#my fucked up daughters Salt and Pepper Diamond

[plastic-oasis]

Examining which symptoms I am exhibiting today and examining my fics to determine which to work on

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

��Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

���Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[omnivorousshipper]

Request Friday: I think you’ve done similar stories but my mind was thinking arranged marriage + Pirate King Luke with a glorious beard. Maybe Mama Shaw wants to smuggle her goods via the pirate king’s fleet and to broker a relationship between them she offers her eldest?

I’ve just got the mental image of Luke dripping in gold and jewels, sitting fiercely on his throne cutting quite the figure when Deckard is escorted into the room to help sway negotiations and Luke is captivated—wants nothing more than to wrap him in silks and jewels, spoil him utterly rotten. Owen isn’t happy about their mum’s plans for Deck but is distracted by Pirate Captain Roman (I’m sure an absurd nickname)!cutting quite the figure.

Hattie decked out in swashbuckling gear, threatening idiots with her sword/daggers/gun when they try to hit on her. (A deadlier Elizabeth Swan)

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FRIEND!

I have such a weak spot for Luke beard, especially when it's salt and pepper. And omg, Deckard given up as a sacrifice is hilarious

And Hattie as Elizabeth Swan??? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP

~~~

Looking over several papers, Queenie Shaw narrowed her eyes at them. The numbers weren't adding up to what she had been hoping for

She would have to go with her backup plan

Sighing, she waved on of her servants out front the corner she had been quietly embroidering in. The woman lifted her skirts in a curtsey as she bowed

"Please bring my daughter to me." Queenie said in a clipped tone

"Right away, madam." The woman scurried out of the room, barely making any noise

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Queenie knew what she need to do, but it all relied on what she could convince of her children

Glancing out of the large windows, Queenie could hear the laughter of the servants' children. Looking at the clock, Queenie knew it was the normal time Deckard would sit them down for a lesson

She never really understood his want to teach them how to read. Even their parents didn't know

After a few minutes of listening to the soft murmur of voices outside in the gardens, the door to her office finally opened to reveal the servant gesturing Hattie inside

Queenie couldn't help the prideful smile that spread across her face as she took her daughter in

Hattie looked like a right pirate

"Something the matter, mum?" She asked, throwing herself into a seat and leaning back provocatively. Any other lady would have yelled at her scandalous behavior. Queenie simply raised an eyebrow

"I wanted your opinion on a matter." Queenie said slowly. "What are your thoughts on the pirate king?"

"Hobbs?"

"Yes."

"He's an alright bastard." Hattie said thoughtfully. "Looks after his people and keeps them in line when need be. He's cutthroat but fair. Why are you asking about him?"

"Because I want to strike up a deal with him."

"What kind of deal?" Hattie asked slowly, eyed narrowed in suspicion

"Trade has been going down recently. Too many imperial arseholes sticking their noses in my trade routes recently, causing them to dry up. I need new routes and the only ones I can find are through Hobbs' territory."

"Thats a lot of risk for him to take, he won't do that for cheap." Hattie looked over her mother carefully. "What are you planning on giving him? He'll need more than money."

"I know." Queenie nodded. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and fixed her daughter with a careful look

"What?"

"Hobbs is a widower, correct?"

"Yes? Mum, if you think I would ever-"

"Not you." Queenie cut her off quickly with a sharp gesture. "Deckard."

"Mum!" Hattie yelped. "You can't just sell him like some kind of mare!"

"I'm not!" Queenie hissed

"Then what are you doing?" Hattie snapped. "Because if you think Hobbs will let him leave, you're dead wrong! Pirates are selfish mum!"

"I'm assuming you know from experience?" Queenie drawled, purposely looking her daughter up and down

"Yes." Hattie met her eyes and glared. "Yoi are not shoving my brother into some arranged marriage."

Queenie met her gaze evenly

"And what if I told you that if we don't get those trade routes, all that I have built will crumb?"

"What?" Hattie blinked at her

Queenie didn't look happy to reveal what she said next

"We need to keep our illegal dealings going, but the empire and the king's men have started to notice. If they do, they'll come after our whole family. I can't let that happen, Hatts."

"But, Deck-"

"Can slit Hobbs' throat in a few years if it comes to that."

Hattie's face twisted in discomfort

"I don't want to send him into that, mum."

"I know dear." Queenie sighed. "And that's why I want you and Oh to escort Deckard there yourselves."

Hattie looked out the window, where Queenie had been looking out earlier

"Think we could convince Deck to wear his favorite dress to meet Hobbs?"

"Doubtful. He only wears them in our presence." Queenie chuckled, but felt her heart clench

Their family's business might thrive, but would her son?

---

Sitting on his throne, Luke played with a gold coin as he listened to the squabbles of lower ranked pirates. Head rested in his other hand, Luke couldn't wait for the pirate court to be called to a stop

Just another reason he wished Jonah had become the pirate king. Luke would rather he be the one sailing across the seas every day with his crew and daughter

But no, he was trapped helping other pirates deal with their own shit

Deciding to just take one pirate's side for no particular reason, Luke was interrupted by a party of three people walking into the hall

Luke peered at them closely

He only really recognized one of them

Hattie Shaw was one of the cruelest and efficient pirates Luke has seen in over a decade. She ran a tight ship and was fear by every sailor that came across her. Too bad she still held ties to her family, or else Luke would have asked her to join his fleet a long time ago

Standing next to her were two men. Neither really screamed pirate like Hattie did, instead they were in plain clothes. But it didn't hide the weapons on the taller man, who was practically hovering over the smaller man protective

But it was that smaller man Luke couldn't take his eyes off

He was absolutely gorgeous

The candlelight seemed to soften his harsh expression and enhanced how sharp his cheekbones were. He held himself with a sense of dignity, even when wearing a plain white shirt and black trousers

No. The man deserved to be covered in gold and jewels. He should be wrapped in the finest silk and laid on the softest sheets

Luke mentally went through the many pieces of stolen jewelry he had that he could drape over the man. He had a large diamond necklace, almost collar like, that would suit the man perfectly

Lost to his fantasies, Luke felt someone poke his shoulder. Looking up, Luke sheepishly met the harsh glare Letty was sending him

"What's your decree, King Luke?" She said through clenched teeth. Luke had a feeling she'd been trying to get his attention for a while

"You." Luke pointed at random between the two feuding pirates. "You were in the right. Whatever it is, you get it."

With a wave of his hand, Luke dismissed them and didn't care if he had been right or not

"You three!" Luke called out, staring at Hattie and the two men. "Come forward and speak your piece."

Luke could hear the irritated hiss Letty let out. Probably upset that he let people cut the line

Too bad, he was a pirate and would do what he wanted

With her chin held high, Hattie led the two men towards them. As they enter more of the candlelight, Luke couldn't keep his eyes off the smaller man

If it was possible, he looked even more attractive closer up

Luke already knew which golden bracelets would adorn the man's arms

"What brings you here, Shaw?" Luke asked curiously. "Usually you don't need anything from me."

"Not usually, no." Hattie said, her face serious. "But, my mother has a proposal for you."

"Go on."

"You allow her transport ships through your waters."

"And for me?"

"My brother's hand in marriage."

Luke sat up eagerly

And felt like the luckiest man on earth when the smaller man pushed past the other man and closer to Luke

He held his head up as he met Luke's eyes in a challenge

Luke smiled, showing all of his teeth

"I accept."

---

The words seemed to ring out in the large hall

And echoed inside of Deckard's head, making his ears ring

What?

With wide eyes, Deckard stared up at the pirate king who simply leaned back into his throne

He didn't want to admit it, but the image had Deckard salivating

Luke Hobbs was a large man with muscles bigger than Deckard's head, and they shown beautifully in the candlelight, along with the gold that hung off his body

His powerful arms were free of cloth and had gold arm bands with blue rocks embedded in them. Deckard couldn't help but stare at the sight

"You may wait in my chambers while I discuss the details with your sister." Hobbs told him, breaking Deckard out of his staring

Blinking, Deckard wanted to glare at the man for dismissing him so easily, but he held his tongue

Especially when he saw the heated look the king was sending him

Deckard felt himself blush heavily. It was as if the man was undressing him simply by staring at him

A woman broke away from the crowd watching the proceedings

"I'll take him there, Luke." She said, bowing her head slightly

"Thank you, Ramsey."

Looking over at the woman, Deckard found himself relaxing slightly at her smile

Maybe being married off to a pirate wouldn't be the worst thing in the world

---

Owen frowned as he watched Deckard be escorted away from them. He wanted to follow after them, but the firm grip Hattie had on his arm told him not to

Grinding his teeth, Owen stayed put as Hattie dragged them towards a corner of the hall

Hobbs would discuss their contract further once he was done with the court

"I don't like this. It shouldn't be this easy." Owen hissed

"Maybe it can be." Hattie whispered back. "Now quiet."

Leaning against the wall, Owen watched the court carefully to gain any information

And soon found his attention on one pirate specifically

And can you really blame him, when the pirate's name was Roman 'Barnacle Whisperer' Pearce?

That was a story Owen wanted to get his hands on. And maybe the man himself

---

Stepping into a huge, lavish room, Deckard swallowed thickly. Was this really where Hobbs slept? Even Deckard's rooms at home weren't this big!

He heard the door close as Ramsey left him alone to admire everything. Sitting on a lavish couch, Deckard took a deep breath

No doubt in a few days Deckard would be married to the man who owned all this

It was a little overwhelming

Lost in thought, Deckard jumped when he heard the door open again. And revealed a small girl

Deckard met her curious gaze

"Who are you?" She asked

"Deckard."

"Are you a friend of my dad?"

"Kind of." Deckard coughed. He could only assume she meant Hobbs

"What're you doing here?"

"Waiting for him."

"Want to wait together?"

"I'd love the company." Deckard smile and was pleased to see the girl smile back. "And what's your name?"

"Sam." She skipped over to him and looked him over. "You look really plain."

Deckard blinked at her. And looked over the jewels and gold she was wearing. Definitely Hobbs' daughter

"Dad wouldn't mind if you wore a few things of his." Sam smiled at him and grabbed his hand. "Come on."

Frowning, Deckard let Sam pull him further into the rooms

---

Entering his chambers, Luke let out a sigh

He hated haggling deals. Especially when it came to two overly protective siblings. At least Owen Shaw had been distracted by Roman

Looking around the front room, Luke frowned. Where was the third Shaw, Deckard?

For a moment, Luke was scared Ramsey had taken him for herself. But as he listened closely, he could hear laughter from his bedroom

Quietly walking towards the room, Luke could hear Sam's voice

"You look so pretty!"

"Thank you, as do you." A man's voice responded

Luke could clearly hear the joy in both of their voices. Poking his head into the room, Luke felt his heart skip a beat

Sam was kneeling on a chair as she rummaged through his chest of jewels, while Deckard Shaw stood next to her and allowed her to dress him any jewelry she didn't wear herself

Luke's eyes immediately zeroed in on the diamond collar around Deckard's neck

Looked like Sam had had the same idea

Deckard Shaw would be theirs

Leaning against the doorway, Luke stayed quiet as he watched his future husband and daughter

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!!

[lovelucybradford]

I Pretend You’re Mine (5)

A/N: Back with the promised continuation chapter! 

Not sure if you’re interested, but when I was writing, in my head I pictured:

Betty White as Grandma Rose

Richard Madden as Levi

Peter Gallagher as Jason Martin

Scott Eastwood as Drew

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny

@ityagirljay

@wolfarrowepz​

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Five: You Were Romeo (I Was a Scarlet Letter)

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

“Champagne, miss?” The formally dressed waiter offered a flute of sparkling wine, a raspberry garnish floating in the glass. Rosalie took it from his hands with no hesitation, sending the attendant a silent smile of thanks. She put the glass to her lips, then paused and looked up at Derek.

“Will people judge me if I chug this whole thing right now?” she voiced, loving the amused smile that lit up her partner’s face at the innocent question.

“I thought we didn’t care anymore what people thought of us,” Derek reminded her, though she knew that when he was referring to ‘we’, he really meant her. Derek never was one to care what people thought of him.

Rosalie weighed her options, then decided that her family judged her anyways so why not have a good time?

In order to get through this hellish night, she’d have to be tipsy. Best start now.

Without a word of affirmation, she forewent her instilled manners and chugged the glass down in one long sip. Rosalie wasn’t normally a fan of champagne, unless it was Dom Perignon, which she realized made her sound like a total snob. It was the one thing that she’d inherited from her father, her expensive taste in food and drink. It seemed by the familiar, rich, and delicious taste of the bubbly that the cruise ship staff had only provided the very best for their VIP guests.

Rosalie searched for a place to set her glass, finding a nearby unoccupied table and gently depositing it there. She, quite literally, couldn’t afford to even chip one of the crystal goblets.  She stumbled back to Derek, who was waiting for her with an open arm.

“You ready for this?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her neck. It caused unvoluntary goosebumps to crawl up her arms, which she prayed he didn’t notice.

Was she ready?

A part of her never would be. She’d purposely left this part of her life behind, knowing all too well how toxic it was for her mental health. But Rosalie knew if she backed out now, then the family would know that they finally got to her. They would think that she was still strung up and heartbroken about Drew, or jealous of her stepsister for getting the diamond that was meant for Rosalie.

And sure, she had been… once upon a time.

Moving back to Beacon Hills, reconnecting with normal people, people she loved more than her own blood relatives… it had put everything into perspective for her again.

Rosalie could once again be herself, be that strong woman that Talia Hale had raised to be when Rosalie’s own mother had fallen short. The strong, kind, generous, goofy, compassionate, empathetic woman with a mind of her own and a head on her shoulders. Not the ice queen, the submissive and serious woman that her father had tried to warp her into.

And for that, Rose was forever thankful.

She was different now, but exactly the same. And this version of her, with her closest confidantes by her side, wouldn’t cower in a corner.

Rosalie held her head high, meeting Derek’s gaze with a confident look in her blue eyes.

“Yes,” she declared, feeling her confidence rise.

“Good.”

“Lead the way, Prince Charming.”

Derek snorted and shook his head at the nickname, but complied and escorted Rosalie further into the room. She searched for a friendly face among the crowd. Normally, she’d be able to find Lydia by her head of bright red hair, but nearly half of the people in the room had some shade of red hair.

Thankfully, Rosalie didn’t have to look all that hard, as Charlotte came bounding up to her aunt, screaming, “Auntie Rosie! Uncle Derek!”

And suddenly, as the child wrapped her arms around one of Derek’s legs and one of Rosalie’s, all of the attention in the room shifted to the couple.

“Is that Rosalie?” her cousin Noah commented to the man next to him.

“Who the hell is that with her? Because dayum, I’d like to tap that ass,” Noah’s twin, Nick, said back.

“That has to be her friend,” Uncle Alex said to his wife, his lips around a glass of Scotch.

“Not with the way he’s holding her. Besides, did you hear her niece call him Uncle? How she managed that is beyond me,” Aunt Sarah replied, looking Rose’s companion up and down with hungry eyes.

Rosalie ignored all the talk, even though it seemed as if the crowd wasn’t even attempting to be discreet in their conversations.

She reached down to pat Charlotte’s blonde head. “Hey, honey! I missed you!”

Derek ruffled Charlotte’s curls playfully, to which the little girl pretended to be angry with him. But Rosalie could see the smile that she was hiding as Charlotte clutched the adults’ legs even harder.

“All right, all right, Charlie. Let’s let Auntie Rosalie and Uncle Derek breathe, yeah?” Rosalie’s brother, Levi, broke through the crowd, detaching his daughter from the couple and telling her to go on and play with her cousins.

As soon as the little girl was out of sight, Levi enveloping his sister in a hug. Derek held out his hand for a friendly shake, but Levi pulled him into an embrace as well, the two men patting each other fondly on the back.

“I’m digging the beard,” Derek approved, gesturing to Levi’s newly grown beard while rubbing his own.

“What can I say? I was inspired by yours. Although I have to say, mine looks a little better. Y’know, because it’s still all one color,” Levi joked, comparing his solid red scruff to Derek’s salt-and-pepper look.

Rosalie elbowed Derek in the side teasingly. “Yeah, you old man!”

Derek raised one brow and stepped away from Rosalie, crossing his arms. “Oh sure, call me old man one more time.”

Rosalie beamed up at him, wagging her own brows. “What would you rather me call you? Sugar daddy?”

With one fell swoop, Derek was pressed against her, fingers tickling the small expanse of visible skin on her waist. Rose squealed with laughter, trying in vain to pull away from him and begging for mercy.

Levi cleared his throat loudly, causing the couple to separate. Rosalie’s cheeks burned red at the embarrassing scene that she had been a part of. Surely her brother would tease her about it.

Instead, Levi looked a bit pissed.

“So, I guess my daughter didn’t dream up your engagement, then. This,” Levi gestured to Rosalie and Derek, “is really happening?”

Derek shifted his weight on both feet. Rosalie bit her lip and looked to the floor guiltily. She loved her brother. She really did. But she knew that Levi had loose lips, and he’d surely have one too many and (unintentionally) let slip the whole ruse. That, and Rose couldn’t take the disappointment from him.

“It’s about fucking time,” Levi added, sounding a lot more jovial. Rosalie’s and Derek’s heads shot up instantly, shocked at his comment.

Levi slapped Derek on the shoulder. “Bro, I am so glad you didn’t listen to me.”

“What’s he talking about?” Rosalie interrogated Derek.

Derek scratched the back of his neck and turned his head towards the large window next to them. Before he could explain, Jess, Levi’s wife, snaked her arms around her husband’s waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Lee was telling me all about how he’d threatened Derek with his guns if he even put his hands on you.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. Derek stayed unusually silent. “You gave Der the boyfriend talk?! When was this, big brother?”

Levi raised both hands in surrender. “In my defense, Derek was a horny college kid back then, and I was only trying to protect my little sister. You know the, um, milestones that come with prom night.”

The tapping of a mic interrupted their conversation, which Rosalie was thankful for since she was at a loss for words.

She’d remembered that night in question, fondly. It was the night that she’d realized that she’d had feelings for Derek. Rosalie’s then-boyfriend, Ryan, had dumped her a week before prom for another, more sexy, more experienced, girl. Rosalie was heartbroken, and had sworn off prom, until Derek had shown up on her doorstep in a suit with a pink corsage and a sparkling silver tiara.

She’d laughed, of course, at the reference to the childhood nickname. Then, she’d excitedly rushed upstairs to ready herself, leaving Derek at the mercy of one Levi Martin. Levi Martin, who had, apparently, threatened to cut off Derek’s balls and feed them to the family dog if he had even touched his baby sister in an inappropriate way.

(Levi was always… poetic when it came to his threats.)

Rosalie had hoped, prayed, that as Derek had driven her home in his black Camaro, that he would kiss her, to put a fairytale ending on a perfect night. Sure, he’d kissed her when he dropped her off at her front door… on the cheek, like a brother, or a best friend, might.

Rosalie had dreamt about that night for years afterwards, of what it would be like if he had actually kissed her.

_______________

“I’m sorry, Grandma Rose. I have to go rescue my fiancé from your dear grandson.”

Rosalie stood from the table, feeling a rush in her head for a few seconds. She was definitely tipsier than she thought.

Once Rose got her bearings, she strutted, barefoot, to Derek, who looked highly uncomfortable. With every inch that Nick advanced on Derek, the man backed a considerable distance away.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have an amazing ass?” Rosalie heard Nick flirt from paces away. The way that Nick was looking at Derek, the way that he was blatantly hitting on the man when Nick knew that Derek was taken, it unsettled something in Rosalie. Her vision turned red as she approached the two from behind, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist.

“Hi Nick. Sorry, this amazing ass is mine.” Rosalie didn’t know what she was saying, didn’t really think through what she was doing. All she knew was that she was grabbing Derek’s right butt cheek with her hand, smiling smugly as Nick’s eyes widened.

Derek waited until Rose’s cousin scurried away before stiffly asking, “Rosalie, why are you grabbing my ass?”

Rosalie let go of Derek immediately, feeling as if she’d spontaneously combust in mortification. “I am, so, so sorry. I just kind of… he was ogling you and it made me mad. Like you’re gorgeous but you’re more than just a pretty face and an incredible ass.” Rosalie’s eyes widened at her word vomit, and now she definitely wanted to throw herself from the nearest balcony and test her drunken theory that she was secretly a mermaid.

“I… I need a drink.”

Derek turned to face her, a hint of a forming chuckle on his lips. “I think you’ve had enough of those, babe.”

Rosalie wished that she could slink away. She wished that someone would hit her in the head, and she’d wake up with amnesia. Maybe she could change her name and move to Antarctica? Yeah, that would be good.

Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing his best friend by the elbow and latching her hand back onto his arm. “I’m not mad at you, Rosalie. Feel free to grab my ass anytime if it makes you feel better.”

Rosalie tried to scowl, but the frown was turning upward with every second. “I hate you so much.”

Derek escorted the two back to Rosalie’s table, where Grandma Rose looked completely unimpressed with the whole shindig. Before they sat, he pulled Rose close and whispered, “I’ll let you grab my ass as long as I can grab yours.”

At that, he pulled out Rosalie’s chair and plopped her down, taking the one next to her. Rose was speechless. Did that actually come out of his mouth? Wait, did he actually want to grab her behind? Yep. Those were his words. Exactly.

Rose’s cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink. Derek laughed at her slowly coloring face, to which she smacked him on the thigh under the table. Before she could remove her hand, Derek grabbed it and held it between the two of them.

“I always knew the two of you would end up together.” Grandma Rose said wistfully, looking at the couple with soft eyes.

You and everyone else, apparently. Everyone but Derek, Rosalie thought sadly, and tried to shove the painful pang in her heart.

“You know how I knew, Rosalie?” Grandma Rose shakily reached for her flute of champagne, taking a long sip. “I knew it when this one, this big, strong, handsome man,” the old woman reached for Derek’s free hand and patted it kindly, “punched my idiot son in the face at that party, after you got your master’s degree.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. Jason and Derek had never gotten along. Jason thought Derek was ‘some jock who was too concerned with an unlikely career in basketball instead of his studies’. Derek thought Jason was a ‘pompous, cheating, scumbag, son of a bitch’. (Both quotes were their words exactly)

All of the building tension exploded when Jason had chosen to make a below-the-belt comparison between Rose and Ashleigh’s accomplishments. As if they weren’t celebrating Rosalie graduating from Columbia University, an ivy league, with a master’s degree, with the highest honors.

Derek had broken Jason’s nose. Jason had gotten a restraining order (his favorite defense tactic; it expired last year).

“I’m so sorry,” Derek told Rosalie’s grandmother, though he didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

“Oh, sweetheart. It wasn’t like every sane person at that party wasn’t thinking the same thing. You were the only one brave enough to do it. Rose’s knight in shining armor.”

Derek’s face flushed red, a rare sight for a man with so much confidence.

“Rosalie, dear. I do have to warn you, Drew and Ashleigh are here.”

Rosalie sighed. She knew that they would be here. The pair had done a very good job at avoiding them; Rose wondered when they’d finally make it around her and Derek’s way. If Rose were lucky, maybe they’d just avoid her the whole trip. Only in her dreams…

“I know, Grandma. I—have you seen them yet?”

“Yes, I had the misfortune of running into both of them while yelling at your father for dragging his ninety-two-year-old mother on an extravagant trip. Do you know how long the plane flight was? Anyways, Drew called me ‘grandma’. You know what I told him, loves?”

Derek and Rosalie looked to each other, both knowing that it was probably something rude. Grandma Rose was Rosalie’s favorite relative, outside of her brother and Lydia. She was the most real of all of them. She spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to let anyone know how she felt.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Derek choked on his glass of white wine. Rosalie smacked him on the back a few times, unable to hold in her shaking laughter.

“Yes, I told dear old Drew to go fuck himself. The only man that’s allowed to call me that is Derek. He doesn’t have his head up his ass. He sees how beautiful, wonderful, and deserving of love my real granddaughter is.”

All jokes aside, Grandma Rose’s words warmed Rosalie’s heart. At least one of the extended family members didn’t think she was a disgrace.

“Well, kids. Would you look at that? The pompous son of a bitch wants to go blab about himself. Someone should go tell him to shut up.”

Rosalie looked to the small stage at the front of the lounge. Sure enough, there was her father, Jason, dressed to the nines in a likely customized Hugo Boss suit, a pink Hibiscus sticking out of his breast pocket. Jason looked around at the crowd, clearing his throat to get the attention of his guests.

“Welcome, everyone! I’m so glad that you’re here and could join me on this fantastic excursion…”

Jason continued his schpeal and Rosalie tuned him out. He was likely talking about how great he was for paying for everyone’s accommodations, or how lucky they were to be spending time with him on this 1K-a-night cruise. Rosalie had heard it all before, multiple times, and she was sick of it, frankly.

What was it about rich people’s money that made them think that they were gods and should be treated as such?

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand hard, his nails digging into the back of her hand.

She looked to him in explanation, but he only nodded his head towards the stage.

Where Drew was shepherding Ashleigh up the steps, his hand resting on her backside.

“Yes, as I said, we have two exciting announcements that Evelyn and I could not wait to share with you tonight.”

 Jason looked fondly towards Ashleigh and Drew, who were now hobbling towards him. There were resounding gasps and excited squeals, but Rosalie could only focus on Drew.

Drew was still as handsome as the day that she had first met him. His blue eyes sparkled with confidence and charm. He’d grown a beard since Rosalie had seen him last, wafts of brown hair covering his strong jaw. He stood behind Ashleigh, his hands moving to rest on her stomach, and that’s when time stood still.

Because, under Drew’s lithe fingers, was a protruding bump. Rosalie, despite herself, couldn’t help the gasp that formed around her lips, nor the shaking of her hands.

Drew, when he was with her, had told Rosalie that he didn’t want kids. He’d had daddy issues too and didn’t want his offspring to grow up with a messed-up dad. Even though Rosalie desperately wanted a family, she was so in love with Drew that she’d put those dreams aside, for him.

Now, Drew stood proudly cradling his pregnant fiancée’s stomach as he spoke sweet nothings into her ear, looking thrilled to become a dad.

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand tightly, then removed it to wrap around her shoulders instead, nestling her into him. Derek’s lips brushed the top of Rose’s head, then her forehead.

“Fuck, Rosie. I’m so sorry. I… he didn’t deserve you. You’re better off without him. Do you want to go?” Derek whispered huskily in Rosalie’s ear, breaths coming out shallowly.

Rosalie didn’t need to feel the tenseness of his arm around her to know that he was pissed. She could tell just by the tone of his voice that he wanted to kill Drew.

Rosalie turned her head so that now her lips would be close to his ear. “I… I should have known. I—No, we need to stay. If I leave now, then Ashleigh and Evelyn will know that they’ve won, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rosalie rested her head on Derek’s shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace.

Someone kicked her leg under the table. Rosalie raised her head to look at Derek questioningly. His expression matched her own.

“Rosalie? Dear, are you here?” Jason called from the stage, his snake-like grey eyes checking the crowd for his daughter.

“She’s here, you pompous prick!” Grandma Rose yelled to her son, shoving Rosalie gently with a hand to her back. From a distance, Rosalie heard Stiles guffaw. She imagined that Lydia smacked him in the head while trying to control her own laughter.

Jason scowled, but ignored his mother, watching with a forced smile as his daughter and her ‘fiancé’ ascended the stairs. Derek had a tight hold around Rosalie, who had forgone her shoes in the shock of the moment. She leaned on him, both physically and metaphorically, for strength.

“Some more good news for my daughters. Somehow, someone managed to put a ring on my dear little Rosalie. Yes, it shocked us, too. Good on you, Derek!” Jason looked to Rosalie’s bare feet. “And it seems he doesn’t mind her habit for walking around barefoot. Welcome to the family, Derek Hale!”

Most of the crowd laughed, Evelyn and Ashleigh’s shrill merriment sticking out the most. Derek held Rosalie tighter. She bit the inside of her lip in an attempt to stay strong.

From Jason’s other side, Drew asked, “Wait. Isn’t that the guy who broke your nose?”

Derek rested his forehead on the side of Rose’s head, huffing into her ear “Yes. That was me. And if you don’t shut up, I’ll break your nose, too, you douche”.

That made her chuckle, and with his arms securely around her, Rose knew that she’d be alright as long as Derek was by her side.

[idjitlili]

Kili x reader

Summary: imagine telling kili about your scars , after the battle of the five armies , in which fili , kili and thorin live as you are awesome.

Word count:1635

warning :the reader has a thing for potatoes. So if you do not like potatoes this isn’t for you. Uh

A/n sorry I mention potatoes a lot in fanfics , or quotes.

“Son of a bitch!” You shout out in pain, you were in the kitchen in Thorin’s palace.

You were human , but being apart of the company , Thorin grew to like you. He would protect you like you were his daughter. You might aswell have been.

FLash back to some point in te journey to reclaiming erebor.

It had been raining heavy for hours , the mud on the ground was like yogurt. The mud tracked up all your trousers, you had almost fell multiple times due the slippy mud.

You were about to take another step, placing it down, only for it to slip making you fall head first. Leading you to cut your knees on the rocks , and covering yourself with mud. Only just saving your face from going into the mud with your hands.

You had let out a groan of pain, the throbbing of your knees aching.

“Y/n! “ shouted thorin grabbing you up , looking for injuries.

“Are you okay?” He asks , wiping the mud from your face, concern written on his face.

“Yeah I am fine dad-Thorin, thank you:” your eyes going wide , trying to covering up what you had almost called a king.

You look up at Thorin red faced, only to see him smiling at you,pulling you along to catch up with the others.

It was weird you called Thorin dad, when you liked one of his nephews , but thorin didn’t seem to mind.

You had been making mash potatoes , you had to peel them first. However as you aren’t careful and hungry you were rushing. This led you to cut your hand again with a potato peeler.

Now blood pouring out of your middle finger,you grab a cloth , that was once white was now blood red. Feeling like you had just had your fingers bitten off like in the interview and were trying to solve that problem with a cloth. You tied it around it and carried on making your potatoes.

Feeling very Dean Winchester , as he gets randomly stabbed and he’s like whoa man, I need my bacon. You start cooking your bacon.

Just shake it off. Yeah shake it off.

“I heard you sho-“ you turn around shifty when you hear a familiar voice, you grab the nearest knife,holding it up.

Only to see the Thorins nephew ,Prince Kili.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, I swear.” He panics.

“Idjit, I was cooking why sneak up on me princess?” You reply rather angrily.

“I was just coming to see if you was oka-which you clearly aren’t.” He speaks eyeing your finger , that’s what she said.

“I was making mash, had an accident but I am fine now.” You tried to reassuring him.

“Can I at least look?”

“Do you have to princess?”

“Yes, “

“Fine let me get the bacon .” You spoke putting the bacon onto a plate while your potatoes boiled. You place the plate on the counter side and sit up on the counter. You give Kili your injured hand , which he took gently , while you used your right hand to grab a piece of bacon.

Kili unties the cloth from your finger, you feel the air hit the cut, you hold in your urge to wince. He eyes it throughly.

“It has stopped bleeding, luckily.” What the fuck is he talking about it’s just a small cut.

Kili grabs another cloth , soaking it in water then rings it out, walking back to you standing between your legs.. You pick up a slice of bacon , holding it up to the princes mouth, which he happily opens, taking the bacon into his mouth eating it. He smiles at you, then goes back to your finger, uses the cloth to clean the dried blood.

“Thank you.” You whisper., looking down at kili, he grins placing a kiss on the cut and then covers it with a clean piece of cloth securely.

“What are all these other scars from?” He questions eyeing the scars.

You point to the too close together scars on your hand.

“Well that one is from burning my hand on the oven roof when putting pizza in the oven.” He nods , then points to another scar , which you tell him is from a potato peeler, in which you have a lot from the potato peeler.

“You have a lot of potato peeler cuts, maybe I should peel the potatoes from now on.” He grins.

“I love potatoes what can I say, no I wouldn’t want you getting cut from it.”

“Well I rather I got hurt than you.”

“No I rather get hurt princess.”

“What’s with the princess thing?”

“Are you not a princess? “

“No I am a prince” he replies Sighing.

“Well I think you are princess, you have pretty hair” you reach to feel his hair , surprisingly he lets you. His hair very soft like silk.

Then you continue,” you have pretty eyes , pretty face , probably bigger tits than me. You are a princess.”

“You must have no breasts then, which I can hardly believe that’s true Okay you are my prince then.” He smirks at you

“Why am I your prince , princess?” You think he is hinting at something , but you couldn’t get your hopes up.

“Well I thought when I allowed you to touch my hair that revealed my feelings.” Oh . Oh.

“MY POTATOES.” You Jump down from the counter past kili to the cooker turning the stove off. You sigh in relief , emptying the water from the pan putting it on the side , adding milk , salt and pepper. You grab the potato masher and go to mash the potato, but kill takes it from you and mashes it.

His arms in this tunic flexing, infecting his strength seeing his muscles. He was indeed hot. You face beet red , you mutter thank you when he had finished. He grins at you red cheeks. You grabbed the cheese and butter adding it to the mash , mixing it. You dish it into a bowl , putting the pan In The sink to soak. Cutting the bacon and mixing it into.

“So what are your feelings ,sunshine?” You ask stuffing your mouth with a spoon full of mash. Spooning another you hand it kili who takes it , tasting it. He smiles at you, he has mash above his lip.

“ well y/n , you have captured my heart in a cell of diamond.” Blush covers his face, he were nervous , yet still had a cocky smile on his face.

You gasp, muttering son of a bitch, In which his smile drops. “I hope this isn’t another prank.” You spoke but remembering you just walked the prank there’s a camera over there and over there. You subconsciously look around.

He grabs your hands, “ I promise , it isn’t.” You smile widely , you pull your hands from his and put them around his neck,pulling him close to your face. He has his hands wrapped around your waist, leaning towards you as do you. Closing your eyes ,his lips press against yours , they are soft and taste like the bacon you fed him. You smile.

Then you pull away slightly and kiss the mash that lay above his lip on his stubble. You eat it. “You had mash on you.” You speak seriously he laughs pressing his against yours again, then resting his forehead against yours

. “Do you think Thorin will be happy?” You ask.

“You mean dad.” He smirks.

“Shut up, assbutt.” Then you quickly move your arms to his ass squeezing It slightly, earning a gasp from him.

“Nice ass.” You spoke , but then quickly gasp , when he does the same.

“No you have a nice ass. But seriously I think Thorin will be more than happy.” He laughs, you smile at him.

“Uhh do you want eat the rest of the mash with me?”

“Yes, as long as you are dessert.”

“Oi mate , no funny business you aren’t even my boyfriend yet.” This face drops then goes back into a smirk.

He drops to his knees holding your hand ,placing a kiss on it. “Will you allow me to court you kiss y/n y/l , and become my girlfriend?”

“Yes ,savvy, indeed I will.” You smirk.

You pull kili up, so he’s face to face to you, and press another kiss to his lips. He grABS the mash, and your hand, taking you out of the kitchen to somewhere.

After a few minutes of walking you hear a voice.

“What are you too doing?” You look up to see Thorin standing before you two.

“Uhh going to eat mash potatoes.” You gesture to mash in kili’s hand. Then suddenly Fili pops up, “hey brother oh hey y/n ,OH” he notices your joined hands , you are now red embarrassed stood in front of your father figure.

“I am courting y/n Thorin, I was going to braid her hair.” He spoke confidently, squeezing your hand.

“I am glad you finally decided to court y/n , now me and fili meeting to get to.” He smiles at you two before leaving. You smile up at kili.

In the end you and kili have a small wedding. . In which Thorin walks you down the aisle.

A/n do you think at this point the reader is in love with potatoes, not kili , fili, eomer or legolas. Please send in requests, or they will end up having potatoes in them

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again - Chapter 2

Whole Again on AO3

Time was a blur. His legs ached by the time he thought to stop. He was still on the coast, still in town. He couldn’t have been running more than forty minutes. An hour at most. He was old. Even at a slow speed, running longer than it took to get from a hit to his car was tiring. And he was. His body felt loose and disjointed. His sides throbbed, punctuated with the occasional sharp pinch. His toes were numb, result of piss poor circulation. His head pulsed in time with his too rapid heartbeat. He felt dry. Dry and heated to the point of cracking. His mouth thought he had woken up from one hell of a bender.

What the HELL!? What the fuck is wrong with me!? Stan panted, hunching over to regain his balance. God damn. What was that? Stan’s mind reeled. Where had it come from? This sudden urge to maim and torture and fucking play with someone just to see what would happen was not an urge he was used to having anymore. Besides, he knew what would happen. He knew what the screams would sound like, how the organs would feel and how warm the blood would be. He knew, damn it! He didn’t need to do it. He didn’t want to. Fuck!

Had he always been like that? Had he been that violent as Stan? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear that answer.

He ran his free hand over his face, shoulders slumped and feet unsteady. His other hand loose and hanging onto the bag of steaks as an afterthought. It was too easy to slip into agenizing, hopeless despair. He had spent decades lost in that void, both figuratively and literally. Years lost on the road or stumbling through the forest looking for those damn journals. Centuries lost in a slowly collapsing dimension, wavering in and out of delight and regret at having killed his entire family and everyone he loved.  

His body went ridged, muscles wound tight with agitation. No. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to let this affect him. It was just an impulse. He had those, everyone did. The only difference now was he had different impulses. More violent ones. He shuddered and gritted his teeth, dentures pinching at his gums.

He should head back. He needed to pack up all the stuff he had delivered to the ship. He needed to make sure no one passed by and lifted anything.  Where was he? He had gone in a straight line, right? He didn’t remember making any turns.

He was in some residential area near the coast. The road had pulled away from the water’s edge and he could just faintly hear the splashing of the waves. He was on a bridge (a low one, barely ten feet) going over a gully leading down to the beach. The cement guard posts, made for stopping cars more than pedestrians, provided some semblance of reprieve. Everything hurt. He just needed a few minutes. He took off his red beanie and stuffed it in the pocket of his trench coat, running a hand through his hair. His hands felt tight, like the skin was too small. That’s when he realized he wasn’t sweating.

He needed to find some water.

Stan squinted at the buildings up the road from where he came, wishing not for the first time that he had been brave enough to get that cataract surgery. Anything not within two feet of his face was blurry and anything in the distance was just color. His glasses helped, but not much.

There is a bakery, 400 yards down the road, left side.

What? O Pan e Manteiga. Simple. Run by a Guy named Viktor. Makes great pita bread, oddly.

How did he know that? How do I know that?

He squeezed his eyes closed and started the slow trek to the storefront. He passed by a clothing store and a pawn shop on the way, a twang of nostalgia passing through his core.

It was there. O Pan e Manteiga. The Bread and Butter. Maybe he’d seen it and his subconscious took notice of it. I know lots of things! He shuddered. He wasn’t omnipotent. Not anymore. And not knowing everything kept things interesting.

Stan pushed the door open and winced at the tinging of the bell. A slender man about forty years old with salt and pepper hair greeted him in Gaelic. Stan didn’t respond, instead shuffling over to the counter clutching at his side that had started hurting again.  

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped and tried again.

“Auga?” He asked tentatively. Stan’s voice was weak and he realized how out of breath he was.

Viktor smiled faintly and pulled a bottle of water from a sliding door cooler behind the counter.

“Douscentos trinta e cinco” Viktor spoke slowly, realizing that Stan was a foreigner.

Stan squinted and shook his head in confusion. He understood, kind of, but his mind was foggy. “What?” Viktor sighed and mimed the numbers 235. Stan pulled out the envelope of bills Ford had handed him after leaving the bank earlier. He flipped through the bills numbly and handed over far too much than Viktor had asked for but he didn’t care. The guy needed it if his daughter wanted that yearbook. Damnit! Stop that!

He gulped down the water, draining the bottle in a few short seconds. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and nose as his body adjusted to having necessary moisture. Bodily necessities sucked. Sweating was weird, even if he had done it for sixty years, it was still weird. All that water just in his body and eking out through tiny holes in his skin. Skin itself was kinda weird too. It was mushy and soft and was fun to poke at, especially Ford. Ford had always seemed bemused whenever Stan Bill took over his body and sat poking and prodding at his various appendages.

He finished the bottle with a final gulp. Panting, he turned his gaze back to Viktor who was holding out a plastic bag with another bottle of water and some sort of wrapped pastry.

“I don’t…what?” God his voice was rough. He must have really needed that water.

Viktor sighed again, shaking the bag slightly at Stan. “Kleina. You like.”

Stan took the bag slowly, dropping the empty bottle in the bag too. The Kleina was warm and appeared to be diamond shaped donut with a hole in the middle.

“Thank you” Stan was still a little breathless and his words came out as a harsh gasp. He felt his cheeks coloring. He reached for the envelope again, but Viktor waved him off as he turned to help another customer that had walked in behind Stan. Stan pulled the second bottle out and began drinking it much less desperately and left an extra bill on the counter on his way out. That should cover part of the yearbook cost at least….aw, fuck it!

Storefront would look better yellow. Or pink. Guy’d look better with pink hair too. Stan’s fingers itched to snap, but he resisted. This is stupid! I’m human now! Been human for damn near sixty years. No more powers. Think I’d be used to it by now. He’d never wanted them before, so why now?  He was just feeling nostalgic, that was all. Being on the ocean with Ford had brought up a shit ton of nostalgia and it brought this too. That’s all it was. He sipped his water and made his way back to the docks.

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His back ached by the time he had gotten the supplies loaded. Thankfully nothing had gone missing. He suspected the Harbor Master had been keeping an eye on things; the man had been walking back and forth in front of the Stan O’War often enough to catch Stan’s attention. Nice as it was it was still annoying because it meant he had to carry everything by hand rather than shrinking everything down and making one trip that didn’t throw his back out.

He was lounging on the galley booth nursing a Pitt Cola when he heard voices out front. Ford and some other male, both speaking Gaelic. He wanted to play dumb and pretend he didn’t understand. Let the syllables roll over him without their meaning sticking. But curiosity and the cat and all that. Actually, curiosity didn’t kill the cat, curiosity brought the cat people of Dimension Al/26 to his realm and he killed them. After he dressed them up in adorable little outfits and made them dance. Captain Puratrick the Fourth had cursed him with his last breath. Maybe that was why Lazy Susan’s cats hated him. He was cursed. Worked for him. Her voice reminded him of his aunt anyway. Creepy old trapezoid that she was.

Stan lifted himself off the seat of the booth and grumbled about being old. He let his mind shift and began listening to the conversation above.

“I’m still sure I can get a better range if I modify the receivers with reflective sheeting to concentrate the signal, but I need to know if you can supply the metal.” That would be Ford. Tongue flapping and voice rapid fire as he prattled on about improving their antenna. Stan knew it wouldn’t work. All it would do is scatter the signal even more with several receivers on their current antenna. Be better if he just ripped the whole thing out and put in a proper dish, but that would take weeks and more money than they both were comfortable spending.

Stan heard a low whistle and a regional exclamation of awe he didn’t quite understand. The hell did ‘codding’ mean?

“Jesus, an’ you came from America? You really are slaggin’ me. That’s ships pretty small ain’t it? Not even a sail. You got anyone else to keep you company?” Guy sounded more Irish than anything. Ford didn’t seem to take note of the flirtatious tone.  

“Just my twin Stanley.”

“OH, Twins, eh? Is ‘e as clean on as you are?” Nope, this was not happening.

“Umm……I don’t, I mean…the, um, the mainframe is in the top cabin if you wanted to take a look.” Great, Ford had finally caught on to this guy’s intent.    

Stan had been on his way up at the mystery man’s first comment. He exited the main cabin’s door in time to catch Ford blushing bright magenta holding his hands in front of him in defense.

“Ah, sorry, had you pegged for queer. Too bad, you’re just my type.” The Icelandic man (Irish, Stan was sure now) seemed to back down when he saw Stan hovering behind Ford. Stan put on a neutral to slightly annoyed expression and addressed Ford in English.

“Hey, back so soon? You missed putting supplies away. Who’s this clown?” He gestured to the new guy with an uptick of his chin.

Because the man really was dressed rather absurdly. Low cut white v-neck showing off his chest hair, cardigan thrown over his shoulders (he wasn’t even wearing it properly), chunky gold chain, green paperboy cap balanced on his head, 70’s porn ‘stache and…did this guy really have a fucking gold tooth?

His appearance ran like pins down Stan’s back; he instantly disliked the man, even without the knowledge that he was putting moves on Ford.

Damn kid was stealing his look! And flirting with his brother! AND getting a reaction. Time to nip this one in the bud.

“By the by, I picked up a package ‘o yer nappies. Expensive as hell out here, but if it’ll keep the mattresses clean.”

Ford’s face seemed to get even redder, deepening into near purple with humiliation. His eyes narrowed and he turned a scowl towards Stan that would have withered him some years ago.

“STANLEY!” Oh, he was pissed. “What are you on about now, you knucklehead?” Stan shifted his attention back and forth between Ford and porno guy, internally cheering when he saw a look of surprised disgust curl up and find a home under that poor excuse for a mustache. While an unfortunate fact of life, he figured incontinence was a major turn off if this guy was lookin’ to ride a silver fox.

The guy switched to English and Stan felt damn proud of himself pegging the Irish heritage when a thick accent came out. “Oy, sorry mate. Takin’ a look at yer set up, I don’t think there’s anything I can do. ‘Less you wanna get yerself a whole new rig. Ye’ best jus’ stick with what ya got. Sorry, other places ta be. Good luck, ya?” And with that, Irish prono ‘stache was hopping off the deck and hightailing it to the main dock.

Stan couldn’t help but grin; cat and proverbial canary and such, but the guy practically left trail of fire with how fast he ran. HA! He braved a glance back at Ford, who had been lackadaisically trying to call out to the guy, hand outstretched to stop him. He turned to Stan, lips pursed.  

“Damnit, Stanley, what the hell was that for?” Ford’s hands gesturing between them.

Stan frowned. Ford was naive when it came to social interactions, but he wasn’t that dense.

“Saving you from having to fend off potentially wandering hands later.” He’d thought it had been obvious. Ford apparently hadn’t gotten that.

“By implying that I’m incontinent? If anyone needs extra absorbency it’s you. And he was going to help me modify the antenna. Now where am I going to get highly polished sheet metal?” Stan decided to ignore Ford’s comment and simply address the main issue, which was that this guy was moving in on his terr, NO! Not going there. He was just looking out for Ford.

“Polishin’ sheet metal wasn’t what he was lookin’ to do.” And he did know. The guy wanted to do a heck of a lot more than just work on their antenna. He could see the guy’s fantasies of being dominated by Ford as clear as if he’d been watching a film. He would have been disappointed.  

“I could have handled it.” Sheepish and mild annoyance made Ford adorable. I need a lamb costume. Wonder if he would do the ‘Lambie, Lambie dance’ for me.

“Yeah, like you weren’t trippin’ over yer words and backin’ down like you were avoidin’ a fight.” Even in high school Ford had been all hands and confused tongue when talking to people he liked. Cathy Crenshaw being a prime example.  

“Stanley, I’ve been traveling the multiverse for thirty years, I can handle one guy. And who’s to say I wasn’t interested. You don’t know what I’m into?” Stan snorted. Yeah, he would have never expected Ford to be attracted to a yellow triangle, but there you go. Come to think of it, Ford had stammered and flushed when he had flirted with him, too. Not that he had intended to, he was just praising Ford on his calculations. And maybe implying that big brains were evidence of other big things. At the time, he had meant big heads, but Ford’s wide-eyed expression was funny, so he had let Ford think otherwise. 

“No, I don’t know, but I could see you were lookin’ fer a way out. I gave you one. ‘Sides, the guy was right. It’d only scatter the signal more.” Stan was done with this conversation, and he could tell Ford was on the last bit of his patience too. Ford arched an eyebrow incredulously, nose wrinkling in disbelief.  

“How would you know? I don’t remember you knowing anything about radio signals.”

Stan baulked. Shit…Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“I don’t tell you everything, Poindexter. ‘Sides, I had ta learn a lil’ somin somin ‘bout it. In the middle ‘o winter, havin’ a radio to let people know what’s up was damn useful. I’m gonna head down and start moving things. Got some steaks for dinner tonight. Picked up a donut at a shop down the way. Left it for you. Not sweet enough for me.” Stan waved a hand dismissively and started back down to the galley. He fully intended to spend the rest of the night avoiding any continuation of this conversation if he could help it. If that meant re-arranging stock, cooking dinner, and washing dishes, then he was glad to do it.  

He grumbled obscenities about where Irish Porn Star could shove it and about brothers who were too smart for their own good as he stomped down to the galley, back pain be damned. He snagged the bag of toffee peanuts from the table, tearing into the bag without thinking.  

“I thought they stopped making those God-awful things?” Ford had obviously followed him down and was emptying his pockets into a drawer by the stairwell. Stan glanced down at the bag in his hands, mouth open in mid-bite. Ummmm.  

“Oh, uh, found a store in town that sold them. Guy wouldn’t let me buy their whole stock. Same place I got you that donut.” He pushed the bag with the Kleina towards the other side of the table where Ford would undoubtedly sit.    

They had been in the bag that Viktor gave him,…right? Yeah, he’d asked for them. There had been a whole display. And if a bag of jellybeans appeared in the cupboard the next morning for Ford to find, well, those had been in the bag too.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The steaks had been exceptional (though he was sure they had been mutton rather than beef, but hey, good either way) and he and Ford had set up on the deck with folding chairs and a pack of beer between them. It was some domestic (Icelandic) beer that sat meaty and heavy in his mouth. But it had been cheap and tasted okay cold. Ford didn’t seem to mind it either, and he had never been much of a drinker.

“There are positives and negatives to being near civilization.” Ford’s voice was light and Stan hummed in curiosity. “This is the first night that we haven’t been able to see the stars clearly.” Ford took a sip from his bottle and leaned further back in his chair. Ford had always liked looking at the stars. Constellations and planets and the occasional light distortion of a distant galaxy. The telescope mounted on the roof of the cabin was proof enough, although that was mainly used for navigation.  

Stan grinned, “You want stars Poindexter, all you gotta do is look out on the water.” It was true. The various lights from the ships coming in and out of port twinkled and danced as their light reflected and refracted off the moisture in the air and the water’s surface. It reminded him of the clouds of fireflies that would creep out of the forest at night back in Gravity Falls.

Ford let out a soft chuckle and drained his beer before snagging another. They sat in silence and just took in the world around them. Quiet slaps of the water against the hull of the boat, gentle breath of the wind bringing in the smells of the ocean. He could almost feel the sand between his toes and the press of a wooden seat of a swing set. They used to do this, sit for hours, and not talk, watching the swirls of the mindscape float by, carrying pages of information and memories with them. Comfortable. Stan had always taken comfort in Ford’s presence. Even when he had annoyed the heck out of him and Ford was purposefully ignoring him, he still liked being near Ford. Making a point to sit next to him or float just beyond his peripheries.

At first it had just been a way to use Stanford. Get close and chummy to gain his trust and have the portal built. It was kind of pathetic how quickly he grew to enjoy Ford’s company. He used to find really stupid excuses to possess Ford’s body; he need to write something down, he missed a button, he was gonna slip in the shower, he hadn’t eaten that day, he’d been trying to…stay awake. 

Stan hated himself. All of himself. He had driven Ford to the brink of insanity, tormenting and teasing. Messing with his mind and memories in an effort to goad him into pleading, begging him to stop. It pleased him when Ford begged. He had wanted to pull Ford taut, pull him apart before giving him what he wanted. Eventually, Ford had stopped eating, stopped sleeping and he was losing control of his body. Stan remembered forcefully taking over just to get Ford to bathe and shove a sandwich down his throat before downing some sleeping pills. Yeah, Ford was a puppet. But he was Stan’s favorite puppet. 

He sighed. That was a long, long time ago. As much as he lamented it now, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed it at the time. Things were different now. He was a new man, a different man and as much as memories from back then nagged at his mind, this was what he wanted. This, right here. On a boat with his brother, looking for scientific and magical anomalies and finding treasure. And babes! Speaking of, Stanford had been turning something over in his mind. Stan wished he’d just spit it out already, he was ready for some action. He pointedly ignored that he knew what Ford was going to ask.        

Ford cleared his throat. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the scanner. I think there might be another anomaly up the coast a ways.” Stan harrumphed and chugged the last of his beer. “I heard today that Lokinhamradalur Valley up in the western fjords has had some issues with ghosts for several hundred years. The farmers up there have been complaining about spooked livestock, wilting crops and sand in the water pumps.” Ford scratched at his side of his face, glancing at Stan from the corner of his eye, desperately trying not so sound like Dipper discovering something new. Stan could feel his eyes rolling before he even thought to do so, and shook his head. What kind of brother would he be to deny Ford who seemed all but vibrating out of his seat with excitement.

“Alright, Nerd. We can go lookin’ for your spookums and ghosts and shit. But you’re cookin’ dinner tomarra’ and I get to decide what treasure we keep.” There really wasn’t any malice behind his words, but one had to keep up appearances.

The grin on Ford’s face could have lit up a room. His eyes practically glittering. What was a little side trip to check out some local folklore?  

 Previous

Next