”

prior to six hours ago, you didn’t know yugyeom. he was bam’s best friend, so you had heard of him in the past. yugyeom was visiting some art school in new york, while you were going home to see your family for your sister’s birthday. wanting to save both of his friends money, he suggested you drive yugyeom to new york. you didn’t know….it was a long drive from chicago, but yugyeom said he would give you half the gas money, so it would be worth it. new york wasn’t cheap.

“exactly, so we should eat a proper meal. we still have six and a half hours left.”

“fine,” he huffed.

the waitress sat you two down and gave you your menus before squealing. everyone in the diner turned their heads. “oh. my. GOD!!! did he propose to you today? that ring is absolutely stunning!!”

“oh, no I –“

“as a matter of fact, i proposed this morning. we’re on our way to new york to tell our families,” yugyeom beamed at her, kicking your foot under the table.

the waitress looked like she might faint. “that is so romantic. whenever you’re ready, dinner’s on the house.”

she scurried away, and many “congratulations” rang throughout the little establishment.

“aw, honey you’re blushing,” yugyeom winked at you. you rolled your eyes. you didn’t know if you were smitten with this guy or if you plainly disliked him.

“don’t point it out, dear,” you played along. “have you figured out what you want to order?”

the two of you ordered and pretended to be a couple the whole meal. you scoured at your friend when he stole some of your french fries off your plate. he just sent a wink in your direction. when you sipped some of your milkshake, he rested his hand in his cheek, staring at you. you giggled.

“yeom, what are you up to?”

“just admiring.”

okay, so you were smitten by him.

the two of you went back to the car, where a small smile was playing on his lips. “that was kind of fun.”

you blushed, sinking into the drivers seat. “i haven’t had that much fun in years.”

“maybe you should get back into dating. i think you would make anyone have a good time with you.” he said offhandedly. “that ring is going to prevent you from ever going on a date again.”

“dating is never that easy,” you tried to reason with him…you had been burned so many times in the past, why would you ever want to let yourself get hurt again.

“it was with us,” since your eyes were on the road, you couldn’t see him shrug. “i’m going to take a nap, happy valentines.”

you glanced over at his sleeping form, smiling to yourself. you managed to take the ring off your finger without crashing the car and set it in the center console. beside you, yugyeom opened his eyes.

“does this mean i can take you out once we get to new york?”

[awesomerextyphoon]

A Warrior’s Heart | Phase 1: Welcome – 3

A Hero’s Welcome?

Summary: When someone with a connection to Steve’s past dies, he’s reminded of the promise he made to Dr. Erskine and whether or not he’s failed. Can Ife help him see that he hasn’t?

Characters: Steve Rogers, Ifekerenma ‘Ife’, Abraham Erskine (mentioned), Marlene Erskine (mentioned), Nick Fury, Eliza Maza, Azeneth Ramirez

Main Pairing: Stucky x Black!OFC (Ifekerenma ‘Ife’)

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 5,801

Warnings: Depression, Talk of Death, Slightly Cynical Steve, Politics, Smutty Thoughts

A/N: I’m sorry that this so long. I really wanted to try something different with Erskine and the time around CA:TFA. Also, I wanted to explore how Steve would be feeling right after AoU (little bit of a downer, but it will get better). Furthermore, this story will diverge a bit from MCU in terms of Steve’s and Bucky’s abilities. Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated. Dividers were by the lovely @firefly-graphics​. Thanks to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for the beta!

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Early June 2015

“What do you have to report, Ifekerenma?”

Ife pursed her lips together,”Wanda is doing well with her training. Djamila and Nazaret had some sung her praises during their first session.”

It took a few days to convince the team and Fury to let her friends train Wanda. Luckily Nat had her back and Wanda was able to show the compound how much she improved from what Ife was able to teach her. Unfortunately, Azeneth was unable to make it due to being tied up with a BNA mission and relocating to the NYC division.

“That’s good to hear. Have you made made any progress with the others?”

Ife’s eyes casted down in thought. Vision was a no-go for now. Pietro was warming up to her, but he thought she was still suspicious (wasn’t wrong). She didn’t want to try Rhodey yet (too close to Tony). Nat was..difficult; she’ll try again later.

“I’m going to try Steve next. He seems like a safe bet, even with the serum. Hopefully, he won’t catch before it’s time. I will need Erskine’s folder though.”

Eliza’s lips turned upward in a small smile, “Agreed. I’ll have it sent to you within the hour. Best of luck, Ife.”

And with that, Ife got dressed and headed towards the common room.

  Steve leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his head in thought and vexation.

The 21st century must be fucking with him.

Right after Operation ‘Captain Briar Rose’, Steve went to Brooklyn. He could barely find any trace of his old neighborhood. The apartment complex where he and his mother lived was now a ritzy condominium with a Starbucks on the ground level.

All of the places he’d go with Bucky were now soulless veneers filled with empty promises of ‘happiness’ or ‘self-esteem’.

He remembered the time Bucky bailed him out of yet another beating by Arnie and his gang back in 1928. His mother berated him for getting in yet another fight while Bucky’s mom laughed and treated them to ice cream from the local sweets parlor. Bucky’s sisters – Rebecca, Rose, and Annabelle – were making a fuss and bursted out in giggles when Annabelle got ice cream in Bucky’s hair. It was one of the best days that year.

A T-Mobile now stands in its place.

All of his friends and comrades save Bucky and Peggy are dead; he nearly bawled in the middle of briefing when found out that Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan died and had a cry alone in his quarters afterwards.

Felt shitty about the current state of the country. It seemed as though everything has gotten worse. He found out about the Gulf, Afghanistan, and Iraq Wars. How income and wealth inequality has somehow gotten as bad as, if not worse, than the Gilded Age. Corruption has turned DC and NYC into dog and pony show.

He was furious at all of the politicians and corporations that wanted him to endorse them or their actions. They wanted Captain America’s helmet and shield to mask their heinous acts. They were the same if not worse than Senator Brandt.

Some days Steve wished SHIELD let him stay in the ice. Even worse, there were days he felt that Captain America was for an America that never was.

Nowadays, he felt even more like an anomaly.

It started when he got out of the ice. He felt a lot stronger and faster; only Thor knew the extent of it and he has to hold back a lot when fighting for fear of government asking for more of his blood. Though he suspected Ife and Natasha might be onto him.

He was a lot hungrier than before he went on ice as well. Often time, he would have late night ‘dinners’ (now it's every night), To be honest, he was a bit embarrassed at how much he ate, though the thought of pinning the blame on Ife did cross his mind. It wouldn’t work due to Ife almost never eating with the team and Sam said that he would know if Ife was the culprit. Steve suspected that Ife has been using her connections to restock the food between when he retired to his quarters and before the rest of the team came for breakfast. Also, she kept leaving him fun pop culture facts and media recommendations for the night.

Steve didn’t feel he could go to Dr. Cho since he doubted she had anything to go on in his case.

He did wonder if Ife could help him. She seemed to like helping the team and she was knowledgable about Non-Humans. Wanda’s rapid improvement in her powers and control bolstered his decision.

Sighing, Steve sat up straight in his chair and picked up the letter he received that morning. Marlene Philomena Erskine had passed away and he was invited to her funeral.

It was sad to have yet another link to his past slip from his grasp.

  Steve was finishing up another book to fight off his jitters. It was the night before the operation and he needed to have a few moments of respite from the war.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he failed to notice Dr. Erskine entering.

Erskine, for his part, was eyeing several books in Rogers’ makeshift bookshelf: They Odyssey, Of Mice and Men, Murder on the Orient Express, Tender is the Night, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Homage to Catalonia, and To Have and have Not.

“What do you think of the book?” Erskine asked as he sat across the startled recruit.

“Just finished. Y’think it wise to get buzzed before a major operation, sir?” Steve noted when he saw the bottle and two shot glasses on the bed.

Erskine chucked, “Calms my nerves a bit. What did you think of the book?”

Steve pressed his lips together for a moment, “It was a good read. The book had a lot of good points for something written eleven years ago.”

“What truths?”

“Well, for one thing, how technology is used to make the populace happy, but not better. The World Government found a way to get people to willingly trade self-expression, self-awareness, and their happiness for cheap happiness and comfort. Makes you wonder if the US was next, you know?”

Erskine was taken aback by his answer. It was much deeper than most of commanding officers gave if they even read the book.

Though that last sentence was interesting.

“What do you mean next?”

“Isn��t that what happened in Germany?”

Erskine sighed, “Yes and no. Most people here think Hitler came out of nowhere, but he didn’t. Not everyone in Germany was for WWI. There was a 100,000 person march in Berlin, but it didn’t matter since the Social Democratic Party failed to rise to the occasion and went along with war effort. Many were scapegoated for Germany failure, Matthias Erzberger for instance.”

“What about the Weimar Republic?”

Once again, Erskine was taken aback by Steve’s knowledge, “Weimar Germany was a great place to be creative, curious, and make new discoveries. I met my wife, Greta, in Berlin during that time. I made a lot of friends, friends I had to leave behind.”

Erskine frowned as his face darkened,”The terrible thing, my friend, was not that Hitler was dangerous, it was that either people didn’t take him as the threat he was or they wanted to use him for their own ends. The cops and judges sympathized with the Nazi Party to get one over the Socialists and Communists. Industrialists wanted to make money off of the Nazis getting into power. Even the German and International newspapers didn’t cover him with the urgency required.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Ja, and it almost happened here, didn’t it?”

Steve nodded in reference to the America First movement and the German American Bund. He still remembers getting the crap beaten out of him by the Silver Shirts when he spoke out against them a few years ago.

“So why did you choose me?”

“I suppose that is the best question.” Erskine admitted while glancing at Steve’s bookshelf, “What do you think of the Odyssey?”

Steve shrugged, “The adventures were fun, but they were just fantasy.”

“They may not be, Mein Freund. How old do you think I am?”

“Uh, mid sixties?”

Erskine laughed, “You’re too kind. I will be 94 this September,” he smiled noting Steve’s shock, “Things are not always as they seem. I come from a long line of ‘healers’ dating back to before Rome. One of them was able to ‘make a man more’. They inspired me to go into this profession.”

“Making super soldiers?”

“Medicine and bio-chemical engineering.”

“Oh”

“Did you know that you will not be first to undergo this?”

“Who was?”

“His name was Konrad Jager. He was a lot like you: small, frail, but had a great deal of courage and compassion. He was willing to fight Nazis in the streets knowing he’d lose. One day in 1930, his parents begged me to save him as the doctors had given up all hope.

I was woking on a serum that would make the body impervious to all diseases rather than wait for the next outbreak to occur. I thought it would propel the medical field.

The trial worked and he was healed. He became much taller and broader in size as a result.”

Erskine pulled out a picture of himself next to a tall, well-built young man.

“That’s Konrad isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was able to help eight more people through the earlier version of the serum. All but one turned out well.”

“What happened to the one?”

“Ah yes, Eren Kant. He was a shy young man before the serum, but then became more like Hodge: a philander, arrogant, and bit of a bully with a temper. He ‘grew too big for his britches’ as one would say and was arrested by the Munich police. He let his arrogance blind him and he escaped in a way that intrigued Der Fuhrer and was taken to Berlin soon after. By this time, rumors had spread of my work and the Nazis were anxious to be the ‘best of the Aryans’. They were able to get my whereabouts from Eren and sent Schmitt to fetch me, but I was already on my way to Switzerland when he reached my home.”

“How did he get you?”

Erskine slightly jerked his head to the side and back, “A year prior to my attempted escape, I met a man in Geneva who warned of the dangers that lied in Berlin. He gave me his card if I needed to escape. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have waited so long before I made the phone call. I was tipped off by an old colleague of Eren entering Nazi custody.

Everything was set. My family and I were to enter Switzerland by crossing Lake Constance. We made it to Meerburg and the lake was in sight when Schmitt and his agents cut us off.

Schmitt believed that there was a power left behind by the gods. He believed himself to be a leader of a new race of men. He wanted me to ‘perfect the serum’, make him stronger than Eren. He had my children, Klaus and Marlene, taken to the outskirts of town as insurance implying that they would be sent to Dachau if I should fail.

I stalled for as long as I could hoping Schmitt would forget about me, but it was not meant to be. A few years after I was taken hostage, Schmitt stormed into my lab and pointed a gun to Greta demanding I give him the serum.”

“Did it make him stronger than Eren?”

“It did, but it had...side effects. The serum was not ready. Schmitt’s skin turned red and his face became so disfigured that Hitler called him the Red Skull. He killed Greta with his bare hands,” Erskine wiped away a few tears, “and ordered Marlene and Klaus to be sent to Dachau while I was banished to the dungeons.

Fortunately, Agent Carter and the SOE were able to save Marlene and myself. Though Klaus sacrificed himself when the agents could only save one of them.”

“Your son is a hero.”

“I only wish I could’ve told him that myself. But, back to your original question. I chose you because, like Konrad, you are a weak man. You see, the serum amplifies everything; good becomes great and awe-inspiring, bad becomes worse and a nightmare. Men who are strong their entire lives often do not value strength and abuses it. However, a weak man who is compassionate and brave will use it to help others. You were chosen because you had the aforementioned virtues and because you use your mind.

The world does not need perfect soldiers, look where that has gotten us. No, what we need right now are good men.”

Erskine poured out two shots and gave a glass to Steve.

Steve raised his glass, “To the little guys.”

The liquor was just about to touch his lips when Erskine snatched the glass from him, “What are you doing? You have an operation tomorrow. No fluids.”

Steve chuckled as Erskine bid him farewell and good luck tomorrow.

  Ife found Steve in the Common Room hunched over a chair with a letter in his hands. Emotional echoes of gloom came off in waves as she approached him.

“Whatcha looking at, Steve?”

When Steve didn’t respond, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Steve finally turned to Ife, “I received an invite to a funeral. It’s for Marlene Philomena Erskine, Dr. Abraham Erskine’s daughter.”

Ife nodded in understanding; he feels that he failed Marlene by not protecting Dr. Abraham Erskine.

But in fact, he didn’t fail her.

She lived quite the life for a human.

Not long after her father’s assassination, Marlene became a badass mechanical engineer and physicist. Her designs and schematics for transportation vehicles and energy storage/distribution gave the colonizer nations a fighting chance during the Wars Against Colonialism.

Though part of it was because the UA was a little cocky at that point. Marlene sure lit a fire under their ass! Ife can still hear her Aunt Eziamaka pouting at the news of one of UA bases nearly falling into their control.

Marlene’s assistance with the war effort didn’t last long as her gratitude towards the people who saved both her and her father wasn’t enough to overlook the Military’s treatment of some her colleagues.

Her life from there was pretty standard. She became a professor at MIT, got married and had a few kids.

BNA took her off the ‘humans of special interest’ list in 1971.

Thinking back on it, Marlene may have had a better life by her father not making it past WWII.

Though Ife thought it would be wise not to mention this to Steve.

“When is the funeral?”

Steve didn’t raise his head, “It’s in a week.”

“In that case, might I accompany you?”

“Yes...and thank you.”

“No Problem! See you later.” Ife wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug and went on her way leaving Steve slightly bewildered.

  Steve didn’t know what to make of Ifekerenma.

She was always asked the team how they were feeling at what seemed to be the right moment. Shoot, she even talked to custodial staff that few of ever acknowledge. Compassionate to nearly everyone, especially the child hostages during the last mission.

She’s nerdy to the point of Sam jokingly calling her a weeb (anime lover?) when she walked around in an oversized Cowboy Bebop t-shirt once. Wanda mentioned a ‘digital friend’ in her room and caught her mentioning how slow Stark’s tech was much to the amusement of team at Tony’s expense.

Steve’s certain Nat sent Clint a video of the whole thing.

Also, she was what Sam called a ‘Supreme Chef’. He contently patted his midsection remembering the feast she prepared for the team last night. Her cooking would’ve put some of Stark’s gourmet chefs to shame. She asked the team what they liked and she ended up having to create a dinner rotation. Steve was especially touched when she went to an antique bookstore for a recipe that was close to what his mother would’ve made for him.

Furthermore, she would leave out little homemade treats/ snacks at night. Pietro and Sam would sneak some when they thought no one was looking. She even giggled when he accidentally let out a huge belch after an amazing dinner a couple nights ago saying it’s a sign of thanks on her home planet, Avlenia.

Ife always called him Steve; not ‘Captain’ or ‘Cap’ or even ‘Good ol’Century Virgin’ (damn it, Tony!). She never made light of him ‘taking an ice nap’ or asking him about the 1940s in a demeaning way like some reporters and ‘little upstarts on social media’. Somehow, Ife found out about his love of drawing and got him art supplies with a list of recommended artists

She made him feel more like a person and not a symbol or a far off figure who’s emotionless.

Steve felt warm whenever he was around her in a way not unlike Bucky or Peggy though much more like Bucky. She seemed to sense that he was desperate to truly be seen in way that only Sam and sometimes Nat has.

It also didn’t hurt that she was a total knockout. He had the, ahem, pleasure of seeing her out of her uniform and training outfits a few times. She usually wore clothes that were more on the modest side...except for that one time when she wore a Sailor Moon crop top and high-waisted shorts as a dare from Nat. Half of the compound was staring and Steve spent most of the day in his quarters nursing a hard on he was so aroused.

And yet, Ife was one of the toughest women he knew; even Nat was a little scared of her (at least, he thinks). She might be the strongest person physically and she doesn’t take shit from people who badmouth her or the team; Agent Roussel learned that the hard way.

All in all, Ife was...something else, someone he wanted to get close to.

  The day of Marlene’s funeral started out well enough.

Ife spent the early morning making Sam’s request of cinnamon rolls, sausage, omelettes, waffles, and hash browns since he won the raffle of Vision’s turn as he doesn’t eat.

She was handing out everyone’s first servings (didn’t care what happened afterwards) when she felt Steve’s emotional echoes of depression, melancholy, and despair noting how his eyebrows furrowed and how tense his body language was.

She just hoped she could get to him.

  Steve was walking to garage hoping his outfit wasn’t too much.

Nat somehow convinced him into wearing a Highbridge Black Custom Suit with an Eastley Dobbey Blue Shirt, a Black Solid Tie, a Navy Blue Pocket Square, and Ink Black Dress Shoes.

He ‘upped the swoon dial’ as Nat put it. Could’ve sworn he heard Sam snickering.

Steve reached the entrance hoping not to keep Ife waiting when he heard clicking of heels behind him.

He turned around to find Ife looking almost unearthly.

She was wearing a black Ankara (?) dress with a cape that was black on the outside and golden on the inside with various blue, silver, and khaki rectangle clusters. Her hair was mostly contained in a wrap with a few strands framing her lovely face. Her full, plump lips were coated in a Light Plum (?) Matte Lipstick and she wore minimal gold eye shadow.

Her outfit did a splendid job of hinting at her voluptuous curves without needlessly flaunting them like the women who throw themselves at him at press tours.

Ife smiled at him and asked which car were they taking.

Steve motioned to one of the Black SUVs and the two of them strapped in for the three hour car ride.

  Ife sighed and gazed out the window at the scenery. Neither one of them had said anything in the past twenty minutes. Steve wasn’t a fan of most of the music that’s on the radio despite Sam’s best efforts. Ife had to break out her puppy dog eyes to get him to let them listen to some instrumental music from her favorite movies.

It seemed that they weren’t going to say anything until Steve cleared his throat.

Ife, not wanting to suffer in silence, decided break it, “How did you know Marlene?”

Steve raided his eyebrows for a split second, “I didn’t. I just feel like I should pay my respects, you know? I mean, I should attend the daughter of the man I failed’s funeral.”

The last sentence struck a chord with Ife. Emotional echoes of despair hit her like a tsunami.

Tentatively, Ife continued, “How did you fail Erskine?”

“I-I don’t think I’ve fulfilled my promise to him. The country has changed so much since I was on ice. It’s funny; I thought that Brave New World would only have a one of two aspects come to life, but I didn’t see nearly the whole book being right.”

Ife didn’t argue with the last two points. The US was nothing but a never-ending commercial sometimes. People were too busy being ‘happy’ or trying to get the newest thrill to realize that they were living in a sham of a republic.

Though she was concerned about the first sentence.

“What was the promise you made to Erskine? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Steve turned slightly, “To be true to who I am; a good man, not a perfect soldier. To be more like Konrad.”

Ife nodded musing on his answer. Erskine would want everyone he helped to be a good person considering the dangers of such power.

Though she wondered if she knew Dr Abraham’s full history.

Abraham Erskine came from a long line of Homo Magis who specialized in Alchemy . He turned to science when it was clear that his magical powers would never manifest (being only 1/16 Homo Magi). Erskine started working on what would become the Super Soldier Serum in 1920 after the witnessing the horrors of WWI firsthand as a medic.

He made a breakthrough in 1927 when he found what looked to be an old power cell in the attic of his childhood home. Turns out it was a modified Atlantean battery dating back to the 1600s, but whatever.

Konrad Jager was the first of nine volunteers; most of whom went on to fight in the Spanish Civil War with the International Brigades and be part of the German Resistance’s Special Forces during WWII.

Needless to say, they were recruited into BNA’s European Division.

Only Eren Kant was deemed a failure in the end.

Ife shook her head at the info in Erskine’s folder.

Eren was pompous dumbass who broke himself out jail by bending/breaking the bars of his cell after getting arrested for being a player and bully by the Munich Police in August of 1935. His show of superhuman strength got Erskine’s work onto the Hitler’s radar. BNA had to send a cleaner to ‘handle’ Eren before he could get everyone in even more trouble.

She wondered if Konrad and the others would make an appearance.

“What do mean by not staying true to yourself?”

Steve sighed, “It seemed a lot easier to do so in my time.”

Ife wanted to go further, but she couldn’t. Steve was punishing himself up for something he couldn't control and it was tragic.

She hoped that she could actually help him, not for the mission, but for himself.

  They arrived at the venue twenty minutes early. Steve was trying (failing) to fix his tie while Ife was looking as glamorous and poised as can be.

Sensing Steve’s unease, she gave his hand a comforting squeeze, “You’ll do fine,” she whispered as she fixed his tie while not trying inhale his delicious natural scent like a creep (again).

“Let’s go inside.”

  Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing when they entered the venue. Though Ife had to hand it to the guests; no one asked Steve for an autograph or a selfie. She noted several BNA officials and a couple of Earth-based Non-Human big wigs in attendance.

Guess Marlene was popular.

“Ife!” Azeneth shouted as she strode over to from a corner and enveloped her in a hug.

“Azeneth, how are you? I didn’t think you would be back from Mexico City so soon.”

“Well, the mission was short and they wanted me in New York to accompany Eliza here. Now, who is this fine gentleman, Ife?” Azeneth queried while Steve started shifting uncomfortably.

“This is Steve Rogers, one of my new teammates and Ca-”

“Captain America. I know, Ife. I was jesting.”

Ife sighed dramatically while rolling her eyes, “Steve, this is Azeneth. She’s one of my best Earth-based friends.”

“Kickass friend.” Azeneth corrected, “How are you liking Ife? She’s not too much trouble.”

“Stop it, ‘Aze!” Ife playfully hit Azeneth’s shoulder, “Feel free to ignore her, Steve.”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will, especially after the stunt you pulled on the first day at the compound.”

Azeneth burst out laughing at Ife’s shocked expression and Steve’s sly grin. She probably would’ve kept goin if not for Eliza cutting into their conversation.

“Excuse us, Mr. Rogers. I’ll have to speak with Ife for a moment. My name’s Eliza Maza, by the way.”

  Once they were out of Steve’s line of sight (Azeneth was keeping him busy), Eliza activated a noise canceller.

“So did anyone die in the attack on the Magic Council?” Ife asked as she made sure Steve wasn’t looking at them.

“No one was harmed, but several books are missing from the library.”

“Shit! Okay. Well, would Dr. Strange be available to assist Wanda with her training? Wong and Nazaret are at the Sanctum and he said that he knew of some spells that could help.”

“I’ll look into it. I should have an answer in a week”

“Okay.”

“Ife, please give me a call when you get back to the compound.”

Ife eyed Konrad Jager, Gregor Eisenberg, Sonje Decker, and Lukas Denhart making their way to Steve. She hoped they weren’t going to drop an info bomb on him today.

“I will.”

  The service was short and sweet as Marlene didn’t want everyone to be bored to tears on her behalf. The crowd got a laugh out that joke.

Afterwards, Marlene granddaughter, Zahara, requested if Steve could stay for a bit. She gave him a beautifully wrapped package.

“My grandmother wanted you to have this. She saw you fighting in the Battle of New York and knew you would know what to do with it.”

“It would be an honor, Miss.”

  Ife thought about her earlier conversation with Steve on the say back. She realized what’s happened to Steve was heartbreaking.

Here was a man who gave up everything for a country that only wants him as a cudgel for their heinous deeds. Someone who, if he hadn’t fallen into the ice, would’ve probably been ruined by the same country he swore to protect. They would’ve labeled him as a communist and destroyed his good name for not immediately getting on board with the next war.

To be honest, Ife didn’t think much of Steve before joining the team. She thought he was just the banner boy for colonizers to feel good; he was the reminder of that brief moment when the US was totally the bad guys (totally being the operative word).

But now?

She saw the toll the helmet and shield had on him. Ife doubted he knew that he was going to be alive for awhile judging how neither Konrad or the others aged a day since they received Serum 1.0 and Steve supposedly got one that was at least 3x as powerful.

She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she was lost on what to do.

When she got back to the compound, she gave Steve a hug and went straight to her quarters to call Eliza.

“Eliza. I can’t do this by myself, and if we’re going to pull this off, I’m going to need some serious backup because the Avengers need some serious help.”

  Fury was going through some mission reports when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Oddly enough, Ife was the one to enter the room and not Maria Hill.

“Good Evening, Fury. I have someone who would like speak with you.”

“Well, give me a name and contact info and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Actually,” Ife reached in her pocket for a disc, “I can do you one better.”

Ife tossed the disc into the air and a moon-door portal formed from it. Out came Eliza, Azeneth, and Angela in her gargoyle form.

Eliza gave Ife a quick nod and turned to Fury, “Good Evening, Nicolas Fury. My name is Eliza Maza and we’re from the Bureau of Non-Human Affairs or BNA. I would advice that you lower your weapon. It won’t do you a lick of good,” Fury lowered his gun,” Good. Put Maria Rambeau on speaker, we need to talk.”

  -Somewhere in France-

 Maeve was enjoying her brunch while watching the footage of Eliza officially making contact with new SHIELD and SWORD.

“Well, it looks like it’s time to ‘get the band back together’ as the kids would say.” She chirped to the woman across the table.

“That expression pretty much died in the 90s. No ‘kid’ uses that phrase anymore.” Koronis deadpanned.

Maeve scoffed, “Anyone born after 1800 is a ‘child’ to me. This is what I get for trying not to sound like ‘an old hag’ as you put it.”

“Well, is everything on track?”

Koronis, or Carol, closed her eyes for few seconds, “I see nothing standing in our organization’s way. However, we should have the meeting sooner rather than later.”

“Duly noted. Anything else?”

“The new variable, Ifekerenma, will be more useful to our plans than I originally anticipated.”

“Oh, I do love surprises! I mean, I know how it will end, but I still like to be at least a little surprised. I knew it was a good idea to let Klaue be discovered by Ultron in Istanbul!”

Another woman walked up to the pair,”You wanted to see me, Mistress?”

“Yes. Svetlana, call the others. It’s time to put our plan into high gear. Hell’s Moon is upon us.”

  Steve was having a shitty birthday.

The press was pestering him about the presidential election. Several outlets have called him a sellout and a coward for not endorsing anyone.

He was figuring out the best way to take a shower and hit the hay in less than 30 minutes when he found a beautifully written note taped to his door.

It said to come to Ife room wearing his best dancing clothes.

Ten minutes later, Steve knocked on her door and it instantly opened to reveal a modest dancing hall not unlike the ones he went to with Bucky before the war.

He was so lost in thoughts admiring the place that he failed to notice Ife hovering a few feet from him.

“Happy Birthday, Steve! How do you like it?”

Steve turned to see Ife in a knee-length golden yellow African Wax Print Ankara dress with cold shoulders, ruffled sleeves, and a v-neckline. He didn’t miss the modest view of her cleavage or how her legs looked oh, so smooth in the dress.

Ife, for her part, was super nervous about this. Nat said that people went to dance halls all the time in the late 1930s and 1940s and it took her five days to get the architecture, the music, and the lighting just right.

She hoped that Steve wouldn’t be angry with her.

Steve looked incredibly handsome in his simple dress shirt and slacks. His powerful shoulders, thick biceps, trim waist, and beefy thighs were accentuated by the lighting which made him look like he was glowing.

Ife would’ve drooled if she knew that he didn’t like it when most women would throw themselves at him.

“It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about the dress. I couldn-”

Steve raised a hand to stop her from going off on a tangent,”You look beautiful.”

Ife felt a flurry of warmth in her core at the compliment.

“So, what would like to do?”

Before Steve could answer, Duke Ellington’s Don’t Mean a Thing starting playing.

Steve stretched out his hand, “Would you like to dance?”

Ife took his had and they glided onto the dance floor.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

“Bucky’s mom made us learn when Bucky started getting attention from the girls at school. She thought it best that we knew how to treat them to a good time.”

“I see,” Ife giggled, “Then she was wise to make take the lessons. Though I’m more familiar with the jitterbug.”

Steve chuckled as they resumed swinging. He hummed a bit as they danced to Ella Fitzgerald, Caro Emerald, Jo Stafford, Billie Holiday, and Gene Krupa.

Ife was impressed with Steve’s dancing skills. What were those women thinking passing him up like that?!

After a couple more rounds of dancing, the music shifted to something more modern but not (it was Howl’s Moving Castle’s Main Theme) , the colors on the walls and ceiling brightened, and several chandeliers formed on the ceiling.

Steve gave Ife a slightly confused look and asked her if she would like to try a waltz this time.

The song lasted a little more than five minutes. Steve was somehow able to lead their movements in sync with the song.

Ife felt her body was aflame with gentle yet commanding touches Steve was giving her. He even lifted her a few times making her feel as though she was flying with how gently he held her.

They were absorbed in their own world they either failed to notice or ignored Nat and Wanda entering Ife room to see if they could have another spa day. Nat even got a few pictures of the two dancing.

Steve gave Ife one last life during the climax and pulled her in when the music came to a close. They were about to come in for a kiss when Ife pressed her lips together and back away.

“We should probably retire for evening. Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but left Ife’s room with a simple goodnight with Nat and Wanda in tow.

Ife frowned. She knew Steve wasn’t in the best place for a relationship and her conscience wouldn’t let her take advantage of that.

[sorcererinthestars]

Let’s Go Steal a Yacht

[UPDATED 2021.] Written for the 2020 @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Sunshine event for @leftsmitteninbritain! Just edited for 2021. Safe now! Please enjoy some unrestrained summer fun on this lovely August eve!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569448

-- The sun over the Los Santos skyline was relentless. The heat this week hadn’t been less than 90 degrees and it scorched every citizen that walked down the roads, turning skin red and blistering and making everyone sweat. Like every smart citizen of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew had been mainly squirreled away inside their frozen fridge of a penthouse apartment, air conditioning blasting.

But Geoff’s birthday was coming up and that required a big bash. Michael bent over the proposed plans, scrunching his nose up as he pointed at the phone where they had all scribbled down ideas.

So far, the list was pitiful. “We can’t go out to bevs, J,” Michael sighs. “He doesn’t drink anymore. That’d be weird, right?”

“Only as weird as you make it,” he shrugs, glancing to Gavin, Jack, Trevor, and Alfredo who were sitting lazily on the various penthouse couches, watching with various degrees of boredom. Geoff was out on an errand — they should have at least half an hour of uninterrupted time to discuss.

“What if we did like — a heist?” Jack asks, snatching the phone from Michael. Gavin just grins at his immediate pout, but Michael hands the phone over anyways. “Like, combine something fun with a little mayhem.”

“Geoff does love his mayhem,” Gavin nods. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a bunch of rich kids who are running a coke scam across the border out of their yacht,” Jack explains, gesturing to the map of the city and pointing at a spot on the Los Santos waterfront. “It’s a pretty low-bit operation. Not much drugs, but it’s sort of just an excuse for the Harvard whiz-kids to blow off some steam. But they do it off of a massive yacht. I’m talking three-floors, two hot tubs, helipad sort of shit. Mommy and Daddy must own it, but the kids run it.” She grins up at them. “Seems like the sort of thing Geoff’ll like, right?”

“So… you’re thinking that we make a run for the yacht, take it and the drugs, and then have a full-out bev party with their built in pool?” Gavin’s all smirks, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table.

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Trevor says smoothly, “but won’t killing the sons and daughters of some filthy rich people like — cause more problems than a few pounds of coke and a boat we could buy is worth?”

Jack shakes her head. “I know these types of kids. I’ve been scouting out the yacht on my morning flights. It’s not stocked for a fight. I think the kids know it’s a matter of time before one drug lord or another rolls them over for their stock. It’s not meant to be a long-term operation. It’s not like they need the money. I figure, load up on some guns, be intimidating, blare a megaphone from my attack chopper, and they’ll roll right over.”

“Give Geoff a fun day out without any actual violence,” Jeremy hums. “I’d like to actually shoot at someone, but it’d be fun to pretend, anyways.”

Jack chuckles a bit. “Can you live without blood and guts for one day, Rimmy?”

He huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, but then laughs. “Yeah. For Geoff.”

“For Geoff,” they agree. And the plan is set.

—

A few days later, on the day of the fight, Michael meets Gavin in the door of their shared bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the other gathers some of his camera equipment and places it in a waterproof bag. “So,” he purrs, announcing his presence. “Does that mean I get to see you in a skimpy bathing suit?”

Gavin doesn’t even have the decency to jump. But he does smile, moving over to the man as Michael shuts the door soundlessly behind him. “Guess it does. I’m sure you’ll like the view,” he grins back mercilessly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Michael teases, grinning with sharp teeth as he runs a finger down Gavin’s skin. Already tanned and lovely, Gavin really didn’t need much more sun. But his lips were still warm as he leans over to brush a kiss against Michael’s.

That wasn’t going to fly, and Michael shamelessly yanks him forward for a breathless kiss that leaves them both chuckling as they break apart. “And there’s more where that comes from later,” Michael demands as they step back. “I want no less than half an hour of uninterrupted Gavin time on a beach chair.”

Gavin laughs, eyes bright. “Is that so?”

“I want a frozen drink in one hand and my boyfriend’s hair in the other,” he says brazenly, laughing openly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Sounds great,” Gavin smirks, eyes dancing, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Now get out. I’m sure more things need to happen and Alfredo’s going to need three people to tell him he shouldn’t bring a sniper rifle to a yacht.”

“Bet you fifteen bucks Jeremy is going to throw him into the pool and by the end of the night, neither of them are going to be able to stand.”

“Fifteen bucks. Jeremy can stand. We’ll have to fish a passed out Fredo from the pool.”

“You’re on.”

—

The best thing is that Geoff has absolutely no idea that half their heist prep bags are filled with birthday decorations, swim trunks, food and drink mixes, and all sorts of other goodies. He’s all gung-ho with the idea of shaking another drug gang from their territory and as far as the birthday boy is concerned, they’re going in loud and will return home for dinner and a movie.

They take a speedboat and a few jet skis out to the yacht, moored about a mile off shore in the deeper waters. As soon as they get close, they can hear shouting echoing over the waves. Probably emphasized by the whop-whopping sound of Jack’s blades overhead as she hovers in her copter.

“You have ten minutes to fully vacate this vessel!” Jack shouts. Only her boys can hear the glee in her voice as it echos, amplified by the speakers she has attached to the helicopter. The yacht erupts in chaos, scantily clad men and women racing around. Through the scope of his sniper, Alfredo can see drinks and things being tossed overboard.

“Leave the drugs and we’ll let you go,” Jack continues to order as people continue to scream and race around. Jeremy and Michael drive their jet skis in circles around the yacht, their screams of laughter erupting as shots pock the water around them. They’re going much too fast to be hit by an untrained hand.

“Should I take the shot?” Fredo asks lazily, gun in his hand. He doesn’t expect to receive a yes, and he’s right, Geoff waves his hand, just chuckling. It’s cooler out on the water, and if he spends his birthday just chilling and watching a bunch of rich bitches freak out, that’s fine with him. “Let ‘em squirm.”

After five or so minutes, they start to board the yacht. Any stragglers who try to fight them are immediately knocked out. There’s no need to kill, not in this adventure — that would bring down more trouble than it was worth. With any luck, the kids will tell this story to their friends back at their hoitey-toitey universities and no one will have to die.

Michael joins up with Jeremy as they’re wandering around the main deck. Jeremy has his obnoxious yellow ‘Bigness’ mask over the second part of his face and Michael has paint drawn like war lines across his face in a pattern he’s affectionately named ‘Mogar’. Lingering twenty-something’s spook as they see them, racing away.

At the end of the day, Jeremy only has to throw one sod overboard. He screams as he falls the six-something feet over the back deck, hitting the water with a thwap that seems painful. Michael screams jeers after him, Jeremy laughing warmly with pleasure.

They watch as the guy swims frantically towards the circling speedboat of rich kids, who pull him on board and race away.

“Did you see that idiot?” Michael laughs, spinning Jeremy around and removing that god awful cowboy hat. “He almost pissed himself when you grabbed him.” 

“Rumors of the Rimmy Tim go a long way,” Jeremy cackles. “I wasn’t even carrying my gun.”

“You’re a god awful eyesore, J,” Gavin’s voice filters through their coms. “I’ve disabled any tracking they have in the helm, plus gps positioning. Stand by, gents — this party is just getting started!”

Geoff, standing at the bow on the top deck, lazily wraps his arm around Jack and grins. “A very merry birthday to me,” he hums. “How much coke did we salvage?”

“About $50 grand worth, I’d say,” Jeremy says from the lower decks. “Not bad for an hour and no bullets.”

“Damn,” Geoff smirks. “I love to be King.” He runs his hand over the rail of the yacht. “Alright boys, let’s scuttle this thing and head home.”

“Scuttle?” Alfredo bursts, incredulous. “No, no. Everyone gather at the hot tub in the rear of the boat — ”

“Aft, Fredy!” Gavin protests. “Gotta be sea-worthy!”

Alfredo sighs and Trevor just kisses him on the cheek with a smirk. “I’ll throw him into the sea myself,” he whispers in his ear.

“....aft, then. Jack wants to say something.”

“Something you can’t say over coms?” Geoff asks with a raised eyebrow, but at Jack’s bright grin of insistence as she pulls on his arm, he laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. But you better get this out past the twelve-mile marker soon or we’re going to have the LSPD on our asses.”

“Pulling out,” Gavin hums. “This thing is run entirely on auto-pilot. Auto-ship? What’s the correct word? Anyways, I’m steering it out now.”

Even as he says it, the ship starts turning and heading out towards the open waters. They all rock a bit, but quickly find their sea legs as they head towards the aft, where Jeremy is already pulling off his heist clothes to reveal yet another glaringly purple-and-orange outfit — this time a pair of swim trunks — and falling into the hot tub.

It’s sickeningly hot, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to take advantage of the bubbles.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive, Gavin poking at his phone to make sure they’re not going to crash into, like, an underwater bomb or something. Geoff glances around at all of them, specifically at Jeremy with swim trunks, and lets out a bit of a sigh. He can’t help but grin. “Guys…” 

“Happy birthday, Geoff,” Jack smirks from off to his left, pulling out something from her bag. It’s a firecracker, and with a tug, confetti and sparks fly out over the deck. “We’ve got snacks! Diet Coke! Party favors! And best of all…”

Michael moves over and, waving his arms in an elaborate parody, tries to encompass the entirety of the yacht they just stole. “A yacht, just for you!”

The others erupt into cheers as Geoff turns a bright red. Redder even than the sunburn that already marked his cheeks, anyways. “Boys, you didn’t have —”

“Stop,” Jack teases, shaking her head. “You know we did.” She squeezes his arm and pushes him towards the hot tub. “Now, relax.”

—

Two hours later, Geoff had discovered the massive built-in grill and was working on preparing his own birthday feast. They had protested, telling him this was his day, but he was having a blast. Gavin had hacked into the speakers and music was pumping. Currently, Jeremy and Jack were racing each other on jet skis around the yacht, screaming and yelling at one another as they zipped past with incredible speed.

Michael was focused on a different sight — namely, Gavin’s face as he leaned over him as they both sipped on fruity, icy drinks. The booze was sliding through their veins, making the world a looser, happier place, even if Trevor kept prompting him to drink water to keep him from burning in the sun. Their hair was both wet from their journey into the water, but now they were just relaxing in the warmth.

“You’re tanning,” Gavin teases, nosing into the side of his face and kissing his ear just a bit. Michael just laughs. “I’m fuckin’ from Jersey, man, what do you expect.” Gavin’s resulting musical chuckle makes him blush a bit.

“Whores,” Alfredo comments dryly as he strolls past, but his grin shows he’s only teasing. He’s got some fruit concoction in one hand and was making beeline towards where Trevor was waiting for him on another deck chair. Everyone knew he couldn’t resist making a playful comment, but it doesn’t matter. Michael was feeling real good, and teasing wasn’t going to stand. 

He lurches up, dumping Gavin unceremoniously from his lap. “What did you say, you ass?” he calls, stumbling after Alfredo, who bursts out into laughter and flees to the dock. Gavin sits up and throws something at Geoff, who turns from the grill with amusement.

“Catch me if you can, bastard!” Alfredo laughs, dodging his attempts at capture with dexterity that no one should be capable of with so much booze inside him. But Michael has the dogged persistence of a man who loved to cause chaos, and it’s not long before he’s captured Alfredo in a tackle hold that sends the other squirming.

“God!” Michael grumbles, “You’re disgusting, you ass, so fucking sweaty! Have you gone swimming yet?”

“No!” Alfredo shouts, struggling, and they grapple for a few moments, laughing, before they lurch towards the edge of the dock.

No amount of struggling and playful yelling could stop this — Michael chunks Alfredo unceremoniously over the side of the dock. He spirals, arms and legs akimbo, until he splashes into the warm water of the Pacific with a yelp.

Everyone on board erupts into laughter as he surfaces, sputtering out insults and making sure he didn’t get water up his nose.

“Dick,” Alfredo mutters as he climbs back on deck, sprawling into the sun as soon as he lands there, spitting out water. Michael leans over him with a playful grin. “Don’t call me a whore again,” he says with his roguish grin and returns to Gavin’s waiting arms, who was giggling the whole time.

—

It’s truly insane just how much booze they get through, even if Geoff isn’t imbibing. The day trails on with a mixture of swimming adventures — Jack finds a few sets of snorkels in one of the unfortunate college student’s stuff — and launches into teaching a few very drunk boys the wonders of fish and coral. They are pretty decent swimmers even with a few bottles of booze inside them and only once does a rescue need to be made for Gavin, who is rapidly losing his ability to stand.

Geoff serves them an elaborate feast of steak, burgers, and dogs, supplemented with potato chips, potato salad, and regular salad. A true barbeque, and they eat like animals, ripping into it all.

Jeremy finds himself leaning against Jack at one point in the meal, and she gently puts more water in front of him and kisses him on the top of the head. She’s feeling good herself, nowhere near losing control but enough to be a bit more free with her affection.

She loves these idiots from the bottom of her heart. It warms her even more than the sun to see Geoff smiling so brightly, Gavin and him laughing about something foolish, Jeremy and Michael holding hands even as Michael tosses bits of bun at Alfredo to catch in his mouth, Trevor kissing him on the cheek every time he manages to catch one. Even if Trevor and Alfredo were their own little couple, they were family. They were her family.

Michael catches her smile and returns it. He looks tanner now, sunburn catching the tip of his ears and the curve of his shoulders, but it’s just great to see him so relaxed and happy.

They needed this. Summer just meant shorter nights which pushed for more intense heists with a shorter getaway period. She knew more than anyone the lengths to which they were working to be better, better, better. Geoff had said it themselves — they were Kings of Los Santos, but at what cost?

But today, it was a break from that. It was time for sun and surf, for snorkeling and barbeque dinners, for unrestrained booze (within reason, of course) and even less restrained smiles.

Her family. Criminals all, but criminals who lived and loved same as anyone.

—

As the sun sent cascading beams of color across the sky, Geoff rolls his shoulders and grins from where he was enjoying reading his book without assholes interrupting him every ten minutes. “This yacht is the best fuckin’ birthday present a guy could ask for. Better than dicks.” 

“What could be better than dicks?” Michael teases from where he was trying to see if he could balance on a surfboard in a handstand. Gavin’s request. Sometimes he wonders why he gets himself into this mess.

He drops into the water with a crash when a very sunburned Gavin turns to him. “Geoffrey, you’re going to miss the best part!”

“Best part?” He blinks, putting his book down a bit. “What do you mean? There’s more?”

Jeremy’s all grins. “Yeah. Fireworks.”

Of course there are fireworks. And not just any fireworks. Big ones, ones that are illegal all across the county and into California and beyond. Ones that could set forest fires. But for guys who play with real explosives, these are nothing.

He’s just about to ask where they are when Jack comes strolling back over to them, her Hawaiian shirt tied across her bikini top. He has to practically force himself to listen to her instead of losing himself in how pretty she is.

“I’ve rigged them,” she grins, shooting the Lads two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Alfredo helped.” His diabolical laugh when he comes out from behind them and how bright Alfredo’s eyes are is never a good sign for anyone’s safety.

“If anyone knows anything about rigging about thirty wires together in one long fuse, it’s Fredo,” Trevor teases from his place on the deck. Alfredo refuses to look ashamed, just grins like a loon. “Gonna be a hell of a show. Short, though.”

Geoff rolls his eyes, but they can see the smirk he tries to hide. “Okay, assholes, get going then. I’m not going to miss the giant fireworks show on my birthday.” The other Lads race over, following the Gents as best they can when they’re all pretty shit-faced. Michael and Jeremy need to hold onto each other, giggling as they try not to fall down, but with the help of one another they climb the stairs to the top deck and look across the way. There’s a bunch of rockets — nearly literal rockets, not fireworks — strapped to the roof of the rooftop deck across the ship, a good 100 meters away.

“Here goes nothing,” Alfredo says once everyone is assembled and looking up into the beautiful night sky. He slams his hand down on the button and watches as the fireworks erupt up into the sky, exploding in a burst of color and sound.

It’s not the most professional fireworks show. It’s loud and hot and they have to dodge a bit of flaming debris. Michael is literally whooping, jumping up and down, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. Gavin squawks, diving behind Geoff and watching with wide eyes as the leader of the Fake AH Crew watches the sheer destructive force his boys put together, just for him.

“That was awesome, boys,” he grins as it finally settles down. “Good as dicks.” The night air grows quiet and they’re left, just them, the ocean, and the sizzling debris in the water. Smiling at one another, sunburnt and heat exhausted and drunk and looking towards bed, they start turning as one towards the stairs.

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag LII

the only writing I did today was create prompts and make a summary but it was still 700 words so whatever. here’s is an open tag by @akindofmagictoo but no jam on toast for her because we only have peach and that is nope.

away (Summon story)

“Still,” Shae said a moment later, wrinkling her nose. “You didn’t have to take it out just for us to see.”

Wryn leveled a prickly glare at her. She looked away without saying anything else.

Zan was louder in his indigence, flicking a pebble at Wryn. It bounced off their shoulder harmlessly.

“I will cut your throat again,” Wryn said pleasantly.

ship (Rain story)

Jaino came back each day for a week, and each day he had longer conversations with the boy, learning that his family were farmers but it had been a bad harvest. The boy had an older sister and Jaino had to hide when the boy was talking with her. Jaino would watch the boy steal things and not think of stopping him and they talked afterward about economics and ships and other things that surprised both of them that the other knew about.

leave (Youth story)

Mark sighed in Cal’s general direction when the younger boy sat down on the other end of the couch. “What do you want?”

Cal pulled out his phone and appeared to be doing something on it, but it could have been a pretense. “Everyone else was debating whether to follow you to see what’s up or leave you alone and it didn’t sound like they were going to reach a decision any time soon.”

morning (Anxiety story)

He still cried at night. Every morning with christened with red eyes, either from silent, broken sobbing or from relentless nightmares. Those were new. Bad dreams were a common enough occurrence in the past, but nothing like the horrors that his unconscious mind concocted now. Every fear he'd ever developed would find corporeal shape and breathe down his neck, causing him to wake in a panic. More often than not, he'd bite down on his lip to keep himself from screaming. The pain of it was a terrible balm.

(oh yikes, that was a real downer. have another one.)

Aiden opened the door of his dorm building at 4:13am to a very floppy Theo who promptly pulled him back up to his room and collapsed on his bed. Being still somewhat asleep, Aiden didn't bother thinking anything of it and just plopped down beside him and blinked sleepily, for a few moments, watching Theo's chest rise and fall. Then an arm reached out and hooked around his waist, making Aiden smile as he rolled toward his friend.

"Just go back to sleep. We'll go back to Ree's when it's actually morning," Theo murmured with his eyes still shut.

"Why are you here when it's not actually morning?" Aiden yawned, burrowing into the nest of Theo's warmth.

"So I can sleep, obviously. You're my teddy bear so be quiet and teddy-like."

Aiden was already falling asleep, so this sentence made perfect sense to him. Plus, he was totally willing to receiving cuddly attention a little earlier than planned.

ah, much better. nothing like cuddles to end the night with. right. who shall I tape notes to this time? @lend-your-lungs-to-me @vylequinne @songoftheabyss @talesofsorrowandofruin @shellyscribbles

Words: obvious, scream, appear, moment, and decision.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/55580260

Chapter 9:

The next morning Nick woke up to the soft tune of cheery music that came from the radio that used to wake everyone up every day. He instead hadn’t heard it for a long time now, because he had usually overslept it or he had been to high to notice it. Still tired, Nick looked out of the window into the twilight of the morning and asked himself how anyone could stand up at such an unearthly hour. But some Wellies were already walking outside, so he guessed they got used to it. And also, they didn’t experience any wild chases yesterday.

The music followed him when he walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, where he met Morrie. He could only rasp „Morning,“ and had to clear his throat because for some reason his voice left him. 

„Morning, Nick“, Morrie returned casually. „Fancy a coffee?“ 

Nick affirmed immediately.

„There you go,“ the other man said and placed an already filled cup on the counter. „With milk, just the way you like it.“

Nick stared at the cup, still dealing with his own thoughts. He was unable to decide how he should feel. He couldn’t handle that he was in one room with Morrie just like that, without getting attacked, drinking a coffee with him like old friends and that Morrie even cared enough to serve it the way he liked. Nick felt numb, as if it was a dream, as if he would still lie at the couch in Sally’s place and yet it was like he held back feelings that could break out any second. Above all, he didn’t know how to act, especially not after what they had done last night. Had Morrie been serious or did he only want some amusement? 

„There must be something terribly interesting in that coffee if you keep staring at it like that,“ Morrie ripped him out of his thoughts. „As if you wanted to summon a ghost.“

At Nick’s puzzled look he added „You tried that before.“

„Really?“, Nick blurted out. „I can’t remember.“

He took a sip from the hot drink, thinking about it and he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his chest. Why did Morrie have to bring old memories back? Who knew how long that had been.

„Nevermind.“ Morrie shrugged. „Uncle Jack’s News Hour is about to start, I don’t wanna miss that.“

Nick followed him into the living room, asking himself what was the last time he actually watched a broadcast of Uncle Jack. That was certainly a long time ago too. 

„Wakey, wakey, everyone! It’s another fabulous day in Wellington Wells…“ declared the charismatic and ever so jolly uncle from the telly and minutes later, Nick was sure that everything was quite alright after all, that there were no serious problems in town, that everything could be solved with just a bit more confidence, and joy, of course, and that everyone in town had a lot of fun every day. His mood was getting better and better until it came to the news of an incident in the Avalon Hotel. 

„Some of you might’ve heard rumors about a downer attack at the Birdie Callagher Concert in the Avalon Hotel last evening. What a ridiculous story“, Jack shook his head, sounding all amused. 

„The truth is, it was a way too well played out theater act to add some spice to the program. No one was really hurt and our lovely singer Birdie Callagher lets you know that it was indeed a very pleasant event and she’s exited to return to the Avalon whenever she can.“ Jack smiled at the camera and put the papers away.

„And don’t worry,“ he added and playfully held up a finger, „if there’ll ever be a downer attack somewhere, you’ll hear it fist from Jack Worthing. That’s me.“ He winked at the camera in an irresistible way. „And for now, let’s listen to the brand new song of our favorite new singer.“ With that, the broadcast ended and was followed by a cheerful song that must’ve been one of Birdie’s. 

„Anytime you smile, baby, you know you drive me wild, crazy! That's why you got me screamin'. I think I might be dreamin’…“

Nick’s stomach turned at the thought of having to listen to this until the end. Then thankfully Morrie turned off the tv.

„I heard she’s Virgil’s creation, just like you,“ he stated.

„I’m not his ‚creation‘“, Nick disapproved. „I’m just his favorite.“

„You were,“ Morrie corrected him. „Weren’t you in the Avalon too? And didn’t the bobbies chase you yesterday?“ 

Nick sank into the couch, clinging to the now empty mug and remaining silent, so Morrie went on.

„I was wondering if you only made it up to make me come around. I guess I have my answer.“

„I’m not proud of it,“ Nick simply said, still looking away.

Morrie silenced too and Nick now wondered how he would judge him now.

„Since when have you been a downer?“, he suddenly asked and Nick almost let the mug fall.

„I’m not a downer,“ he bursted out. „Murderer, downer, what’s gonna be next?“

Morrie stayed calm and took a sip of his coffee before he went on.

„Are you on Joy right now?“

Nick sank back down in defeat.

„No…,“ he confessed. „I forgot it in my jacket.“

Morrie wiped his forehead.

„Why am I not surprised?“

He took a bowl from the couch table and offered it to Nick.

„Here, take one of mine.“

„Only one,“ he repeated when he saw Nick greedily reaching out for the bowl.

„I know, I know, only one per hour. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.“ Nick took one pill and eyed it.

„You’re still taking Vanilla?“

Morrie shrugged. „It’s still the best mixture. Makes me happy but not dizzy.“

Nick popped it and hoped it would come along with the Blackberry.

„About yesterday…“, Morrie came back to the topic and gave Nick a serious look. „Do you still mean it?“

Nick was glad he only needed seconds to get what Morrie was referring to.

„Yes, I absolutely mean it,“ he answered with emphasis and returned the look.

„It’s gonna be hard work,“ Morrie said. „Do you still remember how a band works?“

„Sure, it’s nothing but a bunch of egomaniacs that try to get their own way. Actually it can’t work but somehow it still does. Right?“

Morrie sighted.

„You couldn’t do all you want anymore.“

„I know.“ 

Nick tried to remember what it felt like, but the Vanilla cloud in his head spread out and made him unable to believe that there could be a problem.

„One more question,“ Morrie went on. „Do you think Virgil knows what you did yesterday?“

The question caused Nick to wriggle about on the couch, feeling very uncomfortable.

„I hope he doesn’t,“ he said meekly.

„Okay…II talk to the lads today and you make amends for Virgil,“ Morrie decided and pointed at Nick. „Do your best! Kiss his feet if you must!“

„I’ll make it“, Nick waved him off. „He always came around at the end.“

„Or you did…“, Morrie muttered to himself.

„What did you say?“

„Ah…nevermind…“, Morrie shook his head and Nick chose to forget about it.

„Well…I guess I’m out then…“, he said unsurely and left the couch.

„Wait,“ Morrie followed him. „Not in these rags. You can’t risk that someone recognizes you again. I’ll borrow you some of mine.“

„You borrow me clothes?“, Nick asked in surprise.

„Yes, that’s what I said. Follow me..“. Morrie made a gesture and Nick obeyed nervously. He had never worn one of Morrie’s clothes - why would he? But he was surprised that he got to that point now after so many years. While he leaned at the doorframe he tried not to look at Morrie’s stuff while the other man was searching in his dresser. 

„It’s gonna be one size too large for you but the color should suit you,“ he said pulling out a dark blue suit that made Nick weak in the knees. He couldn’t help but imagine Morrie wearing it.

„I’m waiting downstairs,“ Morrie said and left the room.

Nick didn’t want to have such strong feelings about such simple things as a suit but putting on a layer that had Morrie’s scent on it was something he couldn’t take calmly. He skimmed over the cloth and felt sorry that he couldn’t keep it. Going back to Morrie, he tried not to show how much it affected him.

However, Morrie was confused today too. If someone had told him yesterday that he was going to let Nick Lightbearer back into his life he would’ve thought that someone was suffering from too much Joy. He had been so sure he had learned his lesson once and for all, until he found him on his doorstep again, being afraid and helpless, with his clothes dirty and shredded, giving him this pleading look that he could barely withstand, especially when he looked like Norbert Pickles, with this cute messed up hair…

Morrie had locked him up in the guestroom because he couldn’t handle the sight, because he had been afraid to soften again, to let Nick use him for his selfish plans and then throw him away again. But of course he couldn’t forget who he had let into his house and he couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Morrie was glad that he didn’t hurt Nick but he still couldn’t trust him. Even if he wanted to. He wanted to believe that Nick changed, that the monster the music industry had turned him into was gone and that he had turned back into Norbert Pickles again. Morrie had no greater wish than to get him back and at the same time he was afraid to lose him once more, to find out that all of this was just a short moment in the eccentric life of the Lightbearer and he would walk out of the door and never come back again.

Perhaps his fears had been the reason why he had lost all is good grace and taken the opportunity yesterday. What he had really wanted, he didn’t know. As if he could get Norbert back with this, showing him what he lost, but trying to be not too nice, to protect himself. It was like begging or punishing him or both. Or he had only comforted himself and used Nick just like he had used him.

Whatever the reason was, he knew that he shouldn’t have done it.

„Nick, before you go…I have to tell you something…about last night…“ Morrie said when Nick came back, dressed in his clothes. Morrie’s voice was quiet and he bowed his head as if he couldn’t handle looking Nick in the eyes. Nick however couldn’t get his eyes off him and waited eagerly for what he was about to say. 

„I shouldn’t have done this…“, he said meekly.

Nick was upset. It was not at all what he had hoped for.

„You think it was a mistake?“

Morrie still looked down to the floor.„I should’ve contained myself,“ he almost whispered. Then he took courage to look up again and their eyes met.

„Can you forgive me?“

Nick was melting away at the sight, and still, his decision was fixed.

„No,“ he answered and shook his head, causing Morrie to give him a shocked look.

„I can’t forgive you that you think it was mistake. And I’ll change your mind. Just you wait.“

With that, he turned around and stormed out of the front door.

„Norbert!“, Morrie shouted after him but Nick was already out of reach. All he could do was watching him go and fighting down his worries.

Nick reached the Avalon without making any new enemies for once and used the secret entrance to his suite that Virgil had installed for him. First, he carefully looked around the room to see if any fan had sneaked past the staff and was lying around somewhere. When he didn’t find anyone, he crawled out from under the bar and started changing into his fancy rags with regret. 

However, he also noticed how much he had missed them and how he slowly turned into his full self again. In the bathroom he adjusted his wig - finally some hair he could tame! He felt much more comfortable in his skin when he returned to his bed where he had left Morrie’s suit. He carefully folded it, something he never did, but he knew how accurate Morrie was with his things and he didn’t want to anger him at any cost.

Still, he shortly cuddled into the jacket to take in the scent before he folded it back on the bed.

After that he hoped to find Virgil in the hotel. He assumed he was in the breakfast lounge because the buffet was still open. He left the suite, now being Nick Lightbearer again and strode along the corridor where he met a boy who’s face fell at the sight of him. 

„Lovely day for it,“ Nick greeted him in an overenthusiastic way.

„Right as rain,“ the boy said half-heartedly.

„I can’t hear you,“ Nick insisted, smiling widely.

At that the boy put on a silky mile.

„Right as rain, Mr. Lightbearer, Sir!“, he greeted him with fake excitement.

„There we go!“, Nick said and laughed as he made his way down the stays, not noticing the rude gesture the boy threw after him. It wouldn’t have changed his mood anyway. No one would take him for the rotten downer he had been yesterday. 

With an expansive gesture he pushed open the wooden double doors leading to the breakfast lounge and strode in, looking around for Virgil.

Then he walked around the room, searching the tables, all aware that the guests were staring at him, either in disgust or with awe. It was likely that Virgil had already seen him if he was in this room. 

Nick stopped when his gaze fell on a thick blonde mane in a corner of the lounge. The man in the purple suit who sat next to her could only be Virgil. Of course, Nick thought to himself. He should’ve known that Virgil wouldn’t give up on Birdie just because someone gave him a black eye. Nick had to act like nothing happened.

He approached them while they talked silently to each other and didn’t take note of Nick. They jumped when he loudly knocked on the table right between them.

„May I join?“, he asked with amusement, ignoring Virgil’s annoyed look.

„Did I interrupt you?“, he added and gave Virgil a suggestive look.

„Nick,“ Virgil almost blurted that out but he caught himself halfway. „…

allow me to introduce Miss Birdie Callagher. Miss Callagher…“ he made a gesture towards Nick, „…Nick Lightbearer.“

„Birdie Callagher, really? I’ve heard so much about you…“, Nick said and tried not to stare too much.

„I hope only happy things,“ she answered and offered him her hand which he gently kissed. „It’s a pleasure to meet you.“

When he looked up to her he saw that she was giving him her ravishing smile with a mixture of surprise. Content with himself, he turned back to Virgil to say: „When you’re finished I’d like to talk to you in private.“

The look Virgil gave him was unreadable, but he answered: „Alright, wait for me in your suite. I’ll come along.“

With that, Nick was dismissed and doomed to wait. He hated waiting but he had to please Virgil, so he shortly said goodbye to Birdie and went back to his suite and stretched himself out on the big couch.

After what had felt like an eternity his manager finally granted him a visit and slumped down on the couch next to him.

„I’m glad you’re back to your senses“, he said with an emphasis that told Nick he could stop acting.

„You know it…“, he only said and tensed.

„Of course,“ Virgil shouted. „Wasn’t hard to guess. I’ve known you for years! I have to give it to you though, you surprised me. I thought you stay in the tunnel and let me make a good deal without mistaking it all. I should’ve known you would come to steal the show.“

„So..you..didn’t ditch me?“, Nick asked meekly.

„Hell no, do you think I can only have one star at a time? You still had a chance. And what were you doing with it?“ Virgil pointed a finger at Nick’s face. „How long has it been since you promised me to get your shit together? Two days? And then you showed up as a downer.“

„I*m sorry I hurt you, Virgil. Are you alright?“

„I’m fine,“ he waved him off. „But did you think about Birdie for one second? She almost had a breakdown, didn’t see a downer before and the doctors were busy all night to cheer her up again. You could’ve ruined her, made her a downer. Perhaps that was your plan.“

„No, believe me, I had…no plan. None at all…“ Nick didn’t dare to look Virgil in the eyes anymore. He just curled up and hoped he could make it up to him.

„Well, that’s not a surprise. Thank god you didn’t freak her out again. I wonder how you got back in such a good shape today.“

„Yeah…actually…I’ve managed to do something right yesterday. That’s what I wanted to tell you.“

„Yeah, what? Surprise me again.“

„I think I can get my old band back.“

„You…think?“, Virgil squinted his eyes.

„Well…I convinced Morrie to join me again and he’s gonna talk to the band today and likely he’ll have them gathered back together by morning.“

„That’s indeed a surprise… Morrie Memento, ey? He’s sensible, he could do you well…“ Virgil thought about it, already back to business. „But…Nick?“

„Yes?“

Virgil gave him an urgent look.

„Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want. You better tell me first  before you do it.“

Nick was puzzled.

„….okay?“

Virgil got up from the couch without further explanation. 

„Well, then, I’ll go prepare a happy reunion I guess. And you…“, he looked at him sternly and pointed a finger at him. „You keep your head clear.“

„Yes, Virgil,“ Nick was eager to obey. „And…Virgil?“, he carefully held his manager back and locked gazes again.

„I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.“

Virgil didn’t look angry anymore.

„You trust me now?“

„Yes.“ 

[seeyouinthenextlife]

This Is(n’t) Real?

-- heyyo here’s some angsty platonic King x Helbram oneshot I wrote earlier. Diane is in it towards the end but it’s super brief. (Ps- formatting is kinda wonky on the app so, sorry if it all looks weird. Also, the setting of the story is a bit messy LOL. Maybe if I continue this I can figure out how to make the timelines work but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ oh also should mention sPoiLeRs for if you’re not caught up on the manga and I guess haven’t watched all of the anime either so like?? read at your own risk????) --  “What do you mean this isn’t real?” Half teasing, Helbram laughed at King before playfully flicking him (much to King’s displeasure), “Was that not real?” The fairy wore a crooked smile, trying to stifle a laugh as he cracked himself up. 

Sighing, King’s expression dropped from slightly annoyed and panicky to lost. Though, not the lost as in location wise but lost as in emotionally adrift. His expression wasn’t the only thing to drop though. Gaze once on his best friend now looked out towards the horizon with dull interest. 

Helbram’s lips twitched—that crooked smile faltered but for just a moment. A new smile surfaced. One of warmth and tenderness, he reserved this for the more serious matters. He flew closer towards King, his hand had just started to extend outwards towards King-

“No. It’s not. This is just a dream. You’re not really Helbram, you’re just my memory of him..” he trailed off, watching the sky grow darker as the sun set in his forest. He’s had dreams like this countless times now. Though he always woke himself up when he realized he was dreaming. King didn’t want to spend more time in this nightmare scenario. “This,” he gestured around the two of them, “All burned down many years ago. You were already dead by then.” As he spoke the words, the forrest went up in flames. 

“Geez, Harlequin,” Helbram dramatically sighed, “Always such a downer.” A chuckle left him. “You’re always too busy fixating on all the wrong things and overthinking yourself into panics that you don’t see all your options.” 

King only clenched his jaw and shook his head at Helbram’s words. As well as closing his eyes tightly, King then dropped his head. Having only then to look at what was left of the ground, King trembled but kept silent. He didn’t want to hear any of this, he knew it was true. It was his own subconscious telling him off anyways. And just how many times had it conjured up Helbram to talk some sense into him now? It didn’t matter though—he didn’t want to be lectured by himself in the form of his deceased best friend in the ruins of where they once called their home for many centuries.

“You never let yourself enjoy the good moments. You let so much pass you by because you focus on the bad things instead of the good. Hell, you won’t even look at me, Harlequin. You did before but only until you realized this was a dream. Why do you think you’re avoiding looking at me, huh? Because you’re focusing on this me, right?” With the words spoken he flew in front of King, grabbing his shoulders to keep the fairy king from flying away.

Though reluctant, King looked at Helbram for a moment before looking away, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. What King saw was blood gushing out from his best friend’s nose, mouth and chest—going off of how much blood was soaking and staining the shirt Helbram wore.

“You’re stuck on a version of me that you feel you failed. You keep flying away from making your peace with what’s happened. You don’t even see me, Harlequin, you’re seeing your inability to grieve and move on. To forgive yourself. To grow. You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, every action and inaction leads you down some path. Don’t fixate on always trying to figure it out and then do the right thing. Listen to yourself, don’t debate yourself on every little matter.” There was a moment of silence where Helbram just smiled at King. Looking at King and easily being able to feel just how proud and fond Helbram has always been of his best friend, “I can’t imagine how badly your head must want you to take a break on over analyzing everything.” Helbram feigned concern, one hand to his chest while the other was thrown up to obscure some of his face in an obviously theatrical manner.

King is only a little surprised when he doesn’t get whiplash. With Helbram switching from serious to silly so often—and in record time—as much is expected any time things start to get tense.

“You poor thing,” the greenish-blond mockingly pouted, “Your head must be an endless screaming void of all different thoughts. What a nightmare!” He tried to hold back a giggle, though behind his teasing, he, too, knew the weight of a mind that never knows peace.

A scoff from King had Helbram raising a brow, a knowing smirk placed on Helbram’s face as King began to speak, “And here I thought you were going to be serious and not spew more jokes for once,” King sighed but there was a small smile painted on him. 

Helbram smiled, too, “Ah, and here I thought you liked my jokes.” He flew a short distance away from King and covered his face with both his hands, “Harlequin, why must you break my heart so?!” He shouted dramatically.

That gained a small chuckle from the fairy king as well as his eyes shifting to look at his older friend. Helbram turned around and peaked at King through his fingers. Upon seeing King giving an amused look his way, Helbram returned his hands back to his sides and flew closer towards King again.

“So your majesty finds such a sight as myself worthy of his time?” Arms crossed behind his head while he crossed his legs while floating a short distance away from King, Helbram continued, “I’m flattered, yes, but it is known to all that I, Helbram, am one hell of a sight to behold.” He smirked after winking at King, who laughed at Helbram’s antics.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, they now gazed upon the stars—side by side. Moonlight was illuminating them dimly and King spoke up suddenly, “You’re wrong, you know.”

“Hmm, I highly doubt that but do tell me so I might have a laugh,” Helbram teased his friend yet again.

King only smiled softly, “I’ve always seen you. No matter if it was you telling some lame joke, showing off some peculiar trinket you’ve collected from humans, smiling away as you always tried to keep things light, when you went lost your mind, when you begged me to kill you, when you sacrificed your soul in hopes of returning Diane back to normal or any other time. I have always seen you, Helbram.”

“Harlequin..” Helbram murmured in shock as he looked over at King during this sudden confession.

“I just-” King continued, tears running down his face now, “I really miss you, Helbram, so much. You always were and always will be the most precious friend I had the honor and privilege of calling my best friend.” He paused before he looked over to see a speechless Helbram, a smile so big on his face as tears still flooded his face, “I hope I make you proud and can show you your sacrifices weren’t in vain. I hope I can be as compassionate and opened minded of a fairy as you were. And lastly, I wish I could have told you all of this before you died, again.” With that he pulled Helbram into a tight embrace, “Farewell..” he mumbled softly before fading out as he woke up from his dream.

}|{   }|{   }|{

Waking up into reality, King sat up and rubbed his face of the tears he cried while asleep. A sad but yet simultaneously endearing smile covered his face. Looking out the window to see the morning sky he spoke aloud, softly, to no one in particular, “I hope you’re not really gone, I hope your soul is still out there enjoying your afterlife.”

“Hnng, King..?” Diane, three-quarters of the way still asleep, rolled over and cuddled into his side. 

«You go make Diane happy.»

Grinning down at Diane, King ran his fingers through her hair as he heard Helbram’s final words to him in his head again. “I will.”

Meanwhile in the ruins of the previous Fairy King’s Forrest

«[...]And lastly, I wish I could have told you all of this before you died, again.”»

With tears streaming down his face, Helbram looked at the same brightly colored sky. A smile so big it hurt adorning his face as he cried, “Oh, look what you’ve done,” he laughed, though it quickly turned back to crying, “Your crybaby tendencies are rubbing off on me now.” He shook his head and took a deep breath as he flew up.

«“I really miss you, Helbram, so much.”»

“I can’t seem to get rid of you, now can I?” He laughed. It was clear, though, that this was his way of saying he misses King too. He flew far up above the remainder of the burnt trees of the old forest, not taking his eyes away from the sky, “Such a fool..”

«”I wish I could have told you. [...] Farewell..”»

“You did tell me, though..” he had calmed down now, the last of his tears falling from his eyes, “Farewell indeed, Harlequin.”

[broken-clover]

12 Days of Whump- Search Party

Technically not late! At least one was posted before midnight. I hope to heck tomorrow’s actually comes in on time. I didn’t proofread as well as I usually do, I’ll look over it in the morning just to see if I can make it any better.

Day 11 of the 12 days of Whump- Search Party, featuring Zappa, Faust, and the Paranormal Investigation Team!

“Maan, it’s been a wild year, huh?”

Zappa perked up at that, turning to look at Randy. “I suppose so. What makes you say that now?”

“Are you serious, where have you been?” The man wore a cheshire smile as he leaned back in his chair. “Did’ja forget the fact that the last time we were in here, we wound up solving a mystery with demons and most up us wound up missing for two weeks?”

“Ah. Right.” Zappa paled a little. “I was hoping I’d finally be able to repress that memory.”

“You were the only one who didn’t fly out of a building like a goddamn firework! Besides, there was also the whole ‘end of the world because the pope turned out to be a genocidal robot’ thing.”

“Aside from that, though, has it really been that interesting? Up until the last couple of months, nothing was really happening.”

Randy’s smile fell. “Why’re you being such a downer today?”

Zappa shrugged. “Just don’t feel like teasing fate, is all. There’s only a few hours left until the new year, so I want to try and make it without any other accidents.”

“My food’s ready!” Alexis burst through the door, hoisting a dish of some kind of pasta. “Did you guys finish already?”

“I brought some drinks from home!” Randy gestured to a trio of colorful bottles on the table. “Nothing alcoholic, though, they wouldn’t let me ship that across country borders.”

The woman laughed at that, putting her steaming container down. “Bummer. How ‘bout you, Zappa? Anything good from Australia?”

“My mother sent some of the jams we make with the crops we grow.” He reached out and picked up a jar. “It’s really good on toast! The onion jelly is my favorite.”

“Who the heck makes jelly out of onions?” Shaking his head, Randy made a little gagging noise. “Friggin Australians…”

“Greetings, paranormal team! I come bearing food!”

All three turned to the door, bearing various shades of confusion as a too-tall figure ducked inside the room.

“Dr. Faust?” Zappa asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Spreading some festivity!” The bag-headed man’s voice was at its usual whimsical tone. “Mr Kiske mentioned there was some New Year’s celebration. I’d planned to head out in the morn, so a bit of last-minute festivities seemed apt before my departure! If it helps, I did bring my own dish to contribute.”

Randy glanced at his companions. “Listen, doc, I dunno why-”

“-You feel like you’d be unwelcome!” Alexis cut him off. “By all means, find a seat! We’d love to try whatever it is you’ve made!”

Faust lit up at that, though it was hard to tell with his face obscured. “Well, don’t mind if I do!”

It didn’t take long after that for the rest of the paranormal investigation team to show up, with everyone bringing a different dish to add to the swiftly-growing pile on the table. A few people eyes Faust’s unexpected appearance with wariness, but most of them were too caught up in the festive mood to react with more than a quick glance.

“Here’s to a new year, guys!”

“Hold it, Randy!” Someone interjected. “It’s New Years! We can’t toast without champagne!”

“Huh? Why not?”

“I dunno...just feels wrong, I guess.”

Someone else sent Faust an aside glance. “Should we really be discussing champagne around a doctor?”

“A bit of alcohol can be good for the cardiovascular system!” Faust chimed in. “Besides, I’m not immune to indulgences, myself. No need to hesitate around me!”

“Uhh, doc?” Randy said. “What exactly is it that you brought?”

“Hmm? Ah, I suppose I forgot to say that, didn’t I?” He made a little gesture towards his dish, a mix of something white in a red sauce. “Mapo tofu! Very popular where I grew up. A bit spicy, but very tasty.”

Someone raised their spoon. “Oh, oh, pass it! I wanna try!”

The team fell into loud, cheerful chatter, swapping stories and memories from the past year and their hopes for the next. Everyone seemed to lose track of time as the pitch-black sky opened up and began dumping down snow, creating a beautiful view through the unobscured windows.

Before long, the numerous dishes had been almost picked clean. “Ohhh, whoever brought the ziti, it was delicious, and also I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Alexis shook her head in disappointment. “Why did you eat so much, Randy?”

“Such good sauce....right, Zappa?”

When he got no response, he sat up and looked around. “Zappa? Where’d he go?”

“He mentioned he was leaving to go and get something.” Replied Faust. “Though, now that you mention it, it has been a rather long amount of time since I’ve seen him.”

“Randy, do you have his com?” Alexis asked.

“Yeah, good point. I’ll just send him a ping and see where he’s gone to. I’m sure it’s nothing…”

The chatter in the room quickly settled down as the magic com rang once, twice. It kept ringing over and over again, as the atmosphere grew more and more tense.

”Hi, um, this is Zappa, please leave a message-”

“The heck?” Randy looked at his own fading com in disbelief. “I can’t think of the last time he hasn’t picked up. Maybe the weather’s messing with it?”

Faust was already out of his chair. “This is concerning. Would everyone be willing to partake in a search before dessert?”

Unsure murmurs were passed between the group. Ultimately, nobody seemed to have any major objections, though the current ambiguity was making people worry.

“Here, this is the frequency for his magic-com, keep trying to call it until we can get him to pick up.” Randy gave a quick demonstration. “He can’t have gone too far. I guess we can split up into groups and look around whatever shops are still open and see if they’ve seen him at all.”

Despite the initial aversion, the team easily divided themselves into smaller groups and started heading out via the nearest castle exit. The weather was just as unpleasant as it looked, and everyone was immediately buffeted by snow.

“Sheesh, what the hell possessed him to go out in this weather?” Wrapping arms across his chest, Randy looked back and forth before picking a direction and starting to walk, followed closely behind by Faust and Alexis.

“I’m not sure. Though considering the temperature, it does concern me quite a bit. I do hope he’s managed to find shelter.” Faust said.

The town outside of the castle’s walls was bright with lights, but very few buildings were open so late with it being so late on New Year’s. Randy kept trying to make calls, only to be met with the answering machine over and over again.

“The grocer said he hasn’t seen him?”

Alexis shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Dammit. I’ll try calling again.”

Faust perked up. “Mr Randy, is your com malfunctioning?”

“Huh? No, why do you ask?”

“I’m getting an odd sort of feedback. Miss Alexis, is your com running?”

“No?”

“Then why…”

The doctor took off running down the snow-covered path, leaving his two companions behind. Randy and Alexis exchanged looks before sprinting off after him.

“The heck is he doing?” She asked.

“Finally lost it? I don’t know much about the guy. Just try not to lose him!”

As it turned out, Faust hadn’t been running off for no reason. As the two of them turned around the next corner, they spotted the man hunched over next to a lump half-buried in the snow.

“Is that…?”

“There we are, there we go.” Faust was muttering quietly, barely audible over the wind. He brushed his long fingers over the snow, feeling something underneath it. “Just keep ticking. I know it’s cold out. You’re going to be fine.”

In one smooth motion, he pulled the shape out of the snow and held it tightly. When he turned back around, Alexis and Randy realized that it was in fact Zappa, curled up in a ball and seemingly unconscious.

“He was out here the whole time?” Alexis sounded horrified. “Is he dead?”

“No, no.” Faust’s voice was unexpectedly calm. “Just cold. We’re going home now.”

It was Randy’s turn to be confused. “Home? What are you going on about? What about us?”

The doctor made a little motion with one hand. A green door suddenly appeared in the middle of the street. When it swung open, they weren’t greeted with the sight of the other end of the street. Instead, it opened up to reveal a dark, unfamiliar landscape, filled with odd somethings that neither of them could identify from a glance.

“Of course you’re coming with us. Step inside my door.”

The two looked at each other again, and reluctantly followed Faust inside.

++++++

What seemed like only a second later, the small group was dumped back out into the dining room, with everything exactly as they’d left it.

Aliexis looked back at the door as it swung shut and began to fade. “W-what the hell was that?!”

Randy looked around. “Huh?”

“In the door? Didn’t you see that?”

“Nah, I blinked.”

“You blinked?!”

While the two squabbled, Faust made his way over to one of the room’s couches, settling Zappa down on it. He reached into hammerspace and pulled out his oddly-patterned green tarp, lifting it up to be used as a blanket. Before he could toss it over the motionless figure, though, he noticed that he seemed to be wrapped around something.

“Oh? What have you got there?”

With a bit of maneuvering, he pulled out out a yellowish bottle, adorned with a pretty blue ribbon. Curiosity piqued, he took a glance at the card that hung off of it.

’Congratulations on a great year, guys, here’s to one more!

~Zappa’

“Aww…” With his free hand, Faust tossed the tarp-blanket over him, offering a little pat on the head.

Randy turned his head at the sound. “Faust, you say something?”

“Well, ah,” he hoisted up the bottle, “anyone up for a glass of champagne?”

[sassyshoulderangel319]

Notes: This isn’t part of my Sanders Sides merfolk story that I’ve been writing. TBH I’m not 100% sure where this came from. @puns-and-patton @eequalsmcscared (Tagging you two because you’re my friends!)

“OH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MOOOOORRRNNNING! OH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAAAAAAY! I’VE GOT A BEAUTIFUL FEEEEEEEEEELING! EVERYTHING’S GOin’ my waaay!” Roman sang as he and his roommates piled their beach stuff out of Logan’s car and onto the asphalt in the parking lot so they could take it down to the beach.

Virgil rolled his eyes. The only compromise for the warm weather that he’d made was a purple T-shirt under his hoodie rather than the thick, dark, long-sleeved shirt he usually wore and a pair of violet plaid swim trunks with black sandals. His hood was still up over his purple hair. “The morning isn’t that gorgeous, Your Highness,” he snarked sarcastically, glancing up. “The clouds are gonna roll in soon and we might have to evacuate early---”

“Oh hush, Debbie Downer,” Roman retorted.

“Isn’t it Danny Downer for a boy?” Patton asked, hefting three beach towels, two huge umbrellas, a bag with their clothes, and a cooler into his arms and hands.

Logan shrugged, adjusted his sunglasses over his normal glasses, and picked up another cooler and his own towel. “Does it matter? Let’s go,” he said.

The four of them picked their way down the sandy, grass-lined path to the beach. It was a secluded spot that people rarely went to. It wasn’t an uncommon belief in their town that this stretch of sand was haunted. Older people would swear up and down that on some nights they could hear the most ethereal singing coming from this particular beach. Virgil loved listening to the tales, even if he didn’t believe any of them. Patton did too, mostly for the sake of a fun story. In fact, Logan was the only one who listened with irritation. He didn’t believe in ghosts---much less ones that sang.

Logan believed the rumor that the beach was haunted came from the fact that the Sirens’ Shoals was nearby---a shallow shoal that had wrecked many speedboats when the drivers weren’t careful. Nicknamed thus because sirens used to wreck ships and drown sailors.

When the four of them reached the beach, it was as empty as they expected. No one else ever came here. But the young men didn’t mind. They liked the privacy. They could be as loud as they wanted and no one could bother them.

They reached a spot near the rocks on the beach and started to set up. Patton put up umbrellas and Logan spread out towels. Roman slathered everyone in sunscreen---especially Virgil and Logan because they burned easily---while singing Broadway songs.

Patton was enjoying Roman’s performance. Virgil wasn’t. He put his earbuds in his ears and lounged back on one of the folding loungers they’d brought.

Though Roman’s singing was loud enough to be heard through the earbuds.

After a few minutes, Virgil rolled his eyes and got out of the chair, deciding to walk along the beach to the edge where the hill started again.

He stooped every so often to pick up broken pieces of seashells. The broken ones were his favorite. Reminders that not everything in life had to be perfect to be beautiful.

Virgil stopped walking as a monster wave washed up on shore and quickly receded. He could hear his roommates crying out in surprise and scrambling to get their gear out of reach. “The highest point of high tide is not supposed to be for another three hours!” Logan shouted.

Virgil didn’t even turn around to look at them.

He was too fascinated by what the wave left behind---more than wet sand.

A person with long hair flowing down to their hips. Though their hips and legs were buried under a layer of sopping wet sand. “Uh, pardon me, uh...” Sir? Miss? Was there a polite gender-neutral honorific that he was unaware of? Captain? Your Highness? “Pardon me? Are you alright?” he finished, deciding to forego the honorific altogether.

No response.

Virgil took a cautious step closer. The person was face-down so everything was hidden. Their face, their mouth---he hoped they could breathe---and anything that would indicate whether or not they were even alive.

Were they dead? Was that common? Was that why this place was thought to be haunted? Dead bodies washing up on the shore? How grim. He kinda enjoyed the thought. Another careful step towards the person. He should probably have called out for Patton and the others...

“Hello?” he pressed quietly.

The person sat up with a deep gasp, eyes wild and mouth open wide. They were covered in sand and panting. They seemed to present femininely, but Virgil decided not to preemptively assume anything.

They stared at him for several moments, still panting, as something dawned in their---remarkably dark---eyes. Which flicked up and down Virgil. Then focused on his legs.

Then another gasp. The newcomer scrambled toward the sea with their arms. Virgil noticed the legs dragging through the sand, still buried under a layer so he couldn’t see them well. Virgil didn’t even know what to do so he just stood, rooted to the spot, and watched them try to make it back into the water. The monster wave had washed them up pretty far though.

The person stopped. There was a moment of stillness. They slowly sagged back down onto the sand.

Virgil heard them crying.

He approached again---but only a few steps. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Those dark eyes turned back to look at him. The crying continued.

Okaaay... other people crying was really out of Virgil’s comfort zone. He really needed to call for Patton...

No need.

“Great Odin’s eyepatch!” Roman exclaimed from two feet behind Virgil’s left ear. He jumped and smacked his boisterous roommate’s arm. “Patton! Get over here!”

Running in sand was difficult but Patton managed to reach them in good time. “Oh sweetie!” he whispered, looking heartbroken that this person, half-buried in wet sand, was weeping. “It’s alright. We’re not going to hurt you. What’s wrong?”

The person hiccuped. “I... I can never go home,” they murmured quietly.

“Aw. Why not?” Patton pressed, approaching gently, hands out to show he meant no harm. He crouched next to them.

They threw their arms around Patton. “I lost my tail! And now I can never go home!”

Huh?

Virgil scrunched his eyebrows. “Your tail?”

The person nodded and wiggled their hips. The wet sand slid off their lower half---

To reveal a scaly fish tail. Long and elegant. Shimmering turquoise in the sunlight with a hint of silver on the edges. The fluke was wide and gracefully draped over the sand.

“By Persephone! You’re a mermaid!” Roman gasped. He caught himself. “I mean---I didn’t mean to presume. What I meant was---you’re a merperson. A member of the merfolk, if you will---”

The newcomer waved their hand dismissively. “Don’t hurt yourself. Mermaid is fine. I’m a girl,” she said.

Patton kept his hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t look like you lost it to me,” he said comfortingly. “How come you can’t go home?”

She sniffed and wiped her nose. “I got caught in a fishing net. Pulled into a fishing boat. Once I was out of the water, my tail turned into legs.” As she spoke, a shimmer that resembled heat off a hot road passed over her long tail, revealing a pair of short, thin legs and a skirt of scales. “In my pod, if we lose our tail to legs for even a moment we are no longer welcome home.”

“How come?” Patton asked gently.

The mermaid girl’s eyes hardened. “Because humans are a disease to the planet and it’s a disgrace to walk among them.”

Roman made a noise that sounded what, “???” felt like.

Virgil grunted, arms folded over his ribs.

The girl broke down again. “And now I have to walk among them for the rest of my life or return to the ocean podless!” She buried her face in her hands and cried even harder. “Merfolk can’t survive without a pod. Not even me.”

Virgil crouched in front of her, relating to that sentiment. Much as his roommates got on his nerves at times, he didn’t know where he’d be without them. Certainly in a less-happy place than he was currently in.

Patton and Roman looked thoughtful for a moment.

And then Logan finally joined the party. “What’s all the hullabaloo abou---oh.” He stared at the girl. “Where... did you come from?” he asked.

“That big wave washed her up,” Virgil supplied.

“Ah. I see.”

Another wave washed up on the sand, Roman danced out of the way but Patton let it wash right over his lower body so the mermaid girl could continue to hold onto him. The wave hung on the sand for a moment and then receded back to the sea. Clumps of wet sand slid off the girl’s tail---which had reformed with the water.

Logan stared at her tail. “That’s not... that’s not possible!”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Virgil muttered. “It’s literally right in front of your eyes.”

“But Virgil---mermaids aren’t real.”

“We are too,” the girl retorted, getting over her sorrow for a moment to drown it in sass. “We just don’t like humans so we don’t contact them.” She gave him a sarcastic grin.

“Hey, we never caught your name,” Patton pointed out.

The girl bit her lower lip. “It’s, uh, it’s kinda hard to say in English. Hmm. Uh... you can call me... Aaralyn,” she said.

“Aaralyn. How about you come home with us for a couple days?” Patton suggested. “We’ll help you figure everything out.”

“Uh... why?” Logan put in.

“We’ll explain in a minute,” Virgil said. He turned his attention back to Aaralyn. “Yeah kid. We’re pretty chill. We can give you a couple pointers on human life.”

She shook her head. “I really couldn’t ask you---we’re practically strangers---”

“That’s okay. You need help,” Patton pressed.

“Not to mention you’re a mermaid,” Roman added, looking awestruck.

“Which is not the point,” Patton chastised.

“Nah. Just a bonus,” Virgil put in, arms still folded over his chest.

“How about this, kiddo. We came to the beach to play and hang out. How about you stay with us till it’s time for us to go home and then make your decision?”

Aaralyn nodded. “I can do that,” she said.

Patton beamed. “Wonderful!”

Virgil watched Patton and Roman have a water fight in the waves with a disinterested expression on his face. Logan was reading a book on his foldable lounge chair. When Virgil glanced at said book, he expected it to maybe be a mystery novel---Logan’s favorite type of novel to read. Nope. Logan was legitimately sitting on a lounge chair reading a chemistry textbook.

“Didn’t you graduate college, like, six years ago?” Virgil asked.

“Yes,” Logan said blandly.

“So how come the textbook?”

“It’s fascinating.”

Virgil blinked. “Right,” he said.

“What’s a textbook?” Aaralyn asked from where she had quietly been sculpting the sand into a coral reef.

“It’s a type of book meant to teach,” Logan said. “Most often used for school.”

“Correction: only used for school by everyone except you,” Virgil joked. “You’re the only person I know who reads textbooks for enjoyment.” Logan shrugged and turned his page, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“PATTON!” Roman shouted. “PATTON THAT’S A RIP!”

The three heads of those on the beach whirled to see Patton fighting against a current, struggling to make it back to shore.

Aaralyn sprung to her feet and bolted into the waves. Virgil jumped up as well and ran to the edge, only able to watch as she dove in with perfect diving form. After a moment the fluke of her tail smacked the top of the water as it disappeared under.

There were several tense moments of silence while Patton fought the riptide before Aaralyn’s head appeared behind him. She wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled him onto his back. Roman, Logan, and Virgil watched tensely as she gently pulled him out of the riptide, off to the side, and then back to the beach. Patton washed up gracelessly, coughing and crawling onto dry sand on all fours.

Aaralyn washed up looking even worse, tail flapping uselessly in water too shallow to swim in and hair hanging in sopped clumps on either side of her face. Both of them were panting, sagged in the sand and not getting up.

Patton regained his feet first and went over to Aaralyn, offering her his hand. She took it and let him help her back to her face once her tail vanished.

Virgil would never tell Roman, but Patton was the strongest of the four roommates. Patton liked going to the gym and working out so he was strong enough to take care of his friends---and give the absolute best hugs.

One of which he immediately bestowed upon Aaralyn. He wrapped her up in a powerful hug. “You saved me,” he whispered.

Virgil ran and wrapped his arms around both of them. Aaralyn flinched but didn’t retreat.

Roman trudged out of the sea and he joined the group hug. Logan hung back, not particularly fond of physical affection.

“Thank you, Aaralyn,” Virgil said quietly.

She nodded. “Of course,” she replied.

“Are you going to let us help you learn to be human now?” Patton asked. “Come stay with us so we---well, I---can repay you?”

Aaralyn sighed. “You owe me nothing, Patton,” she said.

“Yes I do.”

“We all do. Patton is the heart of our little... band. We’d be lost without him,” Virgil said.

Aaralyn “Hmm”ed and rocked back and forth in the sand. “Oh. Well... alright,” she agreed. “Just for a little while.”

Patton beamed. “Yay! This’ll be fun!”

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Part 1. Part 2.

His breath was fogging up the glass, his fingers leaving smudges along the smooth surface. The housekeeper was going to have a fit when she saw what he had done, he knew this and yet all he could focus on was the two standing on the front lawn. The thing about Beverly was that she was the perfect wing man-woman-whatever. She always knew the exact way to flaunt what he had as to weed out those suitable for her friends. It was how Richie almost always got laid, excluding for drunken one nighters he occasionally ended up in. When he answered her call he hadn’t expected her to show, knowing that she was recovering from her late night fly in so when she walked onto his property with those short shorts and tank top he knew she was out to kill. Although the look on the pool boy’s face when she advanced told him that he wasn’t falling for her tricks and Richie was afraid he would see right though the shamble.

The truck with chipped paint pulled from the curb, carrying with it his new pool boy. Richie watched it leave, discreetly using the sheer drapes to keep himself hidden. Once the tail lights were around the corner he sighed, banging his head loudly on the glass. There was a gnawing in his stomach, an unimaginable feeling that he wished to just go away. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been laid in over three months, or maybe it was because just the sight the boy made him a blubbering mess but he felt restless.

There was a bang from the back door and Richie nearly ran over to where Beverly stood, her cheeks flushed from the heat. Stopping short of jumping in to his arms he leaned against the countertop, biting his bottom lip nervously. “So?” He sang, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“He’s gay.” She answered, knowing the question without verbal confirmation. “Didn’t even bat an eye when I asked for his number.”

“Hot damn!” Richie nearly yelled in excitement. “Thank god for the little things.”

“Honestly, I don’t think you two would work.” Beverly admitted softly, pulling her sunglasses from her nose and burying them into her hair. There was a twinkle in her eye, like something was brewing in her head. “I mean, he’s just here for the summer and-”

“Well so am I. I’m not looking for a relationship Bevvy, just someone to get dirty with while I’m home.” Richie rolled his eyes, a sly grin stretching from ear to ear. “Don’t dangle him in my face and expect me not to bite.”

“I’m not danling anything in your face.” She nipped, snapping her fingers in his direction. “I just think he isn’t your type. He was all worried about your dad, about his job. He’s a straight shooter and I don’t think you’ll be able to bend him like you want.”

“Okay first off.” He muttered, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he looked at his friend amusingly, “He’s gay, so he isn’t a ‘straight’ shooter. Secondly, I’m not gonna bend him unless that’s the way he likes it. I mean I’d like to bend him over a lot of things like that chair or the counter or-”

“Okay fine!” She barked, rubbing the space between her eyes. “Fine, just stop putting that very vivid image in my head.” Glancing back up to her friend she smiled, sighing with contentment as she leaned into the door frame with her hip leading. “You can be so disgusting sometimes, remind me why we are friends again?”

“Because we are the black sheep in our families and that causes us to gravitate towards each other.” He mouthed back quickly, pursing his lips and blowing a very suggestive kiss. “Now tell me, what is that cutie’s name?”

“Eddie.”

“Eddie.” He whispered, the name making his lips tingle. It tasted sour, not the type of sourness that made you cringe but rather the sourness that left your mouth watering, making you beg for more. Richie smiled, running his long nimble fingers through the rats nest he called hair, wincing when he caught a few knots. “Even his name is sexy as hell.”

Beverly scoffed, pushing herself upward and strolling past him with a slight push. “Get dressed.” She commanded, not looking back at him as she began her rampage through his parents fridge. “And hurry up because we have to pick up Bill along the way.”

“Where are we going?” He asked, shamelessly watching his best friend bend over to reach a soda from the bottom self. There was no spark, no need when he looked at her backside but rather a respectable appreciation of its glory.

Slamming the fridge door she replied, “To the beach.”

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

Eddie laid his back on his board, looking up at the clouded sky with fondness. Things began to cool as the storm rolled in, the blueness becoming overpowered by the grey puffs of condensation. He wondered what it would be like to be caught in a storm, really caught under the sheets of rain. There had been glory stories told about surfing during a summer storm and anyone who was everyone knew that it was the best time for such a thing. Stan had done it once, Mike twice but he still had yet to live through the glory. He was afraid, just like he always was, tucking tail and running before the real masterpiece touched down.

Maybe someday.

But not today.

“Well this turned out to be a shitty day.” Stan’s stoic voice came from across the still water. “I skipped my hot yoga class for this?”

“Remind me why you take hot yoga again?” Mike jeered, laughter following his question. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“It’s freeing.” He nipped, splashing water over to where Mike was currently floating. “And like you are one to talk, you are majoring in history! Who fucking does that!”

Eddie smiled, enjoying the banter that followed. It had only been a few days and yet he felt more free here than he would have back at home. When Mike had brought up the idea of the three of them heading to the coast at the end of semester, he had been against it. Too many people, to many unpredictable variables. It took one very long, uncomfortable phone call from his mother to change his mind and even then he had only done it out of spite. Now he was floating in the Pacific Ocean with his two best friends without a care in the world.

“I think we should head in.” Mike’s reassuring voice suggested, making Eddie cringe. “The storm is going to hit soon and the last thing I need is another concussion from surfing.”

“Yeah, and I don’t feel like saving you guys when you drown.” Stan added, turning his board back to the mainland. “I say we head back to the house and order some paper view, maybe some pizza in the process.”

“Both of those things involve money, which mind you, we do not have.”

With a sigh Eddie sat up, looking at his friends with a frown. “You know it’s Stan’s job to be a downer right Mikey?” He joked, starting the long ride in. This made his friend laugh, muttering under his breath that he was just a realist. Once the touched sand Eddie’s stomach sank, the fleeting opportunity passing by him. He dug his feet in, wiggling his toes one last time before stepping out of the salty water. Looking once more to the sky he muttered, “Do you think it’s really gonna rain?”

“Na.” Stan replied, walking ahead towards the parking lot. “I think this place is fucking with us. Our first time out on the water and it’s gonna trick us back to shore.”

“Huh.” Eddie thought it seemed likely, even more so as the so as the sun peered through a storm cloud. “Well that sucks.”

“Life sucks my man.” Mike said, throwing his board on top of his truck. “Don’t worry, we can try tomorrow once you get off.”

This made Eddie shrug, half assuming that he would be fired by tomorrow anyways so why even care about it. The three of them had strapped their things in, taking time to adjust as needed so that the truck would actually make it back home. Eddie had been so busy that he hadn’t noticed the company he had gained, or the eyes that followed him with each move. It was Stan who noticed her, scowling as she approached. “Eddie, I think you've attracted a stray.” He groaned.

“Wha-”

“Eddie!” Beverly’s excitable voice called, her smile widening as she and two others moved closer. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Eddie froze, his body refusing to react as she pulled him into a awkward, one sided hug. Shimmying he was able to drop her hold, forcing a laugh. “Uh hI Beverly. What are you doing here.” He glanced behind her, noticing the Tozier boy who now wore a pair of khaki shorts, a god awful hawaiian shirt and-jesus christ-a pair of bright pink sandals. It seemed that Richie was more confident in person, his eyes bright and exuberant as he watched the exchange. There was also a normal looking boy with soft brown hair and a soft smile, being almost the exact opposite of his friend that stood beside him. “Are you following me?”

“What? No!” She pushed against his shoulder playfully, “The beach sounded like a good place to be so I decided to come down here with some of my friends, same as you.”

He was being stalked, Eddie just knew it.

“Hi, I’m Mike.” The kind hearted boy muttered, breaking the tension and extending his hand out to the rich girl. “And this is Stan.” He gestured to the unamused boy. “How do you know Eddie?”

Beverly smiled, taking hold of Mike’s hand and shaking it. “We met this morning, he was working on Richie’s lawn when I came over.”

“Ah, leave it to Eddie to make new friends on the first day in town.” Mike jokes, laughing at his friends expense. “So you’re Beverly, who are these two?”

“Oh! This is Bill.” She motioned to the calmer of the two, “And Richie himself.” The jumpy kid waved, a cheeky smile crossing his face instantly. “So you guys are new in town huh? Where are you staying?”

“Oh in my parents old beach house down the street. It’s not much but it’s a roof over our heads.” Eddie frowned, he liked the cozy home. It felt safe, and warm to him. More so than his own home back in Derry. “What are you guys from the upper east side or something?”

“Yep.” Beverly replied, “Hey since you guys are new why don’t we show you around. You have no idea where the good hanging spots are yet and there is a bar a few blacks down that has the best mixed drinks. What do you say? First round on me.” Eddie could not have been shaking his head any more, his ears ringing painfully as Mike replied for all of them with a genuine smile.

“Sounds fun.”

Pool Boy Eddie Tag:

@softuris @snooxyspazz @ihavesympathyforthedevil @reddieornox @addimagination @tozierbinch @loadsofgayy @helfeatencupquakes @pankoozie @moved-to-some-raging-fangirl @strangerl0ser @letsgetreddietorumble @oh-mayfield @superbcoffeekid @iamworried7 @ephemeral-elipisis @stan-tozier-denbrough @im-alover @tapetayloe

[khaelisfics]

Grey Hair

Paring: TenToo x Rose Tyler Rating: Mature Word count: 1800 Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

That's it. He's getting old. And he doesn't like it. Thankfully, Rose does.

Read on AO3

Another fluffy TenToo x Rose piece! Will probably be a two chap. explicit story, but I’m leaving it to one mature chapter for now!

Tagging @timepetalscollective and @doctorroseprompts in case this fits into a prompt!

“Doctor, I swear to God if you don't get out of that bathroom now I’ll kick the door open.”

He barely heard her threat, barely peered at the door behind him through the mirror. It was true he had spent far too long in the bathroom, but he had a very good reason. Several reasons. First, to keep her from witnessing a small-scale panic attack that might have had pulled a tear or two from his eyes. Second, to find a way to hide it, so she wouldn't see the horror of it.

Well, it didn't look horrible, but it certainly felt horrible. That was it. The very first obvious sign that this rubbish human body was aging, and all the rest it implied. According to the small plastic card Rose insisted he should always keep in his pocket, he would turn fifty a few days later. To a Time Lord, fifty was nothing but a quick blink of an eye, a flutter of an eyelid. To a human, that fifty marked the beginning of the second half of their pathetically short lives. He was old. Very old. Older than he'd ever been before, even as a Time Lord. Ancient, almost.

He wasn't scared of dying, because he had long accepted this body wouldn’t last. He was simply scared of aging. Scared the changes in his body would somehow… Make him too different from the Doctor Rose had fallen in love with. It might be too awkward to her. She had started to love him when she thought he’d always remain the same lanky man with wonky features and long spikes of brown hair. But now. Now, he certainly was different from that ideal she had married.

There was the few pounds he had managed to pack on for indulging in way too many of the meals she prepared him every night, and all those unhealthy lunches she put in his bag before he left for work. And then, his lower lip had gotten just a bit poutier, his left eye a bit bulgier, his crinkles a bit deeper. And then, this morning, he had found out about that one thing he dreaded. He could contract his abdomen when she was looking, just to make it look a bit flatter. He could smile and make faces to hide his growing wrinkles and softening features, just to pretend time wasn't taking its toll.

But there was nothing he could currently do to hide the tiny tuft of silver hair growing among the mane of brown. He had tried to sculpt the hair around to bury it, but it hadn't worked. He had tried to trim the top to make it less visible, but it hadn't worked. He was trying to paint them back to their original colour with careful strokes of his fingers covered in a thick layer of her eyeshade, but it wasn't working that well either.

“Doctor, I’m coming in, yeah?” she said behind the door - and it flew open before he could protest.

She stared at him, raised eyebrow and fists firmly planted on her hips - how had she managed to keep such a slender waist when his was but a long gone memory, he didn't know. She spotted the tubes and boxes of hair gel on the counter, the comb full of hair, his fingers dirty with black power, the contents of her toilet bag all gathered in the sink.

“What on Earth are you doing with my makeup?” she asked, picking up his wrist to watch his fingers from up close.

“I’m not, I mean, I’m not using your makeup to… Makeup,” he stuttered, hurrying to wash his hands with a blob of soap. “I was looking for your hairbrush and… It just all fell and I’m trying to… Nevermind, it's nothing. I’m done anyway. We should go.”

But of course, she had seen the hair products, the comb, the awful quantity of shiny gel plastered all over the top of his head. She only smiled, suddenly much less irritated, and handed him a towel.

“I like it, you know,” Rose pointed out, purposefully glancing at his hair.

“You like what?” he shrugged as he shoved all of the products in the bag and set it back on the shelf.

“Your hair,” she simply answered. “It's beautiful. The good kind of grey, silver and all shiny.”

“I do not have grey hair yet, thank you very much,” he huffed, though the blush spreading on his cheeks did a poor job at backing up his claim.

“You've had gray hair for ages, Doctor,” she giggled, running her fingers through the short strands at the back of neck. “It started there.”

She gently tugged on a spike going astray just behind his ear. She trailed her fingers around, until they reached the slightly flat area of his skull and scratched her nails on another patch of hair.

“Then here,” she continued - and she rolled an arm around his waist as she did, pressing into his back and staring at his reflection through the mirror. “And that one, it appeared two weeks ago.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he muttered, swatting her hand away from his head.

“Because I like it,” she repeated, pinching the light swell of his abdomen in retaliation. “I like everything about you. I like that you're human. I like that you're growing old with me, like you promised. You thought I wouldn't notice? Your breath when you try to hide your belly, or your forced smiles when you try to hide the crinkles at the corner of your mouth?”

“You… You did?”

“You're my husband, you plonker, of course I noticed. And guess what, you’re not smiling twenty-four seven, and sometimes you have to breathe like everyone does. I see it, Doctor. I’ve been seeing it for months. I said nothing because I love it. I love you, slight overweight, grey hair and wrinkles included. I just want you to be yourself.”

“Well I hate myself right now,” he mumbled, trying to get free of her hold she wouldn't loosen. “Look at me, Rose. I’m fat and hideous and so old.”

“Fat, yes, alarmingly so,” she agreed.

He frowned at those words, but rolled his eyes when she grinned at him from above his shoulder and snatched the hem of his shirt from his trousers. He grumbled when she ran her hand in circles over the small lump that, she had to admit, was slightly overreaching above his belt. But she loved it. Its warmth, its softness, its thin layer of coarse hair that disappeared under the waistline of his pants. All those things she had learnt to love about this human the first day they had spent together, and all those things she still loved despite his most vehement protests.

“And hideous, too,” she smiled, pressing her lips on the side of his neck. “But you’ve always been hideous, it just didn’t happen overnight. And old. Gosh, you are so old, I think you’re on the brink of death already.”

“It’s not funny, Rose, look at me.”

“I look at you, my Doctor, I always look at you.”

“You should have told me, then,” he groaned, still miffed that she had been seeing these things for ages when he only had noticed them a few weeks before.

“Tell you, then what? What would you have done about it? Go on a diet and dye your hair? Buy a pass to the gym and get botox in your face?”

“Well, if that’s what it takes to be the same as before, yeah, I would do that.”

“Do you honestly believe I would ever love you less because you've grown a tiny belly?” she asked in a murmur, so sincere he almost believed she meant that question - impossible, though, because that would imply he didn't trust her, and she knew just how much he did. “Or love you less because you've got a few wrinkles or gray hair, or weak knees and cranky fingers? That such ridiculous things of your appearance would ever change how I feel for my husband and the father of my children? Do you, Doctor? Because that means I haven't loved you properly.”

“It’s not about love, Rose, it’s about you finding your husband attractive,” he retorted, swatting her hand away from his belly, now revealed by the few buttons she had undone. “And, excuse me, but you never compliment me on my hair or my body anymore.”

Her fingers went back to his shirt at those words, but instead of carefully undoing the remaining buttons, she ripped the two hems apart, little plastic pucks raining down on the tiles. She pulled it down his arms with a harsh shove, staring at him through the mirror, looking at her own hands mapping the contours of his broad shoulders, trailing down his pectorals, down to his abdomen, down, downer. Her fingertips slipped under his belt, quickly, just enough to see his bright chocolate eyes darken and, quite ironically, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth deepen as he pinched his lips to keep a moan in.

“Rose, the kids…” he started, briefly closing his eyes when her nails grazed the coarse hair at the juncture of his legs.

“Are gone already. Our eldest has her licence now and this is her birthday. She took my car.”

“We’ll be late, we…”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mister,” she scolded, biting her lips into the soft skin of his shoulder. “Do you want to know something, Doctor?”

“What?” he sighed - both because he was just a bit annoyed, but mostly because he was starting to really appreciate how her body was pressing against his.

“Maybe I don’t compliment you on your body anymore…”

“Ah, see?” he interrupted with a sad grin of victory.

“But you don’t tell me you love me anymore,” she continued, unfazed by his intervention. “The last time was… I don’t know, a year ago, on our anniversary?”

“Of course I tell you I love you, don’t be silly Rose,” he protested, stopping her wrists when she began to move her hands again. “I tell you that everyday.”

“Nope,” she smiled as she broke free from his hold and unbuckled his belt. “But that’s alright. Because I know you do. So I thought… You knew I still find you attractive, too, just like I know you still love me. Because I do. You’re handsome, Doctor, every single part of you. Obviously I haven’t made myself clear enough. I shall remedy that, don’t you think?”

“Rose, love, we’ll be late,” he repeated, bracing himself against the sink, her deft fingers zipping his fly down and popping the button off.

“They can wait. I have a beautiful husband to love, right now.”

[sunlittaeyong]

GFRIEND - THAT E’ER I’VE DONE

Summary: “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” Eunha asks, she doesn’t care that Yuna wants to move on from the subject of their lost friends, she can’t ever stop thinking about it.“I don’t know, Eunha.” She sighs deeply. “I don’t know.” — or a GFriend TWD au, you don’t need to read/watch TWD to understand this.

Pairing: Choi Yuna | Yuju/Jung Eunbi | Eunha (do they have a pairing name?)

Notes: You do not need to watch TWD to understand this I promise. I do use the TERMINUS storyline from it but it’s pretty much explain in the story and you can always use wiki if I didn’t explain it very well. I hope you guys like please give me some feed back on here or on AO3 where i cross posted it.

Eunha startles awake, for a moment - a sort of blissful moment of ignorance - she forgets where she is and what has happened to the world. But it all rushes back and she has to hold back the groan that bubbles up in her throat.

“You okay?” A voice whispers next to her. Eunha turns and sees Yuna peering at her in the dark.

“Are any of us ever okay.” Eunha answers cheaply, she sighs at herself and speaks once more. “Yeah, It’s just…the dreams…”

“I know me too. I haven’t slept…actually. At least Yerin is asleep. We should keep moving though. Once the suns up.” Yuna always likes to move on from sad stuff, she mentions it and then rolls right over it into a new topic.

“Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” Eunha asks, she doesn’t care that Yuna wants to move on from the subject of their lost friends, she can’t ever stop thinking about it.

“I don’t know, Eunha.” She sighs deeply. “I don’t know.”

“Ah, what did we do in this life to be to be suck with these two love birds. So gross.” Sojung groans, dipping her hand into the lake she was standing in and splashing the two girlfriends standing on the shore line. Yerin yelps and jumps away hiding behind Eunbi who turns to glare at Sojung, she wades into the water to start a little water war with the older girl. Eunha is sitting with Yewon and Yuna on the shore watching their friends with smiles. Eunha likes these moments, that even in a world so fucked up and destroyed they can still have fun as long as their together.

Eunha is a few steps behind Yuna and Yerin, she likes this position. She can watch her two friends, always knowing where they are and what is happening. But it also makes her heart a bit sad, watching Yerin is almost heartbreaking. She walks so swift and fast, so determined, she wants their friends back, her girlfriend back, but Eunha lost hope that they’d ever see their friends again about a month ago. It had been nearly two months, they were probably heading in the opposite directions. Eunha doesn’t want to be a downer, in fact usually she was the positive one but now with Yewon, Sojung, and Eunbi gone with no way to know how they are, she felt so defeated. She didn’t understand how Yuna could stay so positive and how Yerin could go on not knowing where her girlfriend was. Did either of them ever stop to think of the chances that they were going the wrong way. Or that the others could be dead. No they didn’t, because if they had they would feel just as empty as Eunha feels.

“You can’t keep doing this, Eunha.” Yuna whispers to her one night. They’ve made camp in an abandoned store, Eunha was on night watch. She was sitting at one of the windows which had been shattered and swept away by whoever was there last. At around what Eunha guessed to be one am Yuna had come and sat across from her. “Yerin needs us to be with her, to be hopeful. She’s in so much pain, she’s so panicked right now. We have to be there for her.”

“I can’t.” Eunha says simply, slipping off of the window sill. “I’m not the same person I was. I’m just empty now.”

The first time Eunha kills a living human being comes only two days later. He’s big and threatening, the kind of guy you think could only be taken down by someone at least twice his size or maybe a big truck. Eunha had left Yerin and Yuna to collect food and when she had come back she found the man terrorizing her two friends. He was taunting them cruelly and holding a gun on them. Eunha moves silently behind him, she notches an arrow in her bow, raises it, pulls back the string, aims and shoots. The arrows flies through the room and embeds itself into the man’s back, ripping through skin and muscles to come out on the other side. Eunha runs forward as the man falls to his knees screaming in pain, she pulls out her knife and plunges it into the back of the man’s skull, his screaming stops.

It’s the next day that Yuna comes to her again. It’s around noon the next day they’re sitting in the woods eating a can of black beans and the deer Eunha had hunted down. Yuna and Yerin had been sitting together by the dying embers of the fire, talking. Eunha was sitting by the side of the river as she ate, watching the water as it moved. Yuna walks over and plops down next to her.

“You aren’t as cold and as empty as you think.” She says. “And yesterday proves that all the more, you took down the person who was going to take away the people you love. You aren’t empty, Eunha, you’re just broken. This is the way your brain is dealing with it. Yerin and I are here to talk when you can. Trust me…we get it.” And then she’s standing up and walking away, leaving Eunha to stare after her.

“I can’t do this.” Yerin sobbed, Yuna was holding her in her lap as she cried. Eunha had never seen anything so heartbreaking. She had never seen Yerin such a mess before. The girl had uncontrollable tears running down her red cheeks, there was snot mixing in with those tears, and she was hiccuping and choking on her words. “I love h-her, I l-love her so m-much and I-I’l-ll never s-see her again.” Yuna strokes Yerin’s hair away from her face.

“You don’t know that.” Yuna says in a soothing voice. Eunha stands back, away from the two girls, she had no idea what to do. Eunha knew this day would come, the day Yerin realised there was no hope. But she had thought maybe Yuna would reach that day first, but still Yuna remained the voice of positivity as Yerin wept openly. “They are out there somewhere, we are gonna find them. They are probably feeling similarly, we have to stay strong.” She whispers, looking up into Eunha’s eyes, this speech was as much for Eunha as it was for Yerin.

Yerin’s spirit wilts considerably after her break down, Yuna stays as enthusiastic as ever even with Yerin’s slowing steps and Eunha’s deep sighs as background music. Yuna’s long legs and sure steps move her further ahead than her two companions, they walk along train tracks the forest on either side.

“Guys!” Yuna calls from ahead, she stands in front of a tilting sign her face light up. “You have to come see this.” Eunha and Yerin share an exhausted look before jogging forward to see what she was looking at. They stop on either side of Yuna to read the sign. Over whatever the original sign said was a few wooden planks nailed in, written over them were the words ‘TERMINUS. Sanctuary of all. Community of all. Those who arrive survive.’ in bold bright paint. “We have to go here.” Yuna said her head whipping to either side as she tried to look between the two.

“Why?” Eunha asks, raising her eyebrows and trying to make her expression say ‘that’s a terrible idea why would we ever do that?’ without having to say it outloud. Yuna seems to understand that, she narrows her eyes and huffs, turning her body towards Eunha.

“Because the others could be there, they could see the same signs and go there.” She explains.

“Or they could see the signs and think ‘wow sounds like bullshit’ and stay the hell away from it’. Just like we should.” Eunha shoots back already fed up with the conversation.

“Sojung and Yewon would never think that way.” She pointed out.

“That’s true.” Yerin said with a little shrug.

“And even if they aren’t there we make a stop there, recharge. Eat, get more amo, clean up.” Yuna said excitedly.

“Alright sounds fine with me.” Yerin says, not as excited as she would have a few weeks ago but not as bleak as she had been just that morning.

“You both know Eunbi wouldn’t let them.” Eunha said finally, she grips the straps of her backpack tightly in her hands. They never say Eunbi’s name, even when referring to Eunha whose birth name was the same. They stuck with the nickname Sojung had given her when they were young and she had gotten fed up calling for one Eunbi and getting them both. “Which is why I won’t be letting you either.” Eunha soldiered on even as Yerin looked at her with hard dark eyes.

“Maybe Eunbi would be hopeful and realize that we’re probably there or heading there. Maybe she’d have a little faith.” Yuna cut in, her jaw tight with anger.

“TERMINUS could be a trap, Yuna.” Eunha argued. “I won’t let us go there just to die.”

“Were going, that’s the end of it.” Yuna snapped. “If you think it’s a trap then don’t come with us. Let’s go Yerin.” Yuna grabbed Yerin’s hand turning away from Eunha, stumbling slightly in her anger but forging on stubbornly. Eunha sighs, watching them go for a long time before she finally follows after them.

They follow the train tracks for several more days, they find more TERMINUS signs and maps along the way. The closer they get the more uneasy Eunha gets, the more she wants to tell them to go back. They pass several walkers along the way, Yerin takes them out with an extra bit of force than usual. Yuna and Yerin walk hand and hand ahead of Eunha. Having Yuna so upset with her makes Eunha’s stomach churn uneasily.

“We’re almost there.” Yerin says one morning as they pack up their campsite. “I think we might even reach there by the end of the day.”

“Good.” Yuna says, smiling. “I could use a good meal and a roof over my head while I sleep.”

“Yeah.” Yerin agrees but they all know she’s only thinking about Eunbi. Eunha doesn’t say anything as they walk back to the train tracks and begin their day of walking.

Eunha stops walking as they reach a large warehouse with the word TERMINUS painted in large black block letters. “We should scout it out first.” She calls to the others who are already ahead of her.

“Listen.” Yuna said, turning and setting her hands on her hips. “We’re going in. You can either wait out here or come in with us.” Eunha sighed deeply and nodded.

“Can we just wait one more minute?” She asks. “So I can apologise to you.”

“I’ll let you guys talk.” Yerin mumbles, moving away from them so they could talk more privately.

“Go ahead and go in.” Yuna calls to her. “We’ll be right in, I know you want to see if Eunbi is here.” Yerin smiles gratefully and disappears inside.

“I’m sorry that I’ve treated you both so badly.” Eunha whispers softly as Yuna walks closer. “I just…can’t pull myself from these thoughts. I can’t see anything good in the world…except you.”

“Oh Eunha.” Yuna whispers, cupping Eunha’s face in her hands. “That’s why you’ll always have me. To pull you from the darkness.” Yuna leans down and presses a soft kiss to Eunha’s lips.

“We’re gonna be okay?” Eunha asks a little voice in the back of her head says ‘don’t be ridiculous of course you won’t be fine’, she tries to ignore it.

“Of course we will be.” Yuna whispers, she kisses Eunha again and it’s kind of like all of the worries that haunt Eunha every waking minute fade away as Yuna’s lips caress hers.

“Let’s go find our friends.” Yuna whispers as she pulls back.

Yuna and Eunha enter TERMINUS together and that nagging feeling of wrong comes back to Eunha, everything seems fine people are nodding to them, there’s the smell of meat cooking, everyone is clean and looks friendly. They get to the end of the room where an older woman is watching over the cooking meat, she looks up and smiles.

“You must be the friends Yerin mentioned?” She says. “I’m Mary, it’s nice to meet you.” She walks around the grill and holds out a hand.

“Yuna.” She says taking Mary’s hand and shaking it, smiling brightly.

“Eunha.” Eunha says, not taking her hand out of Yuna’s or off her backpack strap.

“Uh, if you don’t mind taking off your weapons? We don’t really like taking them past this point, they make people nervous.” Mary says, still smiling politely. “You can leave your things right here.” She points to a pile of Yerin’s things.

“We don’t know if-” Eunha is cut off but a sharp shove of Yuna’s elbow in her side.

“We wouldn’t mind at all.” She says, smiling. Eunha sighs deeply, her whole body screaming at her to run. But Yerin is already in there. Eunha and Yuna each set down their bags and then follow Mary into the next room, there are more people here, making signs, talking cheerfully, and sending them warm smiles. But there was no sign of their friends. Not even Yerin. Eunha’s brain is screaming at her that this is wrong so so wrong but there is nothing she can do. She’s already walked into the lion’s den. They walk through one more room before Eunha and Yuna are each grabbed from behind.

“Throw them in the same one as their friend. Let them be together until the end. No harm done in that.” Mary says. Eunha and Yuna each struggle against the men but it’s no use. They bring them outside the back door of the warehouse a dozen or so train cars are lined up there, they’re brought to the middle on. Another man opens the door and the two girls are pushed roughly inside, they hear the men laughing and then the sound of the door closing behind them.

“Eunha? Yuna?” Eunha sits up, rolling away from Yuna who she had fallen on top of. They both look up, their mouths falling open. Everyone is there, Yerin, Eunbi, Sojung, Yewon. It was Eunbi who had spoken, Yerin wrapped around her side. All six of them now trapped in the train car unsure of what their futures hold in store for them, but…

“We’re all finally together again.” Yuna whispers.

[kasiopeiae]

Mind on a Mission

A/N: Part 2 of the series Rotation.

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain // Wings of Butterflies

[kiss-my-freckle]

S2 Blacklisters

Blacklisters: Season Two

Lord Baltimore, Nora Mills

No. 104 Apprehended

Red: People love to decry big brother, the NSA, the government listening in on their most private lives, yet they all willingly go online and hand over the most intimate details of those lives – to big data. Liz: Most people don’t care that Google knows their search history. Red: They know more than that. They know your habits, the banks you use, the pills you pop, the men or women you sleep with. Every piece of information is worth something to somebody. And in the hands of the wrong person, that could be deadly. Liz: You have a lead. Red: Lord Baltimore is in town. Liz: Lord Baltimore? Red: He’s a tracker by trade, but his methods are thoroughly modern. He’s made an art of combing through cyberspace, finding the status updates, financial records, and location blips that virtually everyone leaves behind in the modern age.

Monarch Douglas Bank

No. 112

Red: Monarch Douglas bank. Liz: What? Red: The preferred bank of international criminals, dictators, terrorists, hedge-fund managers. They’re headquartered here in the U.S., deposits insured by the FDIC, which places them firmly within your Agency’s jurisdictional bailiwick. They have branches in 63 countries, but their criminal operation is run out of an unassuming little branch in Warsaw. And it is the last place on earth that anyone would ever want to rob. Well, less than two hours ago, Monarch’s Warsaw branch was assaulted. Liz: What was stolen? Red: According to the official statement, nothing. Liz: And according to you? Red: Everything.

Dr. James Covington

No. 89 Apprehended

Red: What do you know about Paul Wyatt? Liz: Same as everyone else, I guess. He ran an investment firm but was being investigated by the S.E.C. for fraud. He was stealing life savings and pensions. Only to turn up with his heart ripped from his chest. Probably by one of his clients. Police say that whoever did it was trying to make a point. Red: Oh well, as much as I admire the police for their wonderful sense of irony, I’m afraid they’ve got this one wrong. The man who killed Paul Wyatt wasn’t trying to make a point. He was trying to make a sale. His name is Dr. James Covington. A few years ago, he was considered one of the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. Now he runs an illegal organ-transplant ring. His operation, if you’ll indulge the term, is one-stop shopping for anyone who needs a life-saving organ transplant but who can’t or doesn’t want to go through conventional channels... that includes criminals and wealthy clients who don’t happen to be first in line on the recipient list. Liz: He’s harvesting organs killing innocent people to sell off their parts? Red: Lizzy, some of the worst of the worst are still alive because Dr. Covington is saving them. Liz: And you know how to find him? Red: No.

Dr. Linus Creel

No. 82 Deceased

Red: Did you read about that housewife in Reston? She shot a bank manager. Violent crime in D.C. is at a 20-year low, and yet in the last four months, there have been seven random acts of violence by individuals with no prior criminal record. Lizzy, what do you know about social psychology? Liz: It’s the study of how our behavior is influenced by the world around us. Red: Not influenced, manipulated. In what little time I devote to the judgment your government has made about my character and how I treat my fellow man, I can’t help but think about how many of their own citizens they’ve treated like lab rats in the name of science. I believe this murder in Reston is part of an underground social-psychology experiment. Liz: Conducted by our government. Red: Strap on your tinfoil hat, Lizzy.

The Front, Maddox Beck & Pepper

No. 74 Deceased

Red: There was an incident this morning in Dupont Circle. A woman was struck by a taxi. Carrie Ann Beck. Liz: Maddox Beck’s wife? Red: Yes. The leaders of The Front. Liz: Well, how is that possible? They died trying to bomb BP’s London Office in response to the Gulf Oil Spill. Red: So the world believes. In truth, they took their work underground. Personally, I once admired Carrie Ann. However, since going underground, they’ve become too radical for my blood. Advocates for a level of destruction that I find chilling. Liz: So who killed her? Red: I believe her husband is responsible. Liz: I don’t understand. Weren’t they partners? Didn’t they found the Front together? Red: Yes, but their partnership was a tenuous one. She was always the more moderate voice, only interested in operations that related directly to the environment. Beck, on the other hand, views himself as a chosen one, a messianic figure who sees humanity as a virus that needs to be eradicated in order to save the planet. I fear he got rid of his wife because she was trying to stop him from implementing a plan to do just that.

The Mombasa Cartel, Geoff Perl aka Sean Salter aka Ace

No. 114 Deceased

Red: So nostalgic. The charming and yet tragic naïveté, as if these creatures will somehow flourish if Harlan and Jack can just manage to relocate a breeding female. Liz: The Mombasa Cartel? Poachers? Red: Not poachers, Lizzy – traffickers. The poor devils who do the killing are the smallest of cogs in a very large machine. And the Mombasa Cartel is the worst of the lot. They operate behind an impenetrable veil of secrecy, enforced by brute terror and a rat’s nest of corporate fronts. Subsidiaries of shells inside numbered accounts. Liz: This is going to take some convincing. The FBI’s job is to protect people. Red: Granted. Let’s forget about the animals for a moment The wholesale extinctions, the impact on the environment. Let’s just consider the human toll. The thorough corruption of local authorities, political assassinations, the massacres of entire villages and wildlife compounds. Eradicated for the most base of all possible motives: Profit. Hundreds of billions of dollars a year in blood money – human blood money. Liz: This is important to you. Red: Someday the creatures on that program will be akin to unicorns and griffins – A fairy-tale bestiary written in past tense, and no one is lifting a finger to stop it. Why not, Lizzy? Why not us?

The Scimitar, aka Walid Abu Sitta

No. 22 Deceased

Red: Ah... ladies, thank God you showed up. I took a left turn in the Rostropovich. I’ve ended up completely lost in the Chico Hamilton. This is an addiction. I just can’t decide between – Please pour some cold water on me, will you? Liz: Why did you want both of us here? Red: Both, you’re right. Thank you. Great idea. Anyway, funny story – stop me if you’ve heard it: Persian man walks into a bar, meets a beautiful woman, has a few drinks. Next thing you know, he’s falling from a 12-story balcony. Liz: I don’t get it. Red: I imagine Agent Navabi does. Samar: You’re referring to Kian Nouri, the Iranian businessman who committed suicide in Dubai. Red: I am, except he wasn’t a mere businessman. He was one of Iran’s top nuclear scientists in Dubai to supervise purchase of several borehole gamma something-or-others. And he didn’t commit suicide. He was assassinated in a joint C.I.A./Mossad venture to undermine Iran’s nuclear program, but then, you know this already. My understanding is, she took a little detour to Dubai for a rendezvous with Mr. Nouri so she could toss him off a building. Liz: You killed him? Samar: If you’re asking me to comment on a Mossad operation, you know I can’t do that. Red: I wasn’t asking. But I’m hardly one to judge. George Orwell wrote, “Those who abjure violence can do so only because others are committing violence on their behalf.” What a visionary, but Good Lord, his books are a downer. In any case, the bad news is, I was sharing a bowl of shisha with a Misiri minister, and they plan to retaliate. You kill their top scientist, they intend to kill yours, and they’ve dispatched a man known as “The Scimitar” to do it. Liz: The Scimitar? Red: This is not your average killer, Agent Keen. He’s one part hit man, two parts con man. Navabi: I’m familiar with his work. In 2009, his target was a Sunni tribal leader named Majeed Abd Bawi. The Scimitar gained access by joining his militia. Red: Oh, that’s right! Fought for the man for seven months until the day he got close enough to aerate Bawi’s carotid with a fork. He’s dedicated, resilient, cunning, responsible for the murder of dozens of high-value targets, and according to my sources, he’s already on U.S. soil.

The Decembrist, Alan Fitch

No. 12 Deceased

Red: I need to talk to you about a bombing in the Soviet union. Kursk, 1991. Brimley: Fella won’t talk! Red: Keep pushing him. Brimley: I’m telling you! He’s more scared of talking than he is of dying! Red: Keep pushing. Brimley: I’m gonna need lunch! Tuna on Rye! Coleslaw if they have it! Liz: What the hell is going on?! Red: We’re shaking a few trees. There’s been a development. It seems Berlin is merely a pawn who’s been tragically manipulated. Liz: Manipulated by who? Red: That’s what Brimley’s trying to ascertain. Liz: Berlin killed Meera, he put Tom in my life, and every time you have a chance to stop him, you let him go. Red: Berlin will be held accountable for his actions after I acquire the name of the man who set him against me, a man they call The Decembrist. If you want to find the one ultimately responsible for gutting Harold Cooper and killing Meera Malik, I suggest you help me find him.

Luther Braxton

No. 21 Deceased

Red: Within 12 hours, inmate Luther Todd Braxton will break out of his cell. When he does, he will steal a classified intelligence packet that contains secrets vital to your National Security. The means for his escape and his team are already in place. Warden: This story feels like a desperate last gasp from a dying man. Red: Could be. Regardless, if you don’t move quickly, the prison will be overrun and the dozens of innocent men and women who operate this facility will be subdued and executed, beginning with you. Warden: Luther Braxton is in solitary. Red: Not for long.

Ruslan Denisov

No. 67 Slated to be imprisoned

Red: I think you’ll find today’s most intriguing story on page 20, bottom-left corner. Liz: “According to Uzbek authorities, Father Aleksandr Nabiyev, a local priest in the Tashkent Region of Uzbekistan”– You’re intrigued because a priest was kidnapped? Red: No. I’m intrigued because the priest is not a priest. From what I hear, the good Father Nabiyev is an agent of the CIA. That’s a crime, Agent Keen. Going back to the Cold War, the CIA has a long and controversial history of using religious figures as spies in violation of executive orders, internal CIA policy, and promises made by every president since Ford. Liz: And you know who kidnapped this agent? Red: I do. Unfortunately, he’s an associate of mine. His name is Ruslan Denisov. He commands a nasty, little band of separatists known as SRU. Translated, they are the supreme republic of a free, righteous, and independent Uzbekistan. I told Ruslan it was a bit much, but he can be quite melodramatic, not to mention violent and entirely unreasonable. Politics are his passion, and to fund his separatist agenda, he’s become something of an abduction mogul, specializing in senior executives of foreign corporations working in or passing through the region. He holds them for ransom at prices far above market standard. Liz: And you do business with this man? Red: Don’t underestimate the usefulness of a nasty band of armed separatists. But lately, Ruslan’s been breaking promises. His temper has cost me and my partners considerably more than he’s worth. Liz: So everybody wins. You help us rescue the agent, we eliminate a thorn in your side. Red: Careful on this one, Lizzy. You have more than just a blacklister to worry about this time. The CIA will do whatever it takes to keep this quiet.

The Kenyon Family

No. 71 Deceased

Red: I presume you’ve heard of Justin Kenyon? Liz: The smiling public face of the militia movement. Who hasn’t? Red: Yes. The very voice of reason, the rebel darling of the fringe right – charming, rustic, camera-ready, the perfect spokesman to spin vile hatred and prejudice into treacly dross that passes for plainspoken common sense. Liz: Forget it. Red: Excuse me? Liz: Justice knows exactly who Justin Kenyon is. We know what he is. The Church of the Shield is a cesspool of polygamy, doomsday paranoia, ritualized elder and child abuse, but he also has four of the most prominent civil rights attorneys in the country on retainer – we can’t touch him. Red: How do you suppose he pays for those high-priced lawyers – charitable contributions? Liz: His church has been audited by the IRS every year for the past decade. His books are impeccable. Red: So are mine.

The Deer Hunter, Tracy Solobotkin

No. 93 Apprehended

Red: What if we made a deal? I help you find your serial killer, and you tell me about the fulcrum. Liz: You’re not even interested in serial killers. Red: True. I find them unimaginative and woefully predictable. But I am interested in the cases that you and the FBI have wrong. Liz: Wrong? Red: The most critical assumption you’re making about The Deer Hunter is wrong. Do we have a deal or not?

Red: This brute they call The Deer Hunter isn’t a buck at all, but instead a delicate doe. Ressler: A woman? Liz: I disagree with you. Red: Okay. But your killer attacks from a distance, indicating the predator’s smaller, perhaps unable to overpower their prey. Men tend to kill in close proximity – strangulation, blunt instrument, a knife. By contrast, women tend to favor weapons that can be used from further away – poison, a gun, a crossbow. Liz: Richard Kuklinski was 6’5?, 300 pounds, and one of his favorite weapons of choice was cyanide. Red: Yes, but male serial killers are predominantly, overwhelmingly sexually sadistic. In this case, there is not the slightest indication of a sexual motive. Liz: Aileen Wuornos was a prostitute who lured her victims in with the promise of sex. Red: The Deer Hunter has been active for over a decade, from the truck driver in Des Moines in 2003 to the doorman in Adams Morgan last night. That’s 12 years. The average length of a killing spree for a man is two, perhaps three. Yes, Agent Keen, for every rule there is an exception. Each factor, taken separately, is not conclusive, but put them together and it’s clear – you haven’t found your man because he’s a woman.

T. Earl King VI

No. 94 Deceased

Red: Madeline Pratt has been abducted. Liz: What do you care? She almost got us both killed. Red: Foreplay.  My relationship with Madeline is nuanced. Confounding, yet captivating, she’s a singular woman, and the world is far more interesting with her in it. What’s more, her abductors meet every requisite that defines inclusion on the Blacklist. The Kings. Liz: The kings? Of what? Red: Not “king” as in “king and castle.” Earl King and his two sons, Tyler and Francis, descendents of a Senescent Dynasty. Their forefathers built a fortune on the backs of British undesirables, forcing them into decades of indentured servitude– a tradition that has been passed from generation to generation that still continues today. Liz: So, what does this have to do with Madeline Pratt? Red: Madeline has made a number of well-heeled enemies over the years, many of whom would pay a handsome price for her head. If merely saving a woman’s life isn’t enough to warrant the Bureau’s interest, consider what taking down a dynasty like the King family would mean. Every transaction meticulously recorded for posterity in the family ledger. Sometimes, years pass between auctions. They’re never held in the same place twice. The guest lists are constantly changing. This is your chance to solve a century and a half’s worth of abductions and thefts from the Davidoff Morini Stradivarius to the disappearance of Raoul Wallenberg. This phone belonged to a boy in the port of Lisbon, where Madeline was abducted. Liz: Pictures of the kidnapping. Red: Find the jackals who took Madeline and they’ll inevitably lead you to the Kings.

The Major, Bill McCready aka Bud

No. 75 Deceased

Red: The Major. Ressler: Major? What major? Red: Not a what, Donald, a who – the next name on the Blacklist. Cooper: Have you not been paying attention to a word we’ve been saying? Agent Keen will be charged – Red: The Major runs a finishing school of sorts – The most reputable of its kind. He recruits wayward children, orphans, delinquents, outcasts, but only boys and girls of superior intelligence who exhibit very specific sociopathic tendencies. He then cultivates them into charming, well-educated, cultured, attractive adults who are capable of dangerous and horrible things. Cooper: All that matters is Agent Keen. Red: Which is why we must find the Major. He and I had a rather significant falling out, and I can’t locate him, which is why you need to put me in a room with the Malaysian Deputy Minister to the U.N. Ressler: You want the FBI to invite a U.N. diplomat – to meet with you? Red: Of course not. Inviting him for a chat with one of your most wanted criminals would be ludicrous. You’ll need to abduct him. Cooper: Okay, hold on. That’s not gonna happen. Why on earth – Red: Because he has secrets I can exploit. Listen, I’d snatch him myself, but time is short, so, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to do it for me. Cooper: You’re asking us to commit a felony. Red: Call it what you will, Harold. But if you want to prevent Agent Keen from going to prison, you need to abduct Deputy Minister Mamat Krishnan.

Red: “The Disenfranchised.” They may look like common street thugs, but don’t underestimate their authority. They’re racists masquerading as patriots. “Germany for Germans.” On the surface, they’re all about anti-immigration and preservation of the Aryan race, but look a little deeper, and you’ll find they care far less about white power than they do about white powder. Samar: They’re drug dealers? Red: Among the most ruthless in Europe. Somewhere along the line, they realized that keeping German neighborhoods white is more than politics. It’s economics. Aram: These guys are fighting a street war. Interpol estimates at least a dozen drug-related homicides in the last year alone.

Tom Keen aka Christopher Hargrave (With numerous aliases)

No. 7 Still At Large

Red: In what may be Agent Keen’s single greatest lapse in judgment, she saved the imposter pretending to be her devoted husband, opting, instead, to hold him captive in the rusty hull of an abandoned ship. Aram: Please tell me you made that up. Ressler: The harbormaster found Tom. He was gonna go to the police, so Tom killed him to keep Liz from going to prison. Samar: That is – Ressler: Insane? Samar: I was going to say “extremely romantic.” Ressler: If we can bring Tom back and get Denner to realize that Tom killed Eugene Ames, then maybe we can still stop Liz from being indicted.

The Longevity Initiative, Roger Hobbs & Dr. Powell

No. 97 Deceased

Red: My yogi tells me that time doesn’t exist. He fully intends to live forever, and tragically, he’s not the only one. Tell me, what do you know about the Longevity Initiative? Liz: I haven’t heard of it. Red: It’s a private company dedicated to extending human life indefinitely, funded by none other than Roger Hobbs. Liz: The tech billionaire? Red: Yes. He started years ago. I know because he offered me the opportunity to invest as a founding partner in the project. I passed. Liz: You know Roger Hobbs personally? Red: Roger is considerably smarter than the above-average bear, and now it appears he may also be as deadly. You’re aware of the New York state trooper who was gunned down last night in the line of duty? Liz: The suspect’s still missing, but they found mutilated bodies in the back of the truck. Red: Not mutilated. Experimented on. The Longevity Initiative has entered the human-trial phase. If they’ve made a breakthrough, they need to test it. Liz: On innocent victims. Red: With any luck, I’ll be dead-wrong. Perhaps you’ll have a better sense once you’ve spoken with Roger Hobbs.

Vanessa Cruz

No. 117 Still At Large

Liz: Toshiro Osaka – A Japanese entrepreneur indicted in 2009 and knifed to death by an aggrieved business partner. Miles Chapman – He was gunned down in Algiers while avoiding extradition for insider trading. Lester Charles Conway – His Ponzi scheme was so massive, he’s now serving up to 30 years. Ressler: Their crimes cost hundreds of people their life savings. Pensions gone, homes in foreclosure, families torn apart. Why would I feel bad for them? They’re criminals. Liz: According to Reddington, they’re innocent – Framed after months, sometimes years of planning by a woman with a deep-seated hatred for the 1%. She doesn’t just take their money, she takes their reputations, their freedom, sometimes their lives. Her latest mark was Declan Salinger, a flamboyant venture capitalist who specialized in biotech. He was found last night in a hotel bathtub, needle on the floor, dead from an apparent overdose. His personal laptop was taken into evidence. CSI uncovered corporate withdrawals in excess of $27 million.

Leonard Caul

No. 62 Still At Large

Red: You need– you need to find Leonard Caul. Liz: Caul? Red: Leonard Caul. T-t-talk to Dembe. You need to find him, Lizzy.

Quon Zhang

No. 87 Apprehended

Liz: Identification documents for Lien Mah. Fake birth certificate. Fake passport. Death certificate. Proof of embalming. Red: Everything necessary to convince the U.S. State Department that Lien Mah was a Chinese national who died while visiting the United States and to arrange for her body’s return to her homeland. Liz: Who would ship a fictitious Chinese corpse to China? Red: A rather clever smuggler, I imagine. Liz: So, if Lien Mah is fake, then whose body are they shipping overseas? “Marjorie Lin, 24, was laid to rest Monday afternoon. Not 10 hours later, her body was stolen in a brazen midnight grave robbery.” You think the smuggler is using Marjorie Lin’s body? Red: Compare the photo on Lien Mah’s false passport to the photo of Marjorie Lin in the paper. Liz: Same woman. But why this case? What’s your angle? Red: This smuggler also has business with the Cabal. Liz: The Cabal? Red: The Taiwan Festival Bombing in 2011. 32 dead, 9 injured. The I.E.D. that took out the convoy headed to the Chinese Consulate in Jakarta last year. Another 17 dead. Both were engineered by the Cabal. And this same smuggler was used to transport those explosives to their final destinations. Liz: You want to target one of their assets? I went to the Director, showed him the fulcrum, restored the détente. Red: The détente is over, Lizzy. What you know about the Fulcrum – What the Director now knows you know. By saving me, you revealed yourself to be a potent enemy, a target they will try to discredit or destroy. The smuggler. We need to find the smuggler.

Karakurt

No. 55 Apprehended

Red: I’ve received information from my sources confirming that Karakurt is in-country. Brimley: I’m gonna need a bag of dry ice and five feet of vinyl garden hose! Red: That poor fellow’s an aide at the Russian consulate and a loyal errand boy for the Cabal. I believe he’s the one who provided Karakurt with a go-bag upon his arrival in the States. Liz: There’s something I want to make clear with you. Red: Karakurt is known in the intelligence community as the left hand of the SVR. Liz: It’s not enough for you to tell me that my mother was KGB and that I was born in Russia. Red: In truth, he works for the Cabal. They smuggled him into America because they know if he commits an act of terror here, your government will blame Moscow. – Liz: My mother and my father, who they are, what happened in the fire– I’m gonna find out the truth. Red: I’m sure you will, Lizzy. But listen to me. The Cabal is orchestrati– Liz: I get it. The Cabal is trying to start another Cold War, and an act of terror committed here is step one in making that happen. I am listening to what you are saying, and I know that it’s important, but it is no more important than what I am telling you, and I need you to listen to that! Red: There will be an attack on an American defense installation within a matter of days. If I’m right, it’ll be the first of many acts of terror here and overseas designed by the Cabal to further their agenda. We have to stop this man, Lizzy.

Tom Connolly

No. 11 Deceased

Liz: I’m being framed. Red: Yes, and by the end of the day, they’ll identify you by name. Liz: Anyone could have infected Hawkins. He must have shaken dozens of hands at that memorial. Red: Within hours, they will all have tested negative for the virus. Liz: You can’t know that. This is insane. Red: Lizzy, you walked into The Director’s office and played him the fulcrum. You are the enemy. They’re crawling over every place you’ve ever lived and worked, every file and hard drive like fire ants on a grasshopper. Liz: They won’t find anything. Red: That’ll suit their purposes just fine. Anything they do find, they’ll erase so they can say you destroyed evidence to hide your involvement in the plot. And when they eventually restore what few pieces they do want to be found, they will not be kind to you. You need to get out. Liz: If I run, it’ll only make me look guilty. I’ll be playing right into their hands. Red: You’re already in their hands. The only thing they haven’t done is closed their fist. Go. Now. I’ll be there in three minutes. Liz: No. They can’t prove I did anything wrong. They can call me a criminal, but I’m not gonna act like one.

Cooper: I’ve been relieved of duty. Red: I’m not surprised. And Connolly’s minions are questioning Agent Keen. Cooper: The man has the weight of the entire DOJ behind him- if he wants to indict her. Red: There won’t be an indictment. They’ll rig the evidence against her, parade her in front of the cameras so America can see the face of the enemy, and then they’ll put her away someplace where she has no chance to mount a defense. Cooper: I have to go back. Red: You won’t be allowed in the building. Cooper: We can’t just leave her there. Red: Of course not. We’re gonna walk her right out the door. Cooper: You have someone on the inside? Red: Yes. Fortunately, I also have a man at the power company. The lines will be cut to both the main and emergency power supplies. Cooper: Battery boot protocol will recycle within 60 seconds. It will take another 30 seconds for the cameras to cycle. Red: That’s 90 seconds for Agent Keen to get out. With your guidance, Harold, that’s all the time she’ll need. Cooper: You want me to guide her out in the dark? Red: In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

[evvazi]

Losing You

Since I didn’t even get close to finishing my AU, here’s my second contribution to the K Rarepair Week, for the prompt ‘nightmare’!

Pairing: MunaYata

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Death Mention

Summary: Nightmares are nothing new to Munakata, but tonight, it gets worse.

AO3

Blood. There was so much blood. It was flowing freely out of the large chest wound, in sluggish waves in time with a heartbeat that without a doubt would stop soon. Fire was still burning around them, but Munakata didn’t care. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. He couldn’t be completely helpless again as someone he cared about died right in front of his eyes.

Except he could. He wasn’t a king anymore, after all.

He’d just been walking home from a date, his boyfriend Yata Misaki beside him, holding onto his hand and talking excitedly about the movie they’d seen, when someone had decided they needed revenge on the former Blue King.

It didn’t really matter who it was, not someone Munakata could remember, but it was a strain, one with dangerous powers and violent friends, and Munakata was powerless. Unarmed, too, like a complete idiot. But there hadn’t been any time to think. Yata had zeroed in on the strain in no time and attacked him without hesitation.

Munakata had screamed at him to run away, this wasn’t his fight. He didn’t care about Scepter 4, and the strain didn’t care about Homra. It had nothing to do with him.

Of course, Yata had ignored him. Charging ahead with flames bursting out of his fists, he’d taken on the strain. Munakata didn’t have the time to argue with hi as multiple people attacked him at once, though thankfully they were all normal people. Somehow, he managed to steal a knife from one of them and hold his own, but it took him a while to knock all of them out.

By the end of it, he was breathing hard and sorely missing his King powers, but he only spent a millisecond lamenting their loss. He whirled around to where he could still hear the strain and Yata fight, just in time to see the strain’s invisible scythe pierce a whole into Yata’s chest. He should have been able to dodge or block that attack, but only a weak rest of flames was still licking at Yata’s body, testament to how much strength he’d lost since the destruction of the Slate.

Still, Yata grabbed hold of the strain’s wrist, a pained grin spreading on his face as his hand caught fire again. One last time, until there was nothing but a marred corpse left of the strain and he didn’t pose a threat anymore.

Munakata was completely frozen on the spot as his boyfriend turned toward him, too much blood on his shirt and an all too familiar expression on his face.

Then he collapsed, hitting the ground with a sickeningly loud noise that reverberated through the absolute silence around them, and finally Munakata’s legs let him move again, jolt forward to cradle his boyfriend in his arms. Yata felt heavy, but way too small. Too fragile. Nothing like the vanguard bursting with energy he was supposed to be.

“H-hey, don’t make such a face now… I don’t feel too bad, I’ll be fine, this is nothing to Homra’s vanguard!” Yata’s voice was weak, but determined, and it didn’t sound like he was lying. He must’ve been in shock, Munakata concluded, and it was sparing him the worst of the pain and the reality of the situation. He knew he should tell him the truth, but his tongue felt like sandpaper in his throat and he couldn’t form a single word.

“It’s cold though,” Yata mumbled, his eyes losing their focus more and more. Munakata pressed him closer, holding him tight until the warm breaths against his cheeks stopped and a lot longer, not wanting to let go even as the lifeless body in his arms turned cold.

Eventually though, he had to move. Not that he was about to let go, but he figured he could at least get Yata into a position where Munakata could carry him home. As he lowered him though, he couldn’t help but look at his face, bruised and dirty, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

Munakata’s stomach churned.

-

With a silent gasp, Munakata jolted awake. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself, but soon enough, he realized he was in his own bedroom, and his boyfriend was sleeping soundly right next to him, very much alive. He was grinning like an idiot, too.

Just a nightmare.

He took a moment to steady his breathing and calm himself down. Just a nightmare. None of that was real. No need to get upset.

It might as well become reality though, a deceptive voice inside of his head whispered, you’re powerless now. There’s nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know full-well it will be entirely your fault when it happens. You’re so selfish, keeping him by your side when you’re so weak.

Munakata shook his head to get rid of the intrusive thoughts. The dream was completely unrealistic. He had taken precautions. Scepter 4’s Special Ops always knew where he was, and he could call for help with the press of a single button. Besides, he most definitely would have called an ambulance instead of sitting around like an idiot. In the dream, the action had made sense, but in the actual world, Munakata would never lower Yata’s chances of survival with such a stupid move.

Of course, he could never rule out the possibility that there were too many enemies and they would get overwhelmed too fast…

But it was no use fretting about it now. With a sigh, Munakata heaved himself out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He blinked at the sudden brightness, once more cursing his absent king-status. Little things like this never fazed him back then.

As his eyes slowly got used to the light, he searched for some stomach medicine, hoping it would calm his still upset stomach and help him go back to sleep. He had work tomorrow, after all. He couldn’t afford a sleepless night. It would only make the chances for accidents skyrocket.

Once he’d found and taken the pills, he went back to the bedroom, only to find his boyfriend sitting upright in bed, a worried expression on his face.

Too bad, Munakata had hoped he would simply sleep through this, tomorrow morning Munakata would have been collected enough to ignore that anything happened at all. But no such luck, Yata had good ears, and it was a miracle if he didn’t wake up when Munakata moved around so much.

“Did you have a nightmare again?” Yata was getting sharper when it came to deciphering his emotions as well, and frankly, Munakata didn’t know whether he liked that or not.

Still, he shook his head. “Not about what you think.” There was no point in denying it, so he didn’t. It wasn’t the first time they’d been in this exact scenario. Though usually, it was because his subconscious was still dwelling about the past instead of fretting over the future.

“Not… exactly, at least,” he conceded, remembering the all-too-familiar posture and the nature of the fatal wound. And the way the blood would flow out… it had all been way too similar to be a coincidence. Or real, for that matter, he reminded himself.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” It was a question Yata asked every time, even though he was denied almost always. Only during the second night Yata had caught him haunted by his dreams did Munakata actually take him up on the offer.

The first night, as Munakata had refused, Yata had simply held him close silently until he’d fallen asleep. But the guilt had been eating at Munakata too much, he couldn’t stand being consoled by one of Suoh’s own clansmen while he was unaware of it. So he’d spilled his secret, fully expecting Yata’s face to turn hard and unforgiving, as the death of his former king was still something of a sore spot between them. It wasn’t something that could be forgiven easily.

But while Yata had looked conflicted for a moment, ultimately, he’d sighed and pulled Munakata close anyway. “It’s okay,” he’d whispered, almost inaudibly. He hadn’t sounded like it was okay, but Munakata took it, knowing this was already more than he deserved.

Every other time, it had been the same dream jolting him awake, and it had been enough to say so, and the quiet consolation followed again.

Tonight was the first time it was different, and Munakata was at a loss about what to do. Judging by his confused expression, Yata wanted to know, but Munakata knew he wouldn’t be angry either if he kept quiet. Should he though? The worry had been plaguing Munakata in his waking hours enough already, maybe it was time to tell Yata about it. But it was all too likely he would be hurt in his pride, after all, Yata hated nothing more than being thought of as weak. Just like Munakata, he wasn’t exactly dealing with the loss of his powers well.

In the end, he decided it was better not to keep everything locked up inside. It only made things worse in the long run. Still, his voice was devoid of emotion as he sat back on the bed and recounted the basic story of his dream. He didn’t include his reactions either, but from the look on his face, Yata could guess them anyway.

When he was done, Munakata simply fell silent, and for a while, neither of them moved or spoke.

“You know, if that happened, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Munakata’s head whipped around immediately at that. What? Did Yata honestly think so little of his own life? Did he have way worse issues than Munakata had thought? Was there something essential that he’d missed?

“Ah,” Yata seemed to have noticed his own mistake, “I mean, it’d suck that I’d be dead and all, but…” He rubbed his neck nervously. “Now that the Slate’s gone, it feels like we could die any time. I just thought, if I could at least protect you, then it wouldn’t have been in vain.” He paused for a moment, and it seemed like there was more he wanted to say. But his voice was a little bit more light-hearted when he spoke again. “Though it would be kind of a downer if it’s Scepter 4’s enemies, they should at least hate Homra as well, so I can show them not to mess with us!”

It was clearly an attempt at distraction, but Munakata couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps a bit paradoxically, he loved listening to Yata blabber on about how amazing Homra was. Munakata shuffled back under the sheets, gaze never leaving his boyfriend’s face, glowing with excitement as he described how he was gonna ‘kick all those strains’ asses’.

“Oh,” Yata finally noticed that he’d laid back down, “you wanna go back to sleep? You think you’re okay now?”

There was a distinct sense of worry in his voice as he laid back down as well, eyes carefully searching for emotion in Munakata’s expression. But he’d calmed down, and whatever was left of fear or worry was too little to be noticed.

“I will be fine,” he reassured Yata, “after all, I have my strong boyfriend here to protect me.” He said it like it was a joke, but that didn’t stop Yata’s face from significantly heating up, noticeable even in the dim light of their bedroom. Nor did it stop his fingers from reaching out to intertwine themselves with Munakata’s, or his voice from being completely serious as he answered.

“Yeah, I will try with all my might.”

Some time ago, such a proclamation would have been amusing at best, but right now, it made Munakata’s chest constrict and his heart beat faster than was optimal for achieving sleep. There might even have been an answering blush creeping onto his cheeks, but he was sure it wasn’t extreme enough to be noticed with the current limited light.

Still, Yata’s warm hand in his own and his relaxed face right in his line of sight, Munakata had no trouble falling back asleep.