#then after that it's five different fire decks

[trident-dragion]

I'm really appreciating the intricacies of the different FIRE-based archetypes available in OTN. It can be easy to assume that Flamvell, Laval, and Volcanic are all more or less interchangeable, but while they do have synergies between each other they're actually very different decks

[prokopetz]

Your long and arduous journey has led you to this, the final confrontation. You thought you knew what to expect, but just as you struck the final blow, your ultimate foe's eyes gleamed with unnatural light as they proclaimed…

THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM

A game for 4–6 players

Introduction

This Isn't Even My Final Form is a GMless tactical minigame for 4–6 players. You'll take on the roles of a party of heroic adventurers nearing the end of a world-spanning quest to defeat a great evil, the Final Boss. Unfortunately for them, each time they think they've won, the Final Boss assumes a new, even more horrifying form, and the struggle begins anew. Is there any end to this conflict? There's only one way to find out!

What You'll Need

This Isn't Even My Final Form requires a dozen six-sided dice, as well as a way of keeping track of a few important numbers – a shared text document or some scrap paper will suffice.

Update 2023-10-30: Print-and-play card decks are available here:

http://penguinking.com/this-isnt-even-my-final-form/

Character Creation

Choose two of the following actions to be your Party Member's Class Actions: Strike, Heal, Buff, Debuff. If you'd rather determine this randomly, roll on the following table.

1. Strike, Heal 2. Strike, Buff 3. Strike, Debuff 4. Heal, Buff 5. Heal, Debuff 6. Buff, Debuff

Give your Party Member's Class a name which suits your Class Actions. Also give your Party Member a name; it is traditional but not obligatory for your Party Member's name to have exactly five letters.

Playing the Game

Play is divided into a series of Phases. During each Phase, one player takes on the role of the Final Boss. That player's Party Member does not participate in this Phase; they're trapped, lost, incapacitated, or otherwise separated from the party or unable to act for the duration of the Phase. All other players take on the roles of their Party Members.

The Final Boss player's first order of business is to describe what the current Phase looks like. The Final Boss player can roll 1–3 times on the following table (re-rolling duplicates) to decide on a theme, or use it as inspiration for their own theme. To use this table, roll a six-sided die twice, treating the first roll as the "tens" place and the second roll as the "ones" place, yielding a number in the range from 11 to 66.

11. Beasts 12. Bells 13. Blood 14. Bones 15. Chains 16. Chaos 21. Cubes 22. Eyes 23. Fire 24. Flowers 25. Food 26. Games 31. Gears 32. Glass 33. Gold 34. Hands 35. Holes 36. Ice 41. Iron 42. Light 43. Mazes 44. Meat 45. Mirrors 46. Music 51. Orbs 52. Order 53. Plague 54. Shadow 55. Slime 56. Space 61. Spikes 62. Teeth 63. Time 64. Trees 65. Weapons 66. Wings

Once the Phase has been defined, set the party's Momentum to zero. Momentum is a value which will increase or decrease over the course of the Phase; it has a minimum value of zero, and no particular upper limit.

Play proceeds in a series of rounds, as follows.

The Final Boss Attacks

The Final Boss always goes first in each round. Roll one die:

1–3: The Final Boss chooses one of the following actions. 4–5: The Final Boss chooses two of the following actions. You may not target the same Party Member twice; however, you may use the same action on two different Party Members if you wish. 6: The Final Boss does nothing this round. On its turn next round, it does not roll and instead uses its Ultimate Attack.

Wound: Inflict the Critical Condition on a single Party Member. If the chosen Party Member already has the Critical Condition, it's replaced with the Down Condition and the party loses one Momentum.

Imprecate: Inflict the Cursed Condition on a single Party Member.

Envenom: Inflict the Poisoned Condition on a single Party Member.

Bewilder: Inflict the Confused Condition on a single Party Member.

Counter: If you're targeted by the Strike or Debuff actions this round, after resolving that action, perform the Wound action on the Party Member who targeted you. You may counter any number of actions in this way.

Dispel: Remove the Buffed and Protected Conditions from any number of Party Members.

Enrage: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the better result on its next action. The party may cancel this benefit with a successful Debuff action; doing so removes the extra die instead of forcing the Final Boss to roll twice and take the lower result.

Ultimate Attack: This action can only be chosen by rolling a 6 during the previous round. When the Final Boss uses this action, choose Cursed, Poisoned, or Confused: you may perform the Wound action AND inflict the chosen Condition upon any number of Party Members, in that order. (i.e., Wound each targeted Party Member, THEN Curse/Confuse/Poison any who remain standing.)

The Final Boss player describes the outcome of the chosen action(s) in as much or as little detail as they like; control then passes to the other players.

The Party Acts

After the Final Boss has attacked, each Party Member who doesn't have the Down condition chooses one of the following actions, in any order the players wish. After choosing any action other than Defend, the player rolls their dice pool, which is a handful of six-sided dice constructed as follows:

Start with a number of dice equal to the party's current Momentum (initially zero, though it will grow over the course of the Phase)

Add one die if you're performing one of your Party Member's Class Actions

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Buffed Condition

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Critical Condition

Roll all of the dice together, and find the highest result. Ties for the highest result have no special significance; for example, if you rolled four dice and got 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 5. If you'd ever end up with zero or fewer dice for any reason – either because your dice pool was empty to begin with, or because some effect obliged you to discard every die you rolled – you receive an automatic result of 1.

If an action requires you to target a specific Party Member or make other choices, you can wait and see the result of your roll before making those decisions.

Strike: You attack the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: Nothing happens – either the attack misses, or the Final Boss turns out to be immune to whatever you just did. 4–5: The attack strikes true. The party gains one Momentum. 6: Critical hit! The party gains two Momentum.

Special: If you roll triples or better (i.e., at least three of the same number) on a Strike action, the Final Boss' current Phase is defeated, and you move on to the next Phase. It doesn't matter what number comes up triples.

Heal: You attempt to restore the party's strength. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may remove the Critical Condition from a single Party Member. If no Party Member has the Critical Condition, nothing happens. 4–5: You may remove the Critical Condition from any number of party members OR you may remove the Down Condition from a single Party Member. 6: You may remove the Critical and Down Conditions from any number of party members.

Buff: You attempt to bolster a party member. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from a single Party Member. 4–5: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member AND remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from that Party Member, if they have one. 6: You may grant the Buffed Condition OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down to any number of Party Members. You may choose a different option for each targeted Party Member.

Debuff: You attempt to weaken the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1-3: Nothing happens – it turns out the Final Boss was immune to that effect. 4–5: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action. 6: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action AND the party gains one Momentum.

Defend: You may grant the Protected condition to a Party Member of your choice. Do not roll.

Based on the outcome of your roll (if applicable), describe the outcome of your action in as much or as little detail as you wish.

Once each Party Member has acted, return to "The Final Boss Attacks" to begin the next round.

Ending the Phase

As noted above, rolling triples or better on a Strike action results in the immediate defeat of the current Phase. Alternatively, if all Party Members simultaneously have the Down Condition, the Final Boss player's Party Member suddenly breaks free or arrives on the scene and rescues everyone in a stunning deus ex machina; this also ends the Phase, but does not count as defeating it.

In either case, reset the party's momentum to zero, remove all Conditions, and move on to the next Phase. The role of the Final Boss passes to a different player, with preference given to those who haven't yet had a chance to be the Final Boss; the previous Final Boss player resumes playing their Party Member.

Continue until the party has defeated a number of Phases at least equal to the number of players, or until mutual agreement has been reached that all this has gone on quite long enough.

Conditions

Some actions can impose Conditions upon the individual Party Members. Conditions can be positive or negative, and last until specific conditions for their removal are met.

Buffed: Your strength has been boosted. When rolling your dice pool, you roll one extra die.

Confused: You've lost your wits. When the party acts, your action is determined by rolling a d6 – 1: Strike; 2: Heal; 3: Buff; 4: Debuff; 5: Defend; 6: do nothing this round AND remove this Condition. This Condition is also removed if you gain the Critical Condition while under its effects. You may choose targets normally if the rolled action requires them. Confused Party Members always act before their un-Confused peers; if there are multiple Confused Party Members, the Final Boss decides the order in which they act.

Critical: You are badly wounded. Desperation lends strength, and so this Condition adds one extra die to your dice pools; however, if you suffer the Critical Condition a second time, it becomes the Down Condition instead.

Cursed: You've been afflicted with misfortune. Discard your highest result after rolling your dice pool, but before applying your chosen action's effects. If there's a tie for the highest result, discard all of them; for example, if you roll four dice while Cursed and get 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 3. If the Condition causes you to discard your only set of triples of better on a Strike action, the Phase does not end.

Down: You are incapacitated by injury or foul enchantment. When the party acts, you may not choose an action; your action remains lost even if this Condition is removed before the end of the round. When you gain this Condition, remove all other Conditions, and the party loses one Momentum. (This is not in addition to the Momentum loss noted by effects which inflict this Condition – those are just reminders.) You may not gain other Conditions while this one persists.

Poisoned: You're afflicted by a poison, plague, or death-curse. If you have the Poisoned Condition after resolving your action for the round, you gain the Critical Condition. If you already have the Critical Condition, you instead gain the Down Condition, and the party loses one Momentum.

Protected: The next time you would gain any Condition other than Buffed, remove this Condition instead. You also remove this Condition if you take any action other than Defend on your turn.

[sigma-alpha-writer-chad]

Grow Up, Would You? [Josh Washington]

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.”

You can also find this story on Ao3!

Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six

[CHAPTER FIVE]

"Chris, you are... not good at this," Josh says, holding a 4 of diamonds in his hand. "This is, like, the third time you've gotten my card wrong."

"I'd be better if I wasn't drunk off my ass," Chris defends, smacking the deck of cards on the counter. I say nothing, too busy trying to calm my laughter and holding on to Matt for balance. Laughing, himself, he holds my forearms to keep me steady.

Although they'd left us for a while, Matt and Mike eventually migrated back into the kitchen at the sound of the laughter. I was shocked that Emily wasn't wrapped around Mike like she usually was, but no one would ever hear me complain or even acknowledge her absence.

"I don't think we've ever actually spent much time together," Matt says, straightening up as he wiped a tear from his eye. "You're cool. I'm sorry for maybe seeing kind of, standoffish, earlier...?" He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Oh, no," I giggle. "It's awkward meeting new people, I get it. Thank you, though." I knew Matt was more meek than the others, but I didn't realize he was a sweetheart. Mike pats me on the back.

"She's maaad cool," he confirms. By the way his words merge together I can tell he's drunk. "I've never gotten to talk to her thoughhh, Emily think she wants me or whatever."

"Emily thinks everyone wants you," Josh snorts. Mike gasps, placing his hands over his torso dramatically.

"Don't they?" I cringe. Josh taps the counter loudly, drawing our attention to the lineup of shots.

"What are the, uh," Chris starts, looking into his shot as he tries to find the words he needs. "The girls! Sam, Jess, and Emily, the twins, what're they doing?" he asks.

"Some skin routine, or something. Jess brought an entire kit," Mike sighs. "I'm pretty bummed out that she said girls only, that stuff is fire." We all clink our glasses together and take the shots, Matt shaking his head violently after he swallowed.

"Goddamn, shit is nasty," he hissed, scrunching up his face. Everyone else can't help but laugh, though I can feel my face starting to burn. It could be nothing or anything, but in the past I've learned that sometimes it means I just need some air.

"I'm gonna go get some air," I say, hiking my thumb behind me towards the back balcony.

"Gonna hurl?" Josh asks, that stupid grin on his stupid face.

"No, just need some air." I walk out the door and outside. Shit. I forgot my coat. I decide against going inside - it would be embarrassing if they realized. The night was going so well, I didn't want them to watch me take the walk of shame to grab my winter garments.

I clear off a part of the railing and lean against it, shivering and holding myself. The icy air did it's job quickly in cooling my skin and opening my lungs. Despite my shivering, I took slow, deep breaths until I hear the door opening and closing behind me.

"Hey," I greet, not turning around.

"Cold?" I chew on my cheek as Josh leans next to me, holding one of his thick coats in his hands.

"Freezing," I admit, laughing. Josh says nothing, instead gently placing his coat over my shoulders. Holy fuck it was warm. Despite my reservations I quickly put it on and zip it closed, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, wow, thank you. It's so warm." Josh laughs loudly and leans again on the railing next to me, our shoulders a hair apart.

"I have it hanging next to the fireplace," he explains. I look up at him through my lashes, and he looks down at me. "So, always nice and toasty... like a Hot Pocket." I look back out across the snowy forest in a failed attempt to hide the smile from my face. I don't know why I thought it was funny - because it wasn't.

I've always hated that Josh was able to make me smile, even when he was at his worst bullying me. If he was making jokes nearby, I was the one nearly bursting a blood vessel trying not to laugh. I know he sees me, though, because he had a twinkle in his eye and a gentle grin of his own.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks me, tilting his head in an attempt to be on my level.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, surprised he was asking. "I just need a break sometimes." I pause. "Thanks for checking."

"Alright, girl, well," he starts, leaning against me for a second. He's so warm I almost ask him to stay there. I knew at that thought that I should start drinking less vodka and more water. "I'll give you your... your alone time."

"Thank you, Josh." I say. He pauses, and suddenly there's much more hesitance to leave. I wonder why. Is it that I said his name? "Are you okay?" he takes a deep inhale.

"Yeah," he starts, though I'm immediately not convinced. "I just need a little space, sometimes, too." There's another pause. He's still leaning against me, our shoulders pressed together. For a millisecond I can feel my head move to lean on his shoulder and I freeze. Josh opens his mouth again, hesitating to speak. "I don't know how I'm feeling about Mike, lately."

"Mike?" I repeat. He nods, taking another deep breath.

"Hannah's got a thing for him," Josh states. He's looking across the forest with his eyebrows furrowed. "And he keeps playing with her feelings, I think."

"You think?" He nods again.

"He hasn't - he won't reject her. He knows how she feels about him and he just let's her. I think he digs the attention or something, but it's pissing me off. I tried to tell Hannah he wasn't into her, but -" he cuts himself off and shakes his head. I can tell he's getting angry at just the thought of the subject. "But she just won't listen. How can a girl so smart not see what he's doing?"

"I don't know," I murmur. I wasn't sure what to say, or how to comfort him. "She asked me about him, earlier." Josh looks at me as he waits for me to continue. "Asked what I thought about him. I just said he wasn't my type, he's got a girlfriend, whatever."

"Oh, well, what is your type?" He smirks. I roll my eyes and lean hard against him as he laughs at me.

"I think she knows Mike doesn't feel the same," I say. "She just doesn't care."

"The land of delusion," Josh huffs before looking at me. "Wanting somebody you can't have, well... I guess that sort of runs in the family." I side eye him and my heart rate picks up.

"Sam?" I gulp. Josh bursts out in laughter.

"Oh, Jordan," he starts, rubbing his eyes. "You kill me."

"I'm funny, I know," I grin. We make eye contact again and the pressure of his shoulder against mine increases as he leans further into me before, finally, pulling away. The absence of his warmth is immediate and I frown.

"I'm just worried about Hannah, is all," he clarifies, suddenly. "I'll see you back inside."

"See you." I smile, softly, and listen as the door opens. Instead of closing, though, I hear gentle conversation and a 'she wants some alone time right now, man.' I turn around to see Mike trying to go to the balcony with me, Joshua blocking his way. They continue to bicker, but I can't hear anything else until Mike notices me watching.

"Hey, Jordan, just thought we could get to know each other better without Emily bitching you out!" He calls. I frown and look at Josh, who is staring at the back of Mike's head so intensely I half expected to see smoke start rising from his dark hair.

"You talk about your girlfriend weird," I blurt out. I look around me as if Emily would descend upon us at any moment and exact her wrath. "Don't you like her or something?" Mike laughs and shakes his head, finally pushing past Josh, who stumbles a few feet back.

"Of course I do," he says, placing both hands on my shoulders. I tense up immediately and make an attempt to gently shrug him off, but he just tightens his grip slightly. "But sometimes she tries to keep me from making new friends, or trying to strengthen already existing relationships. You understand, right? Jealous girlfriend things."

"I'm about to go inside," I gulp. I want his hands off of me now. I don't hate Mike, but the discomfort was incredible. "Just go on in and wait for me."

"Oh, come on, let's -"

"She said she's going inside." Josh butts in. I furrow my eyebrows and Mike finally lets me go. My feelings are complicated, both appreciation and annoyance swirling in my chest. Appreciation for the defense, and annoyance for not letting me handle it myself.

The appreciation wins over.

I pull the coat up over my cold nose and look between Josh and Mike. It's now, as Mike holds his hands up in defeat and he and Josh bicker, that I realize Josh's coat smelled so good. Did he smell this good? My drunken mind considers getting really close to Josh to find out.

It smells like pine, firewood, and cologne. I was almost sure though that the pine and firewood was from the cologne itself. I close my eyes. The scent was comforting and made me feel warmer.

My serenity is interrupted by Mike slamming the lodge door behind him as he finally relented and went inside. I jump, startled, and slip, falling flat on my back. There was enough snow that it didn't hurt, but I wasn't happy. I can hear Josh laughing.

"I'm going to try to help you up," he says through giggles. I start to sit up, slowly, and he offers is hand. I take it, and smile mischievously. "What're you-" I pull him down into the snow with me, doing my best evil laugh as I stand up. Josh rolls around, trying to get a grip on his surroundings, and he grabs my leg and pulls me back down on top of him.

I land on his chest and he lets out a huff, the air from his lungs being knocked out of him. As I try to get up, he wraps his arms around me and doesn't let go.

"Hey, hey! Release me, wench!" I yell. I try to sound serious, but I'm giggling and beaming.

"No can do, lady. Feel the wrath of Mr. Winter!" He rolls over so that I'm sunken into the pile of snow that had accumulated at the edge of the balcony. It reaches just over my ears.

And he's on top of me, his hands now on my hips and holding me down, his knee resting between mine. I'm shaking, but not from the cold anymore.

"Comfy?" He asks, moving his hands from me to hold himself up.

"Five stars," I sigh, rolling my eyes. I wish I wasn't smiling. I wish my heart wasn't pounding. "Can I get up now?"

"I don't know, all this alcohol and being wasted shit has made me tired," he yawns. His breath smells like booze and breath mints he'd been popping all night. He moves slowly, as if giving me an opportunity to stop him, and lays fully on top of me. "I'm going to sleep." Instead of shoving him off and screaming, like a part of me tells me to, I let him. His breath is warm on my neck as he fake-snores loudly. I shudder.

"Okay pal, get off me before somebody comes out here and sees this."

"Embarrassed?" Josh laughs breathily, his warm breath continuing to send chills through my body.

"Nervous."

"I make you nervous?" He sits himself back up again, that dumb smile back on his face. I try to think about the terrible things he'd done to me in our elementary and middle school times, but I can't seem to be upset at him no matter how much I try. I'm feeling something different for him. Not disdain or annoyance or the usual hatred.

It's something different.

"Yes." I relent. "And you do smell good."

"What?" I laugh out loud in embarrassment and disbelief at myself.

"I've had too much to drink," I sigh. I smile at Josh, and he smiles back, but he appears nervous and his eyes can't reach mine. He chews his lip as he starts to get up. I almost frown as he does, the warmth and weight of his body was comforting. He reached out his hand, again, and this time I take it.

"Let's go back inside," he mumbles, brushing the snow off of me. I smile as he does. "Okay?

"Okay."

----------

I sit at the counter of the bar, resting my chin on the palm of my right hand. On the other side stood Josh. He has a cocktail shaker in his hands, shaking it like a professional bartender would.

"Another water for the fair young lady?" He asks, taking my glass and filling it with the clear liquid, adding as much dramatic flair as he could.

"Oh, yes, m'dear, thank you," I hum. Chris and everyone else had headed to bed long ago, leaving Josh and I alone in the kitchen, the both of us deciding to be mostly sober before even going to bed. Josh slides the water to me and winks. I laugh, then snap my mouth shut.

"What is it?" He asks, tilting his head and leaning over the counter.

"I..." I start to laugh, moving my arm to hide my face. "I sound so, so drunk." Josh laughs at me before pushing the glass of water to me again.

"Drink up, madam," he says. I grab the glass, slowly sliding it towards me as Josh and I lock eyes. I raise an eyebrow and bring the water to my lips, downing it quickly like a massive shot.

"I'd like another, please. And make that a double."

"As you wish," he laughs. He gives me water in a much bigger glass, not bothering with the theatrics this time as he gets himself a drink as well. Instead of walking around the bar to sit, he stays opposite of me and leaning over the counter. I take a sip from the cup. I can feel myself growing more sober as time passes, but not by much. "How're you feeling?" I tilt my head in thought. I wondered for just a moment if I should be honest with him.

"I'm feeling good," I admit, smiling to myself. I can feel him watching me. "I'm..." I swallow, a bit nervous. "I'm glad I came. Thank you for tolerating me." My eyes move to his. The kitchen was completely dark save for a single light above the stove. For a moment I think he almost looks handsome in this lighting.

I must be wasted.

"I should say the same," Josh sighs, looking away from me. He's staring at the counter now. "I know I'm not... Your favorite." He starts, inhaling deeply. "But you've been showing up, anyways, for Chris and... And my sisters. I love Chris, and I love my sisters, more than anything, y'know? So... If they call you friend, you..." His eyes meet mine for not even a second, seemingly too nervous to meet my eyes. "You let me know if you need anything and I'll try to help you out, alright?" My eyes are watering. Why are my eyes watering? Why is he saying this to me.

"...okay," I croak. I can barely get the words out of my throat. "Thank you." I gulp down the rest of my water in an attempt to snuff out the fire burning in my chest. The air becomes heavy and thick with awkward tension. I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding.

"Do you want to put on a movie?" Josh asks, snapping me out of my fog.

"Uhm, sure. What are you thinking?"

"I've got Scream," he grins. "Do you like scary movies?" I roll my eyes, but I can't hide the smile growing on my face. "Ahh, there it is," Josh says gently, his voice low. My face feels like its set on fire.

"Is the couch fine?!" I gasp, standing up quickly and stumbling backwards. Josh laughs and asks if I'm okay, but I ignore him and scurry to the couch. Above the fireplace was a massive television. Josh turns it on and flips through channels to his own recording of Scream. I can't help but laugh.

"You recorded Scream?"

"Hey, man, don't be a hater," Josh sighs. As the movie starts he takes his seat. I'm at one end of the couch, and he's at the other. As we watch the movie, I take suspicious glances every now and then at Josh. Sometimes, I look at him and he's fully turned to look at me.

"Is there something on my face?" I ask when I catch him again. He shakes his head.

"No, I just want to see your reactions to the movie," he admitted. He's sounding less sober and more tired. As I look back towards the TV I can feel the sofa move as he moves towards me.

"I've seen this before," I whisper.

"Say what?" Josh scoots closer again so he can hear me. When I look at him again the movie starts to disappear. I don't know what I'm thinking.

I scoot closer to him.

"I said I've seen this movie before," I repeat, slightly louder. Josh is staring at me now without hesitation. I can tell he's tired, yet he has no issue with keeping his eyes on me. He looks like a puppy dog, pleading for any sort of attention.

"Oh, have you?" He says. This time, he's whispering, yet he's close enough that I can hear him just fine. I only realize, now, that our knees our touching, exactly as they did at the pizza bar. My heart rate picks up as Josh scans every detail of my face.

"Mhm," I hum. I look at his lips. They look soft. My hand twitches as I resist the urge to reach up and brush my thumb across his lip. How much have I had to drink?

"Jordan..." He starts, leaning in.

"Josh?" I gulp, looking back into his eyes.

Green eyes.

His hand slowly moves itself to my forearm.

"I am..." He laughs softly. "I think I have to be wasted." His hand slowly moves up my arm and to my shoulder but he doesn't stop. He brushes his thumb across my collarbone before he gently settles his hand gently at the side of my neck.

"Me, too," I whisper. Josh parts his lips and slowly moves closer to me, his thumb brushing my jawline. Is he going to kiss me? Holy shit. Is Joshua Washington going to kiss me? My heart pounds and I worry for a moment that I'm about to die. My chest is going to burst open at any second now.

"So we should stop," I say breathlessly, my hands quickly moving to his chest. It was surprisingly solid. My heart is twisted harshly, my chest so tight it felt as if my ribs would shatter at any moment. I half expect him to call me ugly, to scoff and roll his eyes, tell me it was just a joke.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against my own.

"I'm sorry, Jordan, I don't know what came over me," he spoke softly, just above a whisper. His hand doesn't leave it's place on my skin, and for some unspeakable reason I don't mind it. "Can I just... I'm... I don't know. Things feel fine with you," he admits, whispering as if I'll break if he speaks too loud. "Can we just stay like this for a while?" I nod, closing my own eyes as he rests his head on my shoulder. My hands move to his head as if on instinct, one hand brushing his hair softly and the other tracing circles on his back. He slowly wraps his arms around me in a loose hug, his weight pushing me backwards as he fell deeper into sleep.

Instead of laying back, myself, I slowly guided his head to my lap, where I continued to run my fingers through his hair.

"Chris would go insane if he saw this," I chuckle, a small smile on my face.

"You drive me insane," Josh mumbles something I can barely catch.

"Says you, Mr. Locker-Rats," I scoff. He smiles at the nickname.

"That's such a stupid name," he laughs. He takes a deep breath and his smile falters. Thank you, Jordan," he sighs, turning over into his side. "I really needed this."

"Hm?"

"I need this..." Josh says as he drifts off to sleep.

I'm sober now.

I know I'll remember this. I'll remember this for the rest of my life. The fragile body of my worst enemy left open and vulnerable to me like no one else had ever been, his head in my lap, with what felt like his soul held in my very hands. I felt as if one wrong move would break him.

Would he remember? Will he still be so kind, so gentle when everyone else can see him be kind to me?

I didn't think so. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. Despite my reservations I continue to slowly pet his thick, soft hair. It's now, as I look down at him sleeping, that I start to realize that maybe I don't hate him anymore.

Maybe we could be some sort of friends.

I smile to myself and sigh, leaning back against the couch. I swear right then that I wouldn't fall asleep. Once the movie was over, I would go to my own room to spare Josh and I the embarrassment of being found in such a comfortable position with each other.

"You've changed," I murmur. "I think I like it." He says nothing. As the movie goes on, I watch his body rise and fall with his steady breathing. He'd been good to me today.

As the credits roll, I gently slide out from under him and replace my lap with a pillow under Josh's head. He doesn't move, and I lay a nearby throw blanket over him. I contemplate removing his boots, but decide against it to avoid waking him up. As I crouch down to his level, I take a moment to examine his face.

I hate to admit it, I do, but he looked serene. I thought to myself that maybe it was time to admit that he was physically appealing. I felt a safety and comfort around Josh, now, that I'd never felt before. Why? Is he really that different? Does he really care about me?

Or are we both drunk?

I chew on my lip as I stare at him. I don't know what's happening to me, I don't know what's come over me, but I run my fingers through his hair one more time as I place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. He shifts, and for a split second I think I see him trying to hold back a smile. I squint, but he doesn't move again. I sigh.

"Goodnight, Joshua."

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

Hey y'all! Thank you so much for your patience. This chapter did not want to work with me and kept not saving progress made and I kept having to re write it. I believe this chapter is a bit longer than normal, so I hope that makes up for it! The next one will be longer, too. I love talking to everybody, so thank you all so much for the kind comments, they make me so happy. Much love!!

Also: Accidentally posted this early, so some may be seeing this a second time. If that's you, this is the FINISHED chapter! Thank you.

❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @sc4rrc @mattymxmo @cellyx33 @jenepleurepasbaby @kalynnjonas @spinback-kiva @frankcastlesvest @barnxsromanxff

[stitchthesewords]

I'm gonna upload this to ao3 later but I wanted to post this now before its too late! @eydilily happy birthday I wrote some Tangtho based on the art you posted. Warning for smoking and Redstone being treated like an addictive substance.

Redstone buzzed. It was important to know that. Redstone buzzed and when you were surrounded by it for hours on end, it seemed like your head never stopped buzzing. Like somehow the buzzing could form words that would cure all your woes with your latest project. Like they whispered exactly what you needed to do to get the right torch to turn on. Tango was constantly surrounded by redstone.

Sure, it was healthy necessarily, but the server was encompassed by people who didn’t know when to quit working on their projects. Tango wasn’t even the worst of it – Decked Out 2 notwithstanding. But, to be fair, Tango’s new big project was all redstone.

Minecart rails didn’t buzz in the same way! They didn’t buzz at all – which is what Tango told himself when he was down in the bowels of his binary system. Decked Out 2 was loud; this was quiet. This was peaceful, even. Sure, he was still troubleshooting and running into problems every five minutes but it wasn’t like he was down there for days on end. Staring at an observer line as it blinked but didn’t go off correctly for the thousandth time.

Color him shocked when he noticed the fire on his head died down to embers and his back ached in a familiar way. Okay. Okay maybe he needed to move, get some fresh air. See his neighbors. Maybe he had mail!

No mail was to be found but that was fine. It gave him an excuse to stretch his legs beyond the confines of his factory. A quick look at his communicator told him Etho was online and who better to go see – easily within walking distance, a redstone buddy he could complain to. It was the perfect solution. His tail flicked side to side as he thought about just what to say to his good friend. Fire reignited on his head and he even found himself almost buzzing. Just like redstone.

Etho was just…nice to talk to. Different from Impulse or Zed when he wanted to troubleshoot, different from Skizz to hang out with. Something quiet, contemplative. Calm in a way Tango could never hope to be. He liked that about Etho.

His tail sparked as it flicked around when he saw his neighbor outside, working on his landscaping. Perfect! Tango was worried he might be buried in Frogger or something and he’d have to be the one doing the redstone retrievafication. Retrievifying. Whatever. He waved his own clawed hand at himself.

Etho was absorbed in his landscaping, but there was a way to his movements where it was clear he knew someone was watching. Every move of his hands was deliberate, and when he stood up from the dirt, he half turned to smile at Tango.

“That was you! How’s it going buddy?”

Tango grinned. The two of them met somewhere in the middle of Etho’s front yard and exchanged a hug, where Etho visibly scrunched his face under his mask. “You smell like redstone.”

“You act like that’s a bad scent! Ead de Perfume de Tango or however it’s said. If I don’t smell like redstone, that’s when we have a problem.” His sharp teeth glinted in his grin as Etho rolled his eyes and waved Tango inside.

“So, I’m where you decided to take your break?” Etho held the door open for Tango, dodging his sparking tail as he walked past. Tango’s fire didn’t really hurt; it was warm, it produced heat, but it was more like extra voluminous hair. Made of fire. Still, the instinct to didge fire still hadn’t really left the hermits senses.

Etho had his own reasons to be nervous around fire.

“Who better to hang out with than my good buddy good neighbor Etho, huh?” Tango propped himself up on a block, crouched over so he was eye level with Etho and leaning his chin on his hands for balance. “Your house is coming together now that you finished Frogger. Could you imagine if I built a little home after Decked Out?”

Tango laughed a little and Etho’s eyes held a fondness. “You lived in Decked Out – and besides, Frogger is not nearly the same size of a game.” He smacked Tango on the shoulder and laughed as he knocked tango off his feet and spilling onto the floor in a heap of Blazeborn glory. He still offered Tango a hand, pulling him up with enough force he pulled Tango right to his chest. Tango’s hair ignited into an inferno. Etho made a sputtering noise, mouth full of his firehair.

“Sorry.” Tango skittered back, looking anywhere but Etho’s face. He could hear the little, too knowing chuckle pass Etho’s lips and that made him pout, cross his arms. Stomp his foot even a little.

“You are adorable when you pout,” Etho said. He didn’t let it hang in the air for long, walking past Tango towards his back door. “So are you here to troubleshoot the factory or just hang out?”

There was one long glance cast over his shoulder that had Tango scurrying after him in the wake of it, hair dying down back to its normal warm blaze but slowly. Ever since Decked Out 2, but probably before if Tango thought about it too hard, Etho’s voice made him blush. Maybe it was the first Decked Out that did him in. Maybe he’d always been done in.

“Hang out, I suppose. You’ve got a nice little garden, everyone is telling me I need to touch grass. Seems like a win win.” Tango followed Etho without really watching where Etho led them, but soon enough he was greeted to the sounds of the outdoors and the sights of Etho’s landscaping.

It was peaceful in a way a steampunk factory was not and Tango almost felt bad for dotting Etho’s neighborhood with it. Almost. He stretched, feeling his shoulders creak and then pop. Etho leaned on his fence, almost like taking a seat on it but not quite, gaze up towards the roof.

“I need to be able to see the clouds from here, I think. Roof is too solid.,” He said, turning to look at Tango. “Wouldn’t it be nice. Smell the dirt, see the clouds. Get some sun. I feel like everyone is always complaining we both need to do that.”

Tango hung on to Etho’s every word, nodding his head and leaning on his head. “At least you get a nice, unobstructed view of this lake you built,” he said. Etho agreed.

There was a silence, nature playing out its own theater for the two of them to enjoy in each other’s company. Tango spent plenty of time with the hermits this season – at least he felt like he did. People were constantly coming by the factory, he was playing Frogger occasionally. He raided bastions with Skizz and Impulse. He teased Scar. But for the first time he realized he’d missed the company that Decked Out 2 had. Getting a kiss on the forehead for good luck. Sitting in the lobby holding someone’s hand. Everyone sleeping piled together so they could get right back to it in the morning.

Tango’s ears flicked, slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something. What that something might be he wasn’t sure. Every season it was like the hermits had to work their way back up to admitting they missed each other, to sharing kisses and beds again. It felt like they’d only just gotten there in season 9 and now Tango was some kid to scared to admit he had a crush again. He closed his mouth. He opened it again, trying to work around it, when Etho cleared his throat.

He didn’t actually say anything, but the noise threw Tango off as he dug around in his pockets. Tango’s attention was transfixed when he produced two redstone torches and fidgeted with them for a moment. “Do you want one?”

Tango reached over and plucked one from his hand. They were...it was hard to explain. Redstone buzzed, yes, but it could also vaporize. Being surrounded by powered redstone meant you were breathing in time bits of vaporized redstone. Sure it wasn’t good for you, but it was another danger of being a redstoner.

What didn’t help is they often sought it out on their own.

Tango placed the torch in his mouth. It needed to be close to your face if there was only one, something that was just there to dull the itch to get back a redstone project. Etho held his own in his mouth, hand cupped around his face to hide it from view. Like he was embarrassed by it.

Tango felt that need for closeness again and stood up, going to be beside Etho. There was a gentle, bubbling water sound from the lake just before. The rustle of wind. Etho’s...beautiful and scarred face. Without a word, Tango found himself reaching out to cup Etho’s face in his own hand instead.

There was maybe more of a mischievous grin as he pressed the two redstone torches together. Redstone flew off in little sparks, a small cloud of faint red they really only saw because they knew what to look for. Etho chuckled.

There was a moment longer before Tango stood back a bit and, holding the torch in his teeth managed a ‘thank you’ that was...probably coherent. It made Etho chuckle again, a delightful sound that warmed Tango’s whole chest. He took the torch into his hand and Tango’s knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss there.

Redstone buzzed. So did the feeling of companionship.

[crowleysgirl67]

Rescuing Romance P2

Author: @crowleysgirl67

Word Count: 1044

Parings/Characters: Reader x Bobby, Buck, Hen, Chim, Maddie, Eddie

Warnings: show warnings, plane crash,    

A/N: Thanks for reading!  

“Yo Cap. What's with the cakes?” Chim asked, looking at the four different types strewn about the table. 

“Help yourselves.” Bobby threw the dish towel over his shoulder and turned to face Chim. “You remember that Doctor who was hanging via the railing on the twelfth floor a couple months ago?”

“Uh yeah, (Y/N) right? No pain meds for that broken leg. You’ve mentioned her once or twice since then.” he answered, taking a slice of the chocolate cake.

“They’re from her as a thank you. The cakes are labeled with what they are and their ingredients in case any of us were allergic to anything in them.”

“Oh cool!” Buck exclaimed, jogging up the stairs to see the desserts. He looked them over before settling on an Apple turnover cake slice. “Damn this is amazing! It's just like a turnover but in a spongy moist cake!” 

“The cakes are from that Doctor lady a few months ago.” Chim chimed with a mouth full of cake.

“(Y/N) made these? She’s so awesome.”    

 Bobby made a hum of agreement and was about to take a slice of his own when the bell rang through the house. “Duty calls.”

***

“Ok Ma’am the paramedics are here. Keep breathing.” 

“(Y/N)?” Hen questioned upon seeing you. 

“Hey Hen, Chimney. We’ve got one female, twenty-five weeks pregnant. Seems to be preterm labor. I’ve run a line and delivered some medication to slow that until you’re able to get her to the hospital.” you grabbed your bag and moved out of their way.    

“(Y/N)?” you heard your name and turned.

“Oh hey Bobby. Or should I call you Captain Nash, you’re on duty after all.” you smiled.

“Bobby is fine. What are you doing here?” 

“Oh I was on my way into work when a car a few cars ahead of mine veered sharp enough to cause a minor accident. So I pulled off to help.”

“That was kind of you. Here let me take your bag.” he hoists your bag onto his shoulder, before walking you back to your car.

A loud rumbling caused you to look up, just in time to see a smoking plane flying way too low and headed straight towards the area.

***

“9-1-1 What’s your emergency?”

“Our plane it’s on fire! We’re going down.”

“I’m sorry did you say your plane is on fire?” 

“Yes!” coughs 

“Ok Sir. Are you the one flying the plane?” 

“No, I’m a passenger. It’s my buddy's 6 seater cargo plane.” coughs “Holy shit we’re headed straight at a freeway!”

***

“Bobby!” Buck shouted indicating the incoming disaster. 

“Get down!” Bobby pulled you to the side of your car and hunkered down with you.

The plane crashed 50 yards from where you were.

“Are you alright?” Bobby asked, helping you stand and doing an assessment of the damage unfolding. 

“I'm good. Go. I’ll grab my gear and follow behind you. We’re gonna need all hands on deck and you’re down two sets until Chim and Hen are back.” 

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze and headed over to his crew to start giving the orders. You grabbed supplies and threw your pack on before going over to help. 

“We need to find a way to get the truck down there.” Eddie says

“So we start tapping on cars. If they’re uninjured and able to move they need to get out of the way.” Buck states.

“Going car to car is going to take too long. We don’t have that kind of time.” Bobby looked around.

“I’ve got a bullhorn in my trunk. Would that help?” you ask

“Actually yeah that might.” Bobby nodded 

“Cool. Buck, ask me questions later.” you note his confused look as to why you’d have something like that in your trunk.   

“Right. I’ll go get it.” he jogged off towards your car and came back with the bullhorn and handed it to Bobby.

“If you are uninjured and can move your cars we need you to make a hole!” Bobby began walking and announcing this over and over. 

Slowly people were able to move and make enough of a hole to get the truck close enough to the site. They started with their jobs while you started treating and triaging people the best you could. 

“Looks like you could use a hand.” 

You looked up at the sound of Chims voice. “Hey you’re back.”

“Looks like we missed the start of this mess.” Hen joined the two of you.

“By a few minutes yeah. I’ve got a system going. Green cards are good/ minor injuries. Yellow is a little more than that. Reds are urgents, and black are deceased.” 

“Ah old school I see.” Chim nods 

“Why change what works?” 

“True that. We’re gonna head in closer to the site.” 

“I’ll keep trying to clear the surrounding area.” 

They nod and head in closer to the plane to start helping there.

***

It took several hours and any available hands to help clear away the accident.  

“Hey. How’re you doing?” Bobby asked, approaching you after you finished up with another person at the scene. 

“Hell of a first day back to work. And I haven't even made it there yet.” you replied tossing your used gloves into the trash sack you had at your waist. 

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

“I’m ok. It’s a lot but that’s what the job is.” you gave him a small squeeze on his arm, “How’re you?”

“I agree it’s a lot.” he sighed softly, surveying the ongoing aftermath.   

“118 come in 118.” Bobbys radio goes off.

“This is Captain Nash from the 118.” Bobby answered

“Captain Nash, you and your crew are relieved.”

“Copy that Chief.” 

“Looks like you get to go home.”  

“Come on, we’ll give you an escort to the hospital.” he offered his arm.

You smiled softly and took it as he walked you to your car. He rode with you as the team followed in the trucks. 

“I’m probably going to pull a 24 or 48 hour shift.”

“Raincheck on dinner then?” 

“Unless you want to join me in the hospital cafeteria. I don't have a predictable lunch schedule but I can give you a text or call when I’m free.” 

“It’s a date then.” 

[retiredkat]

Great interview with Eric Bogosian

Vulture article

Eric Bogosian Would Get Naked for Interview With the Vampire 10:31 A.M.

Daniel Molloy is a fictional two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, bullshitometer, and sass-kitten, an aging journalist holding his own among monsters while conducting the titular Q&A at the heart of Interview With the Vampire. With clear-eyed wit and a dash of human vulnerability, Eric Bogosian gives Molloy a distinctly Anthony Bourdain–ish edge infused with notes of his own acerbic Talk Radio character Barry Champlain. In Anne Rice’s book and the movie that followed, Daniel Molloy is a cub reporter trembling over his tape deck. But in Rolin Jones’s brilliant AMC adaptation, which just wrapped up its second season, this isn’t Molloy’s first twirl around the vampire hoedown. The conversation takes place 50 years after that first interview ended in blood, gore, and sexual frustration (Luke Brandon Field plays the younger Molloy in flashbacks, including this season’s standout episode five). Now Molloy’s seen it all, has a loaded past with these vamps, and when he trembles, it’s from Parkinson’s, rarely nerves. Molloy’s the audience surrogate, cutting through Louis (Jacob Anderson) and Armand’s (Assad Zaman) competing narratives while ultimately shipping Loustat just like the rest of us.

This delicate dynamic got slammed into a concrete wall and lit on fire (complimentary) in the final minutes of the season-two finale, when Molloy was revealed to have been turned into a vampire by Armand, breaking the ancient vampire’s centuries-long incel streak. And boy, is it a reveal, with a cocky Molloy, riding high on his best-selling book, whipping off his sunglasses at night to reveal color-changing eyes while doing mental walkie-talkie with Louis. He’s even got a sick leather jacket to really hammer home that he’s a cool bad-boy vampire now. It’s an incredibly fun beat to leave this character on and opens up a world of season-three possibilities for Bogosian as a performer who, at 71, has always wanted to play a vampire.

Do you know how weird it is to be hitting record on my MacBook right now to interview you about playing a character who’s always hitting record on his MacBook to interview people?

It’s all weird to me. I’m from another century, so all these things are new to me.

This is suspiciously sounding more and more like an interview with a vampire by the minute! Which makes sense, considering where we last saw Daniel in the finale.

Since we have multiple narratives and jump around in time already, I don’t know where things are going. Personally, I’d love to see more of young Daniel, Luke Brandon Field. I think he’s terrific. I’d love to see more Claudia. I wonder whether vampires can time travel. I think they can move around in time. I’m not sure how much Anne Rice you’ve read, but Merrick can actually bring people back from the dead, so you never know.

What was your relationship to the books when you signed on to this show?

In the mid-’70s, when Interview With the Vampire came out, I was 20-something and reading that stuff and I loved it. Then I got distracted by life. When we started doing the show, I was going to read the first one again, but then I realized that the script and my character were quite different, so I thought, I better stick to the script.

However, I needed to know what happened next, so I started plowing through the books and it was amazing. The Vampire Lestat was a trip — that’s what they’ll be hitting next — and they just got trippier and trippier. I just finished the seventh, which puts all the stories together. I love Anne Rice because her imagination is completely unfettered and she plays with really deep themes in a way that’s not heavy. It’s not like you’re reading Ayn Rand; it’s more like Stephen King. She explores death in the guise of these vampires by asking, Oh yeah, you wanna be immortal? Here’s what immortal looks like.

I’ve always been a big fan of vamps. I lobbied Francis Ford Coppola to get a part in his Dracula in the ’90s. I guess I wasn’t a big star, so I couldn’t get a part in it, but he was nice about it and invited me to set. I’ve told this story in other interviews, but my wife was directing a play in Chicago, which, totally by coincidence, was written by one of our first-year writers. On the plane there, I was thinking about life, thinking, I’ve done so many things. What’s left? And I thought, Man, I still really want to play a vampire. And when I landed, I got a phone call: “Do you want to be on Interview With the Vampire?” At the time, it wasn’t like, “You’re going to be a vampire,” but I figured vampire-adjacent was good enough. And of course, it evolved, and as I got on set, Assad was explaining all of these things that were going to happen with my character. Sometimes I didn’t even want to hear about it because we never know what’s going to happen. There have been slight detours off the main story, particularly with my character.

What were those things you didn’t want to hear about your character that Assad was talking about?

I become, you know, under his spell in later stories, and there’s a whole relationship that goes on between us. I’m not entirely clear at this point how that’s going to shake out or if it’s going to shake out. I didn’t necessarily want to go waltzing into something where they were making me do anything weird or awkward or embarrassing to no particular end. I’ve done nudity and stuff like that a long time ago, and at 71, I’m not really big on getting naked and sexy onscreen.

However, having been around the genius of Rolin Jones for two years, whatever he wants to do, I’ll do it. When you’re around a master like this, it becomes a process of discovery. When I’m learning my lines it’s like, Oh, this is 3-D chess. There’s a lot going on here that I didn’t see the first time I read it. When I first got this job, I thought I was just going to be doing bookends every episode, like, “So, tell me the story,” and then it would be vampires the whole time, and at the end I’d be like, “Hmmm!” And then, “stay tuned for the next episode!” But Rolin had this idea from the beginning and it went deeper and deeper until it was insane by the end of the second season.

I would prefer not to be playing cliché. Sometimes I’m playing something that feels like a lot of other things I’ve done. Even in the service of a show that is terrific, like Succession or Billions, the things I’m doing on those shows are not things I’ve never done before. As a friend of mine said when I was doing Under Siege 2 with Steven Seagal 1,000 years ago, “They just want you to do that Eric thing you do.” My stage stuff is about being very big and very loud, and a lot of the stuff I do on-camera is like in Uncut Gems, being very angry and very broad. But this thing, particularly in the fifth episode, and going into the end — I have to go places that I’ve never gone as an actor before. The subtlety of episode five, where I am brought to tears, that’s new stuff for me, and I was really happy to do it. Not only working with Rolin and the directors but with everybody. The writers bring a lot of sensitivity, a lot of nuance to every scene.

I need to ask if you’ve seen this: Someone from the writers’ room tweeted a picture of a note card that was on the wall for episode five and it just says, “MOLLOY ASKS ABOUT 1973: DID WE FUCK?”

I love that beat. As much as I’m known for my verbosity, I love reaction stuff, too. Jacob and I are very in sync, and we’ve developed a good relationship. He’s not holding back, he’s not being cagey, and that allows you to trust the other person a lot. You’d be amazed how some actors … are actually not good actors. They’re thinking about what they look like and all this crap. Jacob can’t be thinking about what he looks like because sometimes he looks really nasty. He’s letting the emotions build out of him. And yet he’s always very adept at sculpting what he’s doing. It’s a great company. I never work with Sam, I just see him all the time on set, but that scene in the courtroom, and the scene in New Orleans … where’s that shit coming from? The emotion is wild.

You all have incredible chemistry with each other, too. Knowing where your character might go with Armand, or what other buried history may or may not also be between them, how do you play that dynamic?

In scripted narratives, you’ve just got to play what the script is doing and let the audience try to figure out the rest of it. On Succession, I worked with Sarah Snook, and her character was never clear until the end. They were making it very hard to figure out what she was thinking. And I don’t know that she always knew herself what she was thinking. She was playing the script.

There are a lot of ways to look at it, and ask, What’s really going on here? Much of it is the audience putting it together. They hear the lines, they see my face, and an older actor’s face kind of has a narrative built into it. All of it gets put together, and what you don’t know becomes fodder for your imagination.

And this audience has quite the imagination.

I’ve never been through this experience before, exploring where the audience is at. I’m reading a lot of the blogs, and they make a science out of it. Rolin gives them all they can eat in terms of details and Easter eggs that are blended into the story. I think like 30 percent of our audience is really familiar with the books, so they’re constantly checking back and forth between Anne Rice’s story and ours. So far, Rolin’s been scoring pretty well in terms of being consistent with the original material.

But again, Daniel is a whole different ball of wax. The Armand thing is interesting, because it goes into all kinds of fascinating realms far away and weird. I had to get out history books and start reading about ancient Kyiv.

The fans aren’t even just pulling from the books; I’ve seen some draw comparisons from your work like Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll. They’re finding all these crazy parallels.

That I haven’t seen. The character in this show and me in real life have a lot of parallels. Just imagine young Daniel in the show, that was my life. The funny thing is when I used to write and perform these monologues, in my mind they didn’t have anything to do with me. And then last year, Andre Royo, who played Bubs on The Wire, did one of my shows, Drinking in America, onstage. This was the first time that I’ve watched my own solo show, and he did a great job. I started to understand the biographical aspects of these monologues. It isn’t until afterward that I can look at it and go, Oh right, this is about that. Rolin told me that they were always thinking of me for this role. He didn’t know me, so this was coming out of his enthusiasm for a movie I did 700 years ago, Talk Radio with Oliver Stone. That was based on a play I wrote for myself. What I write about has to do with a certain kind of narcissistic personality, which seems to be the theme of this TV show — they’re all narcissists in one way or another.

I’m fascinated by my character. In episode five, when he’s in San Francisco, he’s kind of a loser. That’s what Armand says: “You might as well die right now. Where’s your life going?” And yet Daniel has two Pulitzer Prizes by the time he’s an older guy. What is that about? I would almost not believe it except that it happened to me. I was leading a really dissolute life in the late ’70s into the early ’80s. I didn’t win a Pulitzer, but I was nominated in 1987 and continued to be, I guess, “successful.” So it makes sense that it happens to Daniel. But you can also ask, What motivates this? It’s a way of fighting against the world or maintaining your sanity.

I think I’ll continue to play with the push-pull of this guy if I continue with the show. In San Francisco, he says, “Make me a vampire.” Later in Dubai, he says, “No, I don’t want it, because I’ll outlive my children.” He’s going back and forth. Of course, what we don’t see in the last episode is how did he become a vamp? Did he say, “Yeah, I want to do it?” Or did he get drunk with Armand one night and when he wasn’t looking, he became a vampire? I guess we’ll find out.

I’m sure it’s the subject of dozens of fan fictions already.

I’ve gotten so close with Assad. We’ve enjoyed spending a lot of time with each other. But when he gets on set, he turns into a different person. That’s some evil shit going on there. The way he ends up in that last episode, kind of smashed, he put everything into that. It’s a lot of fun. I never got into this business to do anything other than make believe and pretend. I feel more whole when I’m being somebody else than when I’m my own self, so the more deeply we can pretend when we’re making the show, the more deeply we can get into all of this, the higher I get from it. And when you’ve got guys like this who are ready to fly, I want to go flying with them.

I know you said you don’t really know what’s happening next season, but I look forward to your vampire adventures.

Rolin keeps sending me notes saying we’re gonna have an amazing time when we start shooting again. I can’t wait. It’s just that there’s a whole formal process of how this goes, and I’m waiting for my engraved invitation from the King of AMC to say “welcome back.”

[sunsetcougar]

Bit of a long Lyrebird AU post incoming! The plot thickens!

As the extermination draws ever closer Vaggie takes to wandering around at night, after most of the flock is asleep and she can be alone. It gives her time to think and try to unravel everything she’s feeling. On one of these walks she wanders to the edge of the forest, near the forges.

Now the forges are a unique building. For starters it’s out of the forest, on the edge of the desert/outback area that forms part of the exorcist’s territory. It’s surrounded on all sides for one hundred feet by concrete, and has a twenty five foot, anti climb fence without a gate all around the perimeter. The doors into the building are always kept securely locked, and the only people allowed inside are the commander, lieutenant, smiths, and smith apprentices.

The reason for this is because the forges are very, very dangerous. Most of this security is to ensure the nestlings and fledglings can never, ever get inside. The juveniles and adults understand the danger, but the kiddos don’t. This danger comes both from how much angelic steel is stored inside, and because it’s one of the handful of places in Heaven that houses Holy fire.

Most fire you’ll see in Heaven is regular fire. It can’t hurt an angel, at most it’s uncomfortable. Holy fire is different because like angelic steel, it can kill or permanently disfigure and disable an angel. Most smiths have at least a few permanent burn scars. It’s also insanely difficult to put out since it feeds on Holy energy, and thus is treated with the utmost caution and respect at all times.

Usually Vaggie doesn’t give much thought to the forges. She has no interest in smithing, and even the smoke rising from the chimneys this late isn’t odd. The smiths are notorious for losing track of time and working on their projects at the oddest hours. But this night, she stops as she’s passing it. Something feels… off. There’s a sinking feeling in her gut, telling her not to walk away. She debates if she should risk how much trouble she’d get in if she’s caught, and that feeling grows stronger.

She hops the fence.

She walks the edge of the building for a bit before she finds an open door. Thats… very weird. No one ever forgets to lock the doors. She slips inside and wanders until she hears voices. Following them, she soon finds the source.

Lute and two of the older smiths are in one of the weapon’s testing rooms, looking over a full uniform on a dummy. It’s definitely an exorcist uniform, but modified. The fabric seems to have an almost metallic quality to it, the gloves and boots are notably thicker, and the helmet has a respirator. It also has what almost looks like armor, but not quite. More like thick padding in a mimicry of armor plating.

That sense of dread in her gut grows as Vaggie watches Lute and the smiths step back, one of them, decked out in the full uniform for working with Holy fire and angelic steel, going over to a metal box and opening it. Using a specialized scoop she takes out portion of Holy fire, the brilliant gold and white flames almost moving like water, and pours it over the uniform.

It should have burned to ash.

The only damage is a bit of char.

The smiths have created a uniform resistant to Holy fire.

It hits Vaggie like a semi truck as she makes her escape before she’s spotted. Lute, that crazy, genocidal bitch, is planning on weaponizing one of the most devastating substances in all of Heaven against Hell.

She has to warn Charlie.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hcs for being Natasha “Phoenix’s” sister from top gun?

Being Phoenix's Sister Headcannons

She's five years older than you but holds that over you from time to time

You met Bradley and Jake after her Top Gun class graduation

Bradley treats you as his own little sister

And Hangman annoys you to no end, to which you annoy him right back

You've also got a flying license, you're just not a naval aviator

Nat and Bradley taught you how to fly an F-14 in sligjt combat, that was a week after their top gun grad.

Under no circumstances does Phe let you use the stove or the oven. She barely let's you use the microwave without her watch when she's state side

^Which is fair, considering the amount of fires you've had to extinguish

You live off a bunch if vending machine food at the top gun base

And that's how you met your sister's CO, Pete Mitchell, for the special detachment her, Bradly and jackass (aka Jake) were called back for. He caught you kicking the vending machine since it stopped half way through, not dropping the bag of chips you paid for.

To which you guys had a pretty good conversation together, forgetting to mention you're not an actual aviator.

He didn't learn about who you are until after the suicide mission. He saw you and Nat huh each other tightly after everyone got back state side, on the beach. Everyone was relaxing on the beach after the huge excitement that had happened.

Nat introduced you to him as her little sister, and you chuckled as his mouth gaped in surprise.

Everyone watches as you throw one of the footballs they brought at Hangman after him insulting your sister.

^Bradley giving you a fistbump and Nat sighs while trying to hide her smile.

You, Nat and Halo have a big sleepover movie night, just the three of you girls. Halo taking a liking to you, seeing a lot of Nat in you.

You 'borrow' a bunch of Nat's navy sweaters and wear them around the base and the Hard Deck, seeing how many people will belive that you're in the Navy.

You and Penny become good friends at the bar

^you learn some (a lot of) dirt on Maverick from her

Bradley explains to you about his relationship with Maverick and you may or may not have smacked him upside the head about how he cut connection with the man

^to which he agreed he deserved

The whole dagger squad now treat you as their baby sister and you can't go anywhere without 'protection' aka one of them.

You love your big sister to death, when you were younger you wanted to be just like her. Strong, loyal, pretty and much more.

Amelia and you become good friends, you like a mentor to her and teaching her about different flight maneuvers with model planes, everything you learnt from Nat and Bradley...and maybe....maybe Jake.

[viric-dreams]

Going to put a rough timeline together for Ockham:

1781:

Eduard Ackerman is born in Antwerp, in what was then the Austrian Netherlands, the second of what would be five children (and only one of two to survive to adulthood).

1792:

Antwerp falls under French control. Ackerman has since become the oldest living child.

1796:

Ackerman begins working on a merchant ship, involved in minor trade between nearby European ports, and sending money back to his family.

1804:

Whilst away, Ackerman receives a letter that the entire family is ill with cholera. Rather than try to gain passage back to Antwerp on another ship, he makes the decision to stay the course and return as planned, with pay for the full journey. By the time he returns, he learns his younger brother is the only one to have survived. This leads to a massive row between the two of them, in which his brother accused him of being callous and caring more about money than their own family. Ackerman argued that with the benefit of hindsight it would not have many any difference--even if he had taken the next boat back he wouldn't have arrived in time. And was it not his wages that was, in no insignificant part, supporting them all? His brother did not appreciate the logic of this argument, and it became the last time the two ever spoke.

1804-1812:

Ackerman continues work as a sailor, semi-consistently changing ships and never holding onto interpersonal relationships for long. In this time he has no fixed address, yet spent significant time in both Rotterdam and Hamburg.

Autumn 1812:

Whilst on shore leave in London, he's impressed into the Royal Navy.

1812-1814:

Ackerman serves against his will on a British warship, his desertion attempts unsuccessful. Shortly after conscription, the officers give him the nickname Ockham, seemingly unable or unwilling to pronounce his name correctly. He maintains sanity during this period with minor forms of rebellion.

Summer 1814:

His ship engages with a French vessel. Amidst the chaos and cannon fire he's thrown from the deck into the mirrored surface of the sea.

1814-1899:

Viric dreams under a cosmogone sun

1899 (Pt. 3):

Ockham wakes up in Fallen London during Whitsun of 1899.

Much has changed since hishertheir last memories of the place. Ockham tries hishertheir best to get back on hishertheir feet and adapt. Heshethey gets a job on the docks.

Things don't always seem to add up in the Neath. Acquaintances seem to struggle to understand Ockham, to remember details of their interactions, often yawning in boredom when Ockham's speaking. It only serves to worsen Ockham's already negative impression on Londoners, and the English specifically.

And then there are the dreams. Ockham dreams of a jungle, impossibly green. Heshethey lies on a cushioned bed of moss, soft as any cloud. Warm bodies surround himherthem, slithering and sliding across hishertheir limbs, like the sway of floating in a gentle sea. The mellow sounds of the jungle at rest are broken by the low drone of many conversations and it’s so easy to get lost in that hum. Sunlight trickles through the canopy of leaves, warming them all. The smell of saltwater hangs in the air, and the occasional call of gulls hint at a shore not far from here. This is peace. This is home.

Ockham learns of the existence of Parabola, the likely source of hishertheir recurring dreams (memories?) and vows to find it.

At some point in this saga, Ockham gets looped into killing the Vake. Sure, heshethey'll do it, if it enables hishertheir ultimate goal of crossing through the mirror.

Ockham becomes a silverer and begins exploring Parabola, searching for that clearing from hishertheir dreams. All the while, a familiar-looking figure seems to lurk just in the corners of hishertheir vision, never quite in catchable range.

1899 (Pt. 4)

Ockham continues the search for the location in hishertheir dreams. Heshethey decides to petition the Fingerkings for information. There's some sort of connection between them, Ockham can sense it. They seem, however, to be unusually elusive. Not a reptile in sight.

An unpleasant entanglement with The Thieving Stowaway (The Youthful Naturalist) results in Ockham zailing to Irem. There, heshethey finally corners a powerful Cacophony of serpents at the Market. Ockham tries to broker a deal with them, to take himherthem back to that place, or possibly back into their fold. That's why they have the connection, right? That's why some of Ockham's memories (dreams?) are so distinctly inhuman. The Fingerkings don't see it that way. They don't want Ockham. They have no use for himherthem. What would they do with a Parabolan reflection, especially when they already have the original. It's at this point that Ockham finally comes face to face with the familiar figure--the surface sailor whose face Ockham's mirrors. But appearances is where the resemblance ends. If there was once a person in there, any trace of life is long gone, an empty husk puppeted by the Cacophony. Whatever may have once been behind those eyes is gone now, leaving Ockham the sole steward of what used to be Ackerman, now woven together with a patchwork of Parabola.

Furious and frustrated, Ockham zails back to London, nearly drowning in the process during the harrowing voyage. Upon docking, heshethey sets hishertheir zub on fire, wrung out and thoroughly done with the Zee, and vowing never to step foot on a ship again.

Ockham spends the next several months coming to terms with the fact that heshethey're not human, but a creature of Parabola, imbued with the spirit and memories of what once was a person, and many of those of the Fingerkings.

Ockham bounces from job to job, untethered, slowly becoming involved in ventures in the Upper River.

Around this point, heshethey meets Tamara, and seeing someone so clearly lost and in need of a place to stay offers her a spare room in hishertheir flat.

This awkward but tentatively friendly relationship goes slightly pear-shaped upon Tamara discovering what Ockham is. They do manage to eventually mend it to an extent, and slowly begin to understand each other better, both figuratively and literally, as they both gain a common language.

Ockham is often away from London, busy in the Upper River and also Parabola. Heshethey begins a business selling Parabolan-grown ghost peppers to the Stags and rich Bohemians with more money than self-preservation skills.

All this draws to a violent end when the Cacophony makes their move, attempting to kill Ockham and break out of Parabola, something they couldn't do as long as Ockham was in the Is. They don't succeed, and Ockham manages to make it back to London, but it's no longer safe for himherthem to cross through the mirror.

Ockham needs to regroup and find a new profession.

[zac-salazar-01]

Hello my fellow Tumblrsapiens it's me again

now you will learn about my original Sentai

Yojutsu Sentai Obakeranger (Yokai arts squad ghost Rangers)

Motif: Yokais, Sorcerer/exorcists, magic

It is inspired by animes such as Shaman king Yokai Watch Jujutsu Kaisen and the concept of Onmyodo (Japanese exoteric magic), among other things.

The story revolves around a young man who, upon arriving in a new city, discovers that it is haunted by terrible spirits known as Onryo but the city is defended by yojutsu shamans. Soon after saving the life of a Nekomata (cat yokai) he awakens his yokai power and becomes Obake Red, joining the team and beginning his journey to become a shaman.

The rangers are:

Obake Red: a young man obsessed with the supernatural and the occult and even though he doesn't have shaman blood he can use yojutsu techniques, this is one of the mysteries of the series

His element is fire and his yokai partner is a Nekomata (Two-Tailed Cat)

Obake blue: A serious young man and strategist and was the former leader before Red's arrival and because of this, a rivalry ends up being created between the two, he wants to honor his clan of shamans at all costs. His element is wood and his yokai partner is a tengu (raven man)

Obake yellow: The youngest on the team. Imperative and playful but he hates when people treats him like a child, his element is earth and his yokai partner is a Tsuchinoko (snake yokai)

Obake Black: Before being called by her family to be a shaman she was a sukeban (juvenile delinquent) gang leader she is the typical tomboy and doesn't like too much feminine things she is tough but deep down she has a soft heart

Her element is water and her yokai partner is a kappa

Obake White: She didn't really want to be a shaman, she actually wanted to follow her dream of being a "cosplayer idol" but her family repressed her, but among her teammates she can be herself and that's why she appears almost always with a new cosplay when he arrives on the scene. Sweet and cheerful, she is the heart of the team

Her element is metal and her yokai partner is a jorogumo (spider woman yokai)

OniSlayer: a man who renounced his shaman side who made a pact with an oni in order to take revenge he does not use spells but rather martial arts with oni energy

His color is purple, his element is darkness and his yokai partner is Shuten Douji

(I imagine his ranger suit design to be very inspired by Gosei Knight, Gaisoulg and Rio from Gekiranger)

The collectibles are Yo-Fudas, cards inspired by Ofuda talismans that are responsible for the team's spells, weapons and zords

Each ranger has their own deck of Yo-Fudas based on different yokais of their respective elements

About the mechas, I think of something a bit similar Go-Onger, Go-Buster and Goseiger, zords that are half yokai and half vehicle

Red: Nekomata/ racing car

Blue: Tengu/ fighter jet

Yellow: Tsuchinoko/ Shovel

Black: Kappa/ submarine

White: Jorogumo/ Snowmobile

OniSlayer: Oni/Tank

The main five Rangers have a shared mecha (gashadokuro/ Dekotora) that serves as the mecha main body (similar to the Korean toku Legend Hero) and can make multiple combinations

The villains are the Onryo, vengeful spirits whose mission is to resurrect their leader (Tatarigami) so they can create "hell on Earth" and take revenge on the living.

Its method of creating monsters is very similar to that of Miraculous Ladybug

They choose a human with bad feelings such as grudge and malice and incorporate an evil spirit into their body that ends up creating a monster linked to something (an object in most cases) while the monster causes chaos the possessed victim begins to perform the ritual to send his soul to Tatarigami so that he can be reborn (the ritual ends with the victim 💀 themselves)so the Rangers have to defeat the monster through exorcism (the monster also attacks people with the aim of accumulating people's negative energies to help with the ritual)

So that's it, that's my idea. Again, anyone who wants to give ideas on how to improve this story (specially about the villains) it would be greatly appreciated.

[magicshopaholic]

A Day in the Life

Summary: Namjoon and Kaya deal with the aftermath of their break-up. Dilara makes an uneasy realisation about her own relationship.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC, Namjoon x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Word count: 9.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, making out, sex, oral sex, jealousy

A/N: Here is the next installment of unedited fic series. Takes place a couple of months after Moving On.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "meet me in amsterdam" by RINI

taehyung masterlist | namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

It is sunny and hot; Yoongi can almost hear his skin sizzle. 

“Put this on before you get sunburnt,” he says to Jimin, tossing him a bottle of sunscreen as he arrives at the spot where the rest of the group is. Jimin catches it and examines the label while providing an opinion of the brand that Yoongi elects to ignore. Jungkook responds instead and they proceed to bicker half-heartedly, while Taehyung lies on a deck chair next to them, jumping in only to contribute singular comments that add fuel to the fire.

Yoongi takes a seat next to them and takes off his t-shirt, glad for the shade under the umbrella. Ibiza is as warm as they say - but it’s also as busy as they say. He turns to check on Namjoon, who had been a few steps behind him, now crouched by the end of the steps that lead from their hotel to the private beach and peering interestedly at something in the sand.

He squints but before he can get a clearer picture of what it is, he feels a tap on his shoulder to see Jungkook returning the sunscreen to him. Yoongi squeezes a bit more onto his palm and turns to Seokjin on his other side.

“Hyung? Sunscreen?”

Seokjin, lying on his own chair with a pair of Raybans on his face and a streak of white sunscreen along the bridge of his nose, sighs without turning. “What’s the point, Yoongi?” he asks wryly. “We’re all just going to die one day anyway.”

Yoongi stares at him. “What?”

“Sunscreen isn’t the answer. It’s opportunity. Serendipity. It’s…” He takes a deep breath and exhales, still not turning, “... destiny.”

For a moment, Yoongi wonders if he’s being pranked, but then Jimin and Jungkook snort at Seokjin’s response and he decides he doesn’t want to know. 

“Oi, Namjoon,” he says to the leader, who joins them then. “Sunscreen,” he states, tossing the bottle to Namjoon, who fumbles it and drops it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, sheepishly picking it up and shaking it before squeezing a dollop onto his palm. “Where’s… four, five, six - where’s Dilara?”

“Went to buy some drinks,” supplies Taehyung, golden-brown in a pair of red swimming trunks, sitting up gracefully and shaking out his shaggy black hair. “She should be back by now, though.” 

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Spoken to Hobi yet?”

Namjoon nods, taking a seat under the second umbrella and rubbing the lotion along his arms. “He landed a little while ago. I asked him to meet Bang PD if he could, since he’s in Seoul anyway. Some investors at the building this week,” he adds, answering Yoongi’s raise of the eyebrows.

“He’s missing out on a beach weekend, though,” says Jimin earnestly. He turns to face the expanse of the brilliant blue ocean and the vast white sand of their private beach. “He would love this,” he adds forlornly.

“He’ll be here later this week. We can make the trip back up here if we have the time,” offers Namjoon, before taking off his tank top.

“Ooooh!” 

The three other boys jeer at his naked torso and Yoongi joins in as well, glad to see Namjoon’s abashed smile, the dimple popping faintly on his left cheek. Next to him, even Seokjin cracks a smile.

“Shut up,” he replies dismissively, looking a bit ruffled but the dimple stays on his cheek. “Why aren’t you guys in the water?”

“Waiting for Dilara,” mutters Taehyung, reaching for his phone.

“There she is!” Jungkook exclaims, and they turn to see where he’s pointing at. Across the private beach, near the edge of where the general public is lounging on the sand, Yoongi spots Dilara, in a red bikini top and light blue denim shorts, carrying a plastic bag and wading through the sand.

Jungkook waves to her but she doesn’t notice; as they watch, she gets stopped by a tall, tan man in swimming trunks. A brief exchange of words occurs, full of smiles and animated gestures from him and a few seconds later, three more men join him and they stand together, keeping her in the middle. 

“A very different looking fanbase than ours, I have to say,” observes Namjoon, as the first one hands his phone to a stranger and they all pose for a picture. 

“You don’t think they’ll follow her here and see us, do you?” Jungkook asks, sounding slightly anxious.

Yoongi chuckles, agreeing with Namjoon. “I think we’re okay. They don’t look like anyone who’s going to recognise us,” he adds, glancing at Taehyung. He can only see a sliver of the younger member’s face as he watches his girlfriend, his body very still. 

Dilara’s hands are occupied with the bag and a peace sign she makes while the guys stand around her, arms around each other and grinning into the camera. Yoongi can’t be sure because she’s wearing sunglasses, but it seems as though she’s looking over in their direction. A couple of snaps later, Dilara waves to the fans and continues in her initial direction.

“Okay, I have cokes and lemonades,” she begins when she reaches them, tossing a yellow can so it lands neatly next to Seokjin on the towel, “beers,” she adds, handing one to Namjoon and Yoongi each, “and diet coke,” she finishes, handing one each to Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung, the latter of whom pauses for a fraction of a second before he takes it.

“Coke?” Jimin wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly behind his Dior sunglasses. “Toss me a beer, woman,” he says, switching to English.

Without missing a beat, Dilara chucks a cold can at his lap which he catches right as it lands on his crotch; she gives him a wide smile when he winces and mutters a tight “Thanks”. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and clicks open her own can of beer. 

“Cheers, everyone,” she says, and all of them respond with garbled Cheers, clinking cans here and there. She takes a sip of her beer and nudges Taehyung’s knee. “Hey,” she says lightly.

A moment passes before he replies. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooting slightly so she can sit next to him and accepting a peck on the cheek.

“Your fans follow you here?” Jimin asks teasingly.

“Doubt it,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just mid-season excitement. We’re in the western Europe - it’s the heartland of F1. Oh, and by the way - huge number of crabs all along the border,” she warns them, shuddering. “Popping out of the sand with zero warning.”

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Is that what you were doing back there?” he asks, pointing towards the steps to the hotel.

“Maybe,” he answers sheepishly. “They were really cute,” he adds, sounding slightly defensive.

“You’re possibly the only person on earth who thinks that, Namjoon,” says Seokjin from behind them.

Namjoon considers this, then shrugs. “They’re an acquired taste. Kaya hated them, too. Always found them creepy.”

There’s a pause where a few of them exchange looks, all of them surely thinking the same thing. Yoongi can’t remember the last time Namjoon brought up Kaya in casual conversation, but he can only presume it’s progress.

Fortunately, Dilara speaks before it gets fishy. “I agree. I think it’s the way they scuttle?”

The conversation continues under the shade of the umbrellas, the drinks feeling nice and cold. Yoongi is glad for the weekend break; it’s rare during tour and despite the fact that the coming week is going to be packed with events and appearances until the weekend concert (and race), it’s nice to have a couple of days of rest.

“Namjoon hyung, do you think the company will let me fly Sooah out to Japan for the encore concert?” Jimin asks after a while. 

“I think so. We can ask the travel team,” he assures him. “You may have to fill out a form and everything, but it should be okay. Do you need tickets, too, or will she join us backstage?”

“She prefers watching it from the audience,” replies Jimin, pouting slightly. “Says it’s a better experience.”

“Oh, I agree,” pipes up Dilara, with Taehyung’s arm loose around her shoulders. “Can I get a ticket, too, for the next one?”

“Wait, you don’t like being backstage?” Jungkook asks, sounding flabbergasted. 

“Of course I like it, but it’s not the same,” she argues, while a hint of a smile flickers on Taehyung’s face. “The energy outside is something else. Especially during your love you so bad moments,” she adds, winking and Jungkook. “Hearing the screams backstage isn’t quite the same, JK.”

Jungkook’s ears go a brilliant shade of red while Jimin guffaws. Taehyung nudges her. “Come into the water with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nods and they both stand up, Taehyung taking off his sunglasses and setting his drink on the plastic table between the chairs. Dilara nonchalantly drops her shorts, revealing plain red bikini bottoms; Yoongi looks away out of respect and notices Namjoon do the same, while Jungkook begins fidgeting with something on the edge of his chair. Taehyung and Dilara step out into the sun and begin walking towards the ocean, holding hands, while her long hair curls down her back. 

“They look happy.” 

Yoongi turns to see Seokjin sitting up finally and reaching for his drink. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t answer. Yoongi glances at the happy couple again, now jogging towards the water, Taehyung’s hands on her waist and faint laughter carrying over to them as they splash into the shallow waves.

“The water looks amazing,” remarks Jungkook, his eyes on the waves. “Jimin, come on.”

“My beer isn’t -”

But Jungkook steers him to stand up and Jimin tries to down as much of his beer as he can. “Jesus, slow down,” says Namjoon, frowning.

“You should join, too, hyung,” says Jimin, sputtering slightly. “Show off that body,” he teases, poking his shoulder before he and Jungkook race towards the water where Taehyung and Dilara are already drenched, splashing water at each other and laughing.

“I need to work after this.” Namjoon muses, almost to himself. “Can’t spend too long here.”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, now back on his back. “Give yourself a break, Namjoon. The company isn’t going to come crashing down if you take an hour off.”

“But -”

“Everything isn’t your responsibility,” he interrupts. Namjoon sighs but says nothing, turning to Yoongi instead.

“Coming?”

“In a bit.” Yoongi gives him a wave as he stands up and begins walking towards the water. His shoulders look wider in the sun, despite the weight he’s clearly lost lately. The others are midway through a game of chicken, with Dilara and Jimin on Taehyung and Jungkook’s shoulders respectively. Yoongi smiles involuntarily as he watches them; it’s nice to see them letting loose, especially Namjoon.

He leans back and reaches for his phone, snapping a picture of all five of them in the water, candid and happy. He turns to Seokjin.

“You’re not going, hyung?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I’ll go if you go.”

Yoongi considers this, then grins. “I’ll wait you out, old man. You know you can’t resist the water,” he quips, laughing when Seokjin chuckles. 

“Someone’s got to watch our stuff,” he reasons, gesturing to their phones and discarded clothes.

“Good thing we’ve got security.” Yoongi cocks his head towards the two casually dressed bodyguards lounging a little ways away, sipping on a pearly white drink each. “Come on, take a break, hyung. You deserve it.”

Seokjin is silent for a bit, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Looks like a lot of splashing,” he mutters, before sighing.

Yoongi gives him a sympathetic look. He’s not sure, but there’s only one thing lately that’s capable of ruining his mood this much. “For the kids,” he urges gently, glancing at the ocean again.

“Fine.” Seokjin exhales in annoyance and places his can on the table before standing up. 

“That’s it,” says Yoongi encouragingly, standing up as well. The sun is hot and the water looks magnificent. “For the kids,” he repeats.

Seokjin huffs as they step out from under the umbrellas and pad their way down the sand. “Sometimes I hate the kids,” he mutters, squinting in the sun.

“I know. Me, too.”

—

Dilara makes her way up the steps to the poolside, the ends of her hair dripping water down her side. The villa booked for them is away from the main hotel, as private as possible, for which she’s more than glad. There’s the private beach and the private pool and she and Taehyung were always guaranteed a private room.

She glances at her phone, still not seeing the email she’s been waiting for since yesterday. Clicking her tongue softly, she walks around the side of the house to see Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook sitting on two deck chairs, huddled around something. Drenched hair and drops of water still on their shoulders; they’ve just finished a swim. Resisting the urge to bite down on Taehyung’s shoulder to surprise him, she veers instead for the member closest to her with his back to her.

“What’s up, guys?” she says loudly, suddenly placing her hands on Jungkook’s shoulders and leaning over him to see them peering into someone’s phone. 

Taehyung and Jimin start, but Jungkook jumps. “Mweoya!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “Don’t - don’t do that,” he stutters, his face flushing.

Dilara immediately raises her hands. “Whoa. Sorry.” She frowns as he nods jerkily. “So… what are you guys doing?” she asks again, this time in a normal volume, sitting next to Jimin.

All three of them exchange looks before Taehyung shrugs. “Come on, we can tell her.”

She raises her eyebrows as Jungkook, who’s holding the phone, brings it closer to her. “I found this on Twitter,” he confesses in a low voice and plays a video. It’s barely ten seconds long; it takes Dilara about half the video to realise who the subject is.

“Is - is that Kaya?” she exclaims, wincing when they all shush her in unison. “Sorry - but… what is that? Is that her at uni? Getting mobbed?”

“It’s not that many people,” points out Jimin, but even he sounds doubtful. “And they’re not, like… crowding her. They’re just…”

“Following her,” finishes Dilara. “So her identity is kind of confirmed, then,” she murmurs, already feeling bad for Kaya. She can see Jimin’s point: it’s not that bad. It’s about five or six people turning as she passes by them, dressed casually with a coffee in her hand, and calling out her name in different tones of surprise and excitement. Kaya turns and faces the camera only for a moment, but it’s unmistakably her. 

“Good thing Namjoon hyung doesn’t go on Twitter,” says Taehyung, nibbling on a fingernail.

Dilara’s head snaps up. “Wait… you’re not going to keep this from him.” When none of them answer, she tilts her head, shoulders falling. “Guys. You can’t be serious.”

“But he’s been in such a good mood these days,” reasons Jungkook, eyes wide. “Okay, not good, but better. I don’t want to…”

“Yeah, I get that, but this is important. And he’ll find out anyway,” she points out. “Come on, you can’t not tell Namjoon.”

“Tell me what?” 

In the most fortuitous of moments, all four of them turn to see Namjoon approaching them, in fresh clothes and wet silvery hair. He looks only mildly suspicious at seeing them huddled together, almost as if expecting to catch them in some act of mischief.

“Um…” 

The three boys look at each other, and then at Dilara. She gives them a look, knowing that regardless of Namjoon’s mood, he has a right to know. He should know.

Jungkook sighs and hands the phone to Namjoon. “We found this today.”

Dilara almost regrets her decision when she sees Namjoon’s face fall a bit more with each passing second. Next to her, Jimin scowls. “Knew we shouldn’t have told her,” he mutters softly, wincing when she slaps his shoulder lightly.

“This…” Namjoon clears his throat. “This was today?”

“Probably,” answers Jungkook slowly.

“So not too long ago,” finishes Taehyung, biting his lip. “Sorry, hyung.”

Namjoon seems to snap out of it and hands the phone back to Jungkook. “Thanks. For letting me know.” Without waiting for a response, he heads back into the house.

“Think he’ll talk to her?” Taehyung asks after a while, once they’ve finished another swim and are going into the kitchen.

“I think he already is,” replies Dilara, cocking her head towards the garden where Namjoon is sitting at a small wicker table, phone on the table and ear pods in his ear as he runs his hands over his face.

Namjoon exhales as the phone rings, his heart beating rapidly in a mixture of fear and anticipation. The video was short - too short. It told him nothing - nothing about who the people were, why it was suddenly a frenzy, whether she was officially recognised now, and how she is taking it. Does she hate him? Is she even angrier with him than she had been two months ago? Or is she finally coming around to understand why he did what he did?

Except… why isn’t it working? It’s the part that’s nagging at him uncomfortably, small but sharp in his brain: why is it still happening? Why hasn’t the world left her alone, even after he has?

��Hello?”

His heart jolts; she sounds wary. “Hey,” he says softly. God, he’s missed her voice. Recorded videos on his phone don’t do it justice.

There’s a pause. “Hey.” 

He needs to speak, but it’s too hard. Defeat, anger and longing - it’s an unholy mess.

“I’m, uh… I saw the video.”

“What video?”

Namoon frowns. “The… video on Twitter. Outside your college? You, a bunch of strangers calling out your name? Mobbing you on your way to class?” he adds, running a hand through his hair and remembering the feeling of beng crowded at airports.

“Oh. That. Wait, there’s a video?” She sounds more exasperated than anything. 

“Yeah. Didn’t show a whole lot, though.”

Kaya sighs; she’s probably in her cabin in the college, or she’s hopefully returned to her apartment. A moment later, the thought of that comforts him less.

“Well. Nothing really happened. I wasn’t mobbed,” she clarifies, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of his mouth without warning because this, more than anything, is what he needs to know.

“Yeah,” she answers softly. “Nothing happened,” she repeats. “I told them I had to get to class and they left me alone. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it’s nothing like that.”

The picture in his mind of her frightened face, of her getting pulled, harassed and crowded in her personal space comes to an immediate pause. 

“I’m glad.” He bites his lip, feeling his throat hurt as a lump forms slowly. He doesn’t want the conversation to end and since she hasn’t hung up yet, he can only presume she doesn’t either. “How are you?”

“Namjoon,” she whispers, “what are you doing?”

“I’m just asking you how you are,” he says quickly. “Is that so bad?”

She takes a deep breath and it sounds like she’s about to argue, but then she simply sighs again. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m…” He can’t lie. He’s been doing it constantly, putting on a smile, performing his heart out, joking on television. But he can’t lie to her. I’m a fucking mess, and I love you.

Kaya waits, and it’s clear she’s picked up on the pause. “You looked thin the last time I saw you.”

He remembers the last time. “It’s tour,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah. Okay.” There’s a shuffling sound at her end, like she’s standing up. “I have to go. I have a meeting and I have to drop off a draft to Adam’s office before that.”

She says it absently, and it seems to take her a few moments to register the dead silence on the line. Namjoon says nothing; there’s the white hot anger in his stomach he’s tried to ignore that’s returning, and the last thing he wants is to say something he might regret.

“Namjoon -”

“Okay,” he says tightly. “Bye, Kaya.” He hangs up before either of them can say anything else. 

—

“So…  he hung up?”

“Why is that so shocking?”

Dilara rolls onto her stomach and frowns, flipping her hair to the side so her phone is against her ear. “I don’t know. He’s the one who called you. Because he was worried?”

“Isn’t he always?” Kaya says wryly. “But this time, he actually had nothing to be worried about.”

. “Are you sure? I’m not going to overreact; you can tell me the truth.”

“I am, though. I saw the video - it looks worse than it was,” she explains. “I don’t think he believes me, though. I don’t think he wants to, because then all of this will have been for nothing.”

Dilara hums sympathetically, somewhat glad that despite her break-up with Namjoon, Kaya hasn’t stopped speaking with her out of association. She turns to glance at the bathroom, the sliding door of which is wide open, with only a blurry glass door blocking her view of her boyfriend showering inside. She bites her lip, shamelessly admiring his slender naked figure as he runs his hands through his wet hair.

“... in any case. I thought he’d be moving on by now.”

She winces, realising she’s missed part of Kaya’s sentence. “Um… well, he’s definitely not moving on. Honestly, he just seems really sad.”

“I know he is,” says Kaya, to Dilara’s surprise. “He was trying to act so calm and collected when he came to my apartment with his stupid goodbye, but…” She sighs, a mixture of frustration and sadness. “I saw that concert clip you sent me.”

“The Rome one?”

Kaya confirms it. The clip in question had been Dilara’s attempt at making Kaya feel better, except now she has no idea if it’s had the opposite impact. It was a short one, of Namjoon on stage during a concert, breaking down unexpectedly. He’d done it in the most Namjoon way possible, with silent tears slipping out of his eyes, a stoic posture and forced smile, until one by one, all the boys had hugged him, starting with Jungkook. 

The comments, of course, attributed it to anything and everything, from missing his parents to appreciating his Italian fans to his impending military service. But Dilara, who had actually been backstage at that concert, knew which pictures he’d been scrolling through earlier that day, of which Roman holiday and with whom.

She hasn’t mentioned any of this to Kaya, but something tells her she may have guessed anyway.

“Yeah, well. I think part of him is mad at me, too.”

“What does he have to be mad about?”

“I don’t do well with break–ups,” she mutters. “I say things and I get defensive. Sometimes I have a rebound problem.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I just don’t know what to say anymore, when he calls me like this. I mean, I know he’s sad,” she says emphatically. “I can hear it in his voice, but -” She scoffs and she sounds sad, too, and helpless. “What do I do about it? He’s doing it to himself, you know?”

“Yeah…” Dilara hears the water stop in the bathroom. “If it helps, I think he’s channelling a lot of it into music and stuff. Like a true artist,” she adds wryly. “He performed an unreleased song at last night’s concert and the audience went nuts. I mean, it was a really good song,” she admits.

“Yeah? What’s it called?” she asks, sounding only mildly interested.

“He didn’t say. I don’t think it has a title, but the internet is calling it Aphrodite based on the lyrics. You know someone is in deep when they’ve gone down the Greek mythology route,” she remarks.

Kaya sighs but doesn’t respond, changing the subject instead. “Can we talk about something else? How was Montreal?”

“Shit race,” answers Dilara, rolling her eyes. “I know wet races are a hoot to watch or whatever, but the track in Montreal becomes like fucking ice. I have to make up for my P7 in Barcelona and Silverstone next month, that’s all,” she mutters, turning back on her back and adjusting her red bikini top, feeling her mood sour.

Kaya seems to realise this, for she quickly responds. “It looked like you had fun at Ricciardo’s birthday party this week, though. The pictures are all over Instagram.”

Dilara chuckles. “Yeah, it was fun. Honestly, it’s a good thing he always celebrates it in Ibiza so I was already in Spain this weekend. And Lexie and Chris and Fred were invited, too, so all in all it was quite fun.”

“Oh, are those the people in this picture? The one you posted yesterday?” Kaya asks, and it’s clear she’s pulled up the picture on her phone. 

“Yeah. You should meet them when you’re in London in July.”

“Sure. Which one is Chris?”

“Chris Park? The one that’s not the blond German,” she quips.

“Ha ha,” replies Kaya sarcastically, before pausing. “He’s cute.” She scoffs when Dilara makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Oh, come on, you have to be blind to not admit he’s hot.”

“Objectively speaking, I accept that he’s good looking in an obvious way,” she admits.

“Yeah, obvious hotness is the worst.”

Dilara laughs. “Fair enough. He’s not really my type, though. My type is more… classic,” she says, smirking as Taehyung exits the bathroom in nothing but a towel around his waist. “High cheekbones, artsy,” she lists, maintaining eye contact with him and nodding when he silently points at himself questioningly.

“Types can be fluid,” argues Kaya, but Dilara barely hears her. Stopping at her feet, Taehyung places a knee on the bed and crawls up towards her. 

Biting her lip in excitement, she starts to interrupt Kaya but Taehyung, face smooth and more handsome than ever, gives her a small shake of the head, indicating to her to continue her call.

“Oh - uh… what do you mean?” Dilara asks into the phone, peering at him as he presses a soft kiss to her bare sternum and moves lower before tugging at the strings of her red bikini bottom so the knots open with ease. Nudging her legs apart, he pushes her knees up and kisses the skin just above her slit.

“Fuck,” she mutters, realising a moment later that she’s still on the phone. “I mean… fuck, yeah. You’re right. Of course.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That weird interruption. Is there a low signal where you are?”

“No. Or probably.” Dilara swallows, only half-aware of what she’s saying, the rest of her mind preoccupied with Taehyung’s head between her legs, his tongue finding its way along her wetness, down to her clit. “I’m just - oh - just… agreeing with you.” Her toes curl on the sheets as shivers start forming from her feet up her legs.

“Yeah? About what?”

“About the - about… what we were talking about. About Chris, and the - oh, God!” She squeezes her eyes shut as Taehyung sucks suddenly at her clit, without warning.

Kaya gasps. “Oh, my God. Is - is Taehyung with you?”

Dilara is starting to unravel. “I - in a sense,” she admits, snaking her other hand down to run it through his thick hair and lifting her hips up slightly. 

“Oh, God!” she exclaims, sounding horrified. “You know what? Call me when you’re… done,” she says quickly, before hanging up.

Dilara nods absently, eyes fluttering shut and letting the phone fall from her hand as Taehyung devours her, one hand firm around her thigh and the other coming up to slide into her folds, brushing over her clit while his tongue stays inside her. She’s in danger of being overstimulated but it’s so sweet, so electric that the sharp sensation only flows through the rest of her body.

“Yes, yes, right there…” 

The orgasm is right there, within reach. A few more seconds of relentless tongue action while she cries out for him not to stop and it crashes over her like a wave of the ocean, her back arched and head thrown back on the pillow as he licks her through it, not letting her go even for a moment until she stutters his name.

“Come - come here,” she murmurs, head spinning and stars in her eyes as he emerges, hair dry but the bottom of his face slick with her juices. Wiping his mouth conspicuously on the back of his hand, he towers over her, eyes dark as he watches her catch her breath.

She raises her arms and he lowers himself to kiss her. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still fading away; she lets him pull her close, loving the feel of his naked body against hers, knowing for certain now that he’d seen her earlier today when she’d clicked a picture with that group of fans. Those many men, that much exposed skin and the close proximity in which they’d all surrounded her - it was just enough for a reaction.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling away but staying close. He props his head up on his palm and smiles down at her, a little satisfied.

“Hey,” she says, her breathing slowly returning back to normal. “I think you just rocked my world.”

Taehyung’s smile gets wider but he visibly tries to suppress it, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “My pleasure. Must be because I’m your type, no?”

It takes Dilara a moment to realise what he’s referring to. “Oh. That.” She chuckles. “Totally my type,” she agrees.

“And what’s that?”

“My type? I dunno. Sexy. Romantic. Smart but not arrogant. Just a little pretentious,” she adds, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “Able to take control when he’s a little jealous,” she adds in a murmur, running a finger down his chest and reaching up to brush her lips against his. “Knowing every inch of my body better than anyone,” she finishes, kissing him again.

He kisses her back, slow and affectionate, and rolls on top of her. “So Chris isn’t your type?”

“God, no.” Dilara wrinkles her nose and Taehyung rolls off her, resuming his position on his side. “Kaya saw his picture on my Instagram and said she thought he was hot. I told her she could see for herself when she comes to London next month.”

“Chris? Wait, you told Kaya about him?” Taehyung frowns.

“Yeah… why?”

“Because he may not be your type, but he seems pretty close to Kaya’s type,” he points out.

“What?” Dilara squints. “No way.”

“Really? Tall, buff, straight hair? Korean?” He raises his eyebrows. “That doesn’t remind you of anyone we know?”

Dilara rolls her eyes. “That’s a little reductive. She can’t just go out and find another Kim Namjoon on the street, you know?”

“He doesn’t have to be Namjoon, he just has to look like him.” Shaking his head, Taehyung pulls up the picture on his phone. “You really don’t see the resemblance?”

“No. Just - okay, maybe the body structure. And the hair,” she admits uneasily. “And the voice, kind of. Okay, but that’s crazy. She’s not going to just suddenly be attracted to someone that looks like her ex to get over her break-up.” But her voice trails off slightly at the end and she looks up at Taehyung hopefully. “Right?”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Namjoon is going to kill you,” he states.

“If you let him, then we’ve got bigger problems than Kaya’s dating life,” she snaps. “Besides, you might be overthinking this, okay? They’ve never even met. All she did was see a picture and compliment him. As someone who’s on fifty thousand lockscreens at this moment, you should know that.”

Taehyung gives her an unimpressed look as her phone pings. She reaches over to see a message from Kaya.

Kaya [14:12]

Hey, whenever you’re free, can you send me your friend Chris’s number if he’s okay with it? Thanks.

Dilara stares at the screen as Taehyung reads the message out loud from over her head. “Fuck,” she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. “Namjoon is going to kill me.”

Taehyung, his lips pressed against her shoulder from where he’s peering into her phone, nods and pats her arm. “I won’t let him. I promise.”

She turns around to face him. “Really? Because I may just have driven his ex-girlfriend into the arms of - oh, my God, Lexie is going to kill me, too.” She groans and covers her face, ignoring Taehyung’s low chuckle as he pulls her to him.

“Don’t overthink,” he instructs her kindly. “Come on, go take a shower. Yoongi hyung wants us to go pick up stuff for dinner - he texted me a whole list but I got the car keys, too. I’ll take you out on a nice drive.” He slaps her backside affectionately.

Dilara sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the bed and heading for the bathroom, untying and dropping her red bikini top on the way. Once she’s out, sand washed away and hair smelling nice, she walks back into the bedroom to see Taehyung in the exact same position she left him in, comfortably naked on his back and scrolling through his phone.

“Babe, can you charge my phone?” she asks him as she rummages through her suitcase for clothes. “I’m waiting on an email.”

“The same one?” Taehyung purses his lips sympathetically when she nods, reaching over to plug her phone into the bedside charger. “Didn’t they say they’d get back by now?”

“They said yesterday,” she complains, “although I’m hoping it’s a timezone thing and it’ll come today.” Pulling on a tank top over cotton shorts, she turns towards the mirror, finger-combing her wet curls. “Ugh, forget it,” she mutters. “They’re just going to curl by themselves anyway.”

“You look beautiful,” he says from behind her. “Always do.” He returns her smile in the mirror. “Do you want to go out now? It might help get your mind off this.”

“Yeah, it might. It’s not a big deal either way,” she adds, shrugging. “I mean, would it be good if I got it? Sure. But it’s not like it’s - wait, I think that’s it,” she breaks off quickly, spotting the notification on her phone as it lights up. She hurries across the room to the bedside table and unplugs her phone, swiping up on the screen.

“Okay…” Dilara opens it and scans through the initial text, while Taehyung sits up and pulls on his boxers, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. “Yes!” she yells in excitement. “I got it!”

“You did?”

“Yes! Calvin Klein fall campaign, in the fucking flesh,” she exclaims, her heart hammering in excitement. “Congratulations on becoming a part of the Calvin Klein family, blah blah blah… oh, here it is - the fall/winter campaign which will be launched in the month of September, celebrating a milestone of the brand… joining global ambassadors including Justin Bieber, Hailey Bieber - holy shit - Kendall Jenner, Jungkook of BTS -“ They exchange a knowing look, “Bella Hadid…” She trails off as she scans the rest of the list, something in her heart coming to a standstill.

“Lara?”

Dilara locks her phone and tucks it into her back pocket. “Nothing. It’s great.” She turns away before she can start to dissect Taehyung’s expression, the understanding settling in of the one detail neither of them had mentioned out loud since her conversation with Calvin Klein had begun.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says from behind her, voice soft and - she doesn’t want to dwell on it - slightly guilty. At that moment, there’s a knock on the door and Dilara immediately opens it to see Jungkook of BTS.

“Hey,” he says, looking a bit surprised. “Sorry to, er… interrupt. Yoongi hyung wants to marinate the meat before dinner and Namjoon hyung asked if we could also pick up some wine…” He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide. “I don’t want to go alone so do one of you want to come along?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” answers Dilara, bustling around to find a pair of slippers and grabbing her bag.

“What about Jimin?” Taehyung asks, pulling on a tank top.

“Yoongi gave him a giant watermelon to cut,” snickers Jungkook. “I thought about helping him but it’s more fun this way.”

“Sounds like he needs your help more than I do,” says Dilara, glancing at Taehyung. “I can go pick up the dinner stuff. Where are the keys?”

“Um, in my shorts. But -“

Dilara picks up his tan shorts from the pile of clothes next to the bed and shakes them out to catch the set of car keys that fall out. “Text me Yoongi’s list?” she asks. “Let me know if any of you want anything else. We’ll be back in a bit.” 

Without waiting for him to nod, she exits the bedroom, shutting the door and leaving with Jungkook.

—

An hour or so later, Dilara slips into the tiny study, a glass of white wine in her hand. Namjoon glances away from his laptop and gives her a small smile, waving her inside.

“I heard you’re in the mood for wine?” she says, placing the glass next to his laptop.

“Wow, thanks.” He takes a whiff of it and nods. “I don’t know if I should be drinking while I’m working, though,” he adds, looking uneasy.

“You’re on vacation. You can have a drink. Come on, just one,” she persuades him, sliding the glass slowly towards him.

Namjoon gives her a look. “You’re a terrible influence,” he informs her, picking up the glass. “Cheers,” he says, and clinks his glass with the can of beer she’s holding. He takes a sip of the wine and sighs. “Fuck, that’s good. Are the mojito mixes in the fridge?”

Dilara pauses. “We didn’t buy mojito mixers. Shit, I knew we were forgetting something. But I can go out and get some, no problem,” she says quickly, nodding.

“Oh, hey, no. Don’t be silly,” says Namjoon, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal. I can go out myself. Don’t worry about it.”

She nods slowly, hesitating. “Um… you okay?”

Her tone seems to indicate exactly what she’s talking about. Namjoon lowers his gaze before nodding. “Fine. I think. Just worried,” he murmurs after a moment.

Dilara stares inside her can, seeing nothing but dark. “If it makes you feel any better, I really think it wasn’t a big deal. The video made it seem a lot worse than it was.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah. That’s what she said, too.”

She nods, not really knowing what else to say. She considers leaving but then Namjoon speaks again.

“Do you talk to her?”

“M-hm.”

Namjoon’s shoulders relax a bit. “How is she?”

Dilara shrugs. “About the same as you, I think.” When all he does is scoff softly and look away, she abandons her plan to leave him alone. “Can I just ask…” She waits until he looks back up at her, giving her permission, “... is it worth it? Leaving, for her sake?”

To her surprise, Namjoon doesn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “She’s been hurt before. And there’s a reason idols don’t talk about dating. Ever. It used to be out of obligation but now… it just makes more sense to keep that part of your life private. We don’t do it for fun; we do it because it’s just better that way. I can’t let her get hurt again,” he says quietly, lowering his head.

“But she didn’t get hurt,” points out Dilara. “They didn’t do anything to her.”

He looks like he’s about to argue but then thinks the better of it. “It’s not a chance I want to take.”

As much as she thinks he’s trying to convince himself more than her regarding his break-up, a different part of his spiel occurs to Dilara. Absently, she reaches for the white-gold ring around her neck, the metal warm from the sun outside. 

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” she ventures carefully, “but I just hope you don’t regret it. Either of you.”

“You think I might?”

I think you are. But Dilara knows she would never say that out loud to Namjoon. “I think… that when Taehyung and I broke up, the most difficult part of it was going back to normal.”

He tilts his head. “How long did it take?”

“Not long at all. That was what was difficult about it. We lived in different countries, had completely different circles, so going back to normal… it took a surprisingly short amount of time,” she says, observing the point dawning on him. “Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t happy, but… honestly, if it weren’t for the Red Bull and BTS partnership and living with him and having him in my space every single day for two months, begging me to take him back… I don’t know if we’d be together right now.”

“No offence, but I think you and Taehyung are a little more dramatic than most,” he points out.

She shrugs sheepishly. “Fair enough. If you recall, I did date an arsehole mechanic just to get back at Tae.”

The silence that follows is still. Dilara suddenly remembers Kaya asking for Chris’s number and her heart jolts in anxiety, but then she puts that out of her mind; there is no way Namjoon can possibly know about that. 

“You know what,” she says after a moment, more to break the silence than anything, “I’m going to go get those mojito mixes right now, so we can put them in the fridge.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head and walks backwards out of the room.

“It’s no problem. Really. I like driving,” she adds, holding up the keys and smiling. “It’s my fault we forgot them, anyway. I was distracting Jungkook with a really bad impression of Batman. But it’s okay, I got it.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s really hot outside.”

“Good thing the car and the store are air conditioned.” She steps out the door and peeks in one last time. “No mistake is so bad that it can’t be fixed.”

—

Taehyung enters the open kitchen, hands in his pockets, to see Dilara, Jungkook and Yoongi putting away groceries. Yoongi is holding up a packet of meat and muttering something to Jungkook in Korean, while Dilara is pouring out glasses of something light pink.

She notices him first. “Hey,” she says, holding his gaze for a moment before looking away.

“Hey,” he  murmurs, not paying attention to the other two. He’s about to stand beside her but thinks better of it, opting to stand opposite her instead with the counter between them. “You were gone for a while.”

“I had to run back and get mojito mixers. Forgot them the first time.” She finishes pouring a glass and slides it in front of him. “We got pink lemonade,” she says, sucking a bit off her thumb and turning around to place the carton back in the fridge.

Taehyung leans forward on the counter and observes her in silence, knowing he can’t say anything to her while Yoongi and Jungkook are here. 

As if on cue, Jungkook seems to notice him just then. “Hyung! Did Dilara tell you the good news? About Calvin Klein?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer immediately; he notices Dilara stiffen momentarily but continuing to move things around in the fridge. “Yep, I was there when she got the email,” he says. “It’s fantastic.”

He doesn’t think Jungkook would’ve put two and two together, and neither does he think Dilara would’ve even mentioned the elephant in the room that had existed since she’d first told Taehyung about Calvin Klein considering her.

“Jungkook,” says Yoongi after a moment. “Come help me with something.”

“What?”

“Just come.” Tugging him by the t-shirt, he leads Jungkook out of the kitchen.

Left alone, Taehyung keeps watching his girlfriend. As though feeling his eyes on her, she closes the fridge and turns around.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out again.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He takes a sip of the lemonade and almost gags; it’s almost sickly sweet. Looking up to see her raising her eyebrows, he clears his throat. “It’s nice. Syrupy.”

She frowns, seeming partly amused. “I, uh… I talked to Namjoon,” she says.

“Really?” Taehyung is surprised; he didn’t think Dilara was the type to confront Namjoon about his personal life. Much as she admired him, he was sure the leader also intimidated her a little.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to but he seemed really down and, I don’t know…” She shrugs, going back to unpack the two remaining brown bags of groceries. “You know, I was going through a break-up last year, too,” she says innocently, “and he gave me a lot of advice about how to deal with my ex-boyfriend at the time.”

“Interesting,” says Taehyung seriously, moving around the counter to help her with the groceries. “Tell me more.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye to see half a smile creep up on her face.

“No way,” she says instead. “That was a private conversation, and it’s going to stay that way.”

“What?” he exclaims in mock-outrage. “No, you know what? Whatever he said, it seems like it worked for me. Or… this mysterious… sexy, romantic ex of yours that’s your type apparently,” he quips, his stomach flipping when she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“I don’t know if I agree with him,” she says after a moment. “She told me he broke up with her because he thought she wasn’t safe with him. And he said that that’s why celebrities - specifically, idols -,” she points out, “- don’t talk about their relationships and flat-out lie to the press when asked. But how is that even a relationship then? If you’re just hiding your partner and not willing to actually deal with all that crap?”

“I wouldn’t lie.” Taehyung says it in a matter-of-fact way, watching as she stops a few feet away from him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t hide you,” he clarifies. She’s giving him a look he’s seen before, one he knows always appears when he says something she calls “declarations”. Her eyes go soft and a hint of a smile flickers across her cheeks, as if to say that even though she knows it can’t be true, she wishes it would. He simultaneously loves it and becomes a bit self-conscious over it.

“Aren’t we hiding right now?”

“We’re keeping our personal life private,” he corrects her. “That’s not the same thing. I wouldn’t hide you.”

“Huh. You really wouldn’t?” she asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

He shakes his head, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips. “Never,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rests her forehead on her shoulder; the fact that she hasn’t shrugged him off or moved away is a good sign, but she isn’t quite leaning back into him either.

Did Dilara tell you the good news? Taehyung wonders if Jungkook thinks that he and Dilara would be actually working together, if any of the ambassadors or celebrities in the shoot would be. He doesn’t care about any of them, but he can’t imagine taking away from Dilara’s excitement about getting the campaign. Squeezing her waist tighter, he pulls her close.

“Prove it.”

He raises his head slightly. “Come again?”

“Prove it,” she repeats, turning around in his arms and stepping away slightly so she’s leaning back against the counter.

“You want to go public?” he asks sceptically. “Are you sure?”

“Well… not public,” she amends, “but maybe your fans should know, right?”

“Your fans don’t know about me,” he points out.

“No, but they know I’m not single.” Dilara tilts her head, a glint of a challenge in her eyes. “No pressure… but you did bring it up.” She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek before patting his shoulder and leaving, giving him a wave before disappearing around the corner.

—

It’s almost dinner time when Namjoon wakes up from in front of the laptop where he’d dozed off while working.

“Damn it,” he mutters, checking the time. He trudges straight into the bathroom and into the shower, the cool water helping him wake up at this unusual hour. He’s looking forward to dinner; he feels weak and low on energy and despite being on tour, he intends to eat well tonight.

He doesn’t check his phone again, not until he’s dressed and downstairs where everyone else is gathering and helping themselves to drinks. He gratefully accepts a mojito from a smiling Dilara and clinks his glass with hers.

“Where’s Taehyung?”

“He’s doing a live upstairs,” she answers. “Something about switching with Hoseok while he’s in Seoul.”

Namjoon nods, noting the change in schedule no one thought to tell him about. If Taehyung is online today, then Hoseok would have to do a live at least once before the next concert, meaning he and Yoongi could take a break for at least another week or two…

“Holy shit!”

Everyone turns to where Jimin is staring into his phone, mouth open and half-laughing. “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Taehyung just -” Apparently unable to finish his sentence, he shakes his head and passes the phone to Seokjin next to him, laughing in disbelief. He points to something and Seokjin raises his eyebrows.

“Idiot,” he mutters, passing the phone over to Yoongi and Jungkook. Namjoon walks over with a frown and peers into the phone over their shoulders, apparently immediately seeing whatever it is - and looking straight up at Dilara, the frown deepening.

“What is it?” she asks doubtfully, for she’d presumed it was something to do with their work. “Is everything okay?”

Namjoon bites his lip and opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then shakes his head. “You tell me,” he mutters, reaching over to hand her the phone.

A bit hesitant, Dilara takes it and immediately scans the screen. It’s a tweet with a video embedded; it’s Taehyung on a live - this live, wearing the same open-collared white linen shirt he’d been wearing half an hour ago - staring into the camera and speaking softly in Korean, looking more handsome than ever. There’s a SZA song playing in the background and a moment later, he turns up the volume and slides his chair back, bopping his head slightly to the music and running his hands through his thick hair.

He looks magnificent; it takes Dilara a moment to remember that his good looks can’t be the reason the rest of the guys displayed such a reaction. She frowns as he gives a faint smile to the camera, gaze boring into the lens, and leans to the side to pick up something from the ground, giving a clear view of one half of their room including - Dilara squints - a pain red bikini top on the bed.

“What did you do?” 

Namjoon’s deep voice of exasperation jerks her out of her train of thought, which is just beginning to make sense of this. She looks up to see Taehyung jogging down the steps in the same white linen shirt and matching shorts, his hands casually in his pockets.

“What?” He looks around, frowning slightly at everyone’s gaze on him. “What’s happening?”

“No way you didn’t know.” Jimin shakes his head, looking terribly amused, and gestures for Dilara to give him the phone. She does silently, her eyes not leaving Taehyung’s face.

He watches the video expressionlessly, only raising his eyebrows at the very end. He hands the phone back to Dilara, catching her eye for a moment.

“You are going to be in so much trouble,” says Jimin, looking borderline thrilled at the prospect of it.

“It’s about time,” remarks Yoongi dryly, refilling his glass with wine. “Taehyung hasn’t caused a scandal in a while.”

“When have I ever caused a scandal?”

“No one’s going to get in trouble,” says Namjoon loudly, cutting through the chatter. “But… yeah, the company’s not going to approve of it.”

“Huh.” Taehyung bites his lip and nods. “Well, nothing we can do about it now, I guess.”

“We can get the video taken down,” suggests Jungkook. “It’s on Weverse, right?”

“Won’t everyone have taken screenshots and recordings by now, though?” Dilara asks, continuing to look at Taehyung.

“Yeah, probably,” sighs Namjoon, scrolling through his own phone.

“Top ten most irresponsible moments,” pipes up Seokjin, shaking his head exaggeratedly.

“Yeah, Taehyung, this was a careless move,” adds Jimin instantly, jumping on the train.

“You should be thankful Dilara didn’t show up anywhere in the video,” Namjoon tells him. At that, everyone turns to look at her, as though waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, uh - yeah, it’s - it’s so irresponsible,” she states, biting her lip to keep from smiling when Taehyung turns to her, eyebrows raised, hands on his hips. “But… I don’t really mind.”

Taehyung nods with narrowed eyes, still giving no indication as to the turn of events that led to this. Everyone else seems to be vaguely disappointed with her reaction; she supposes they were expecting some sort of dramatic fight.

Everyone drifts off after that, once it’s clear that the matter is more or less closed. There’s some chatter in different languages, largely debating between pre-gaming and going out, or staying in and watching a movie. Dilara finds she doesn’t really care; she stays out of the conversation, silently accepting a casual kiss on the head from Taehyung as he saunters away to the living room with the others.

“Mojito?” Namjoon offers her. “I tried my best,” he adds apologetically when she takes a sip and winces.

“No, it’s just really strong,” she sputters, eyes watering a bit. “Is this how strong you take it?”

“Sometimes,” he answers simply, but offers no more on the subject. “Are you okay? With this?”

From his partly curious tone, she takes it “this” is referring to Taehyung’s possibly accidental-on-purpose mishap with the live and the red bikini top.

“Yeah, I guess,” she answers, pouring some more mixer into her glass and stirring it. “Not like we got caught snogging or something. It’s pretty circumstantial. Do you really think he’ll get in trouble with the company?”

“Not trouble, really. Like you said, it’s circumstantial. Doesn’t prove anything.”

Dilara chooses to ignore that. “That’s good.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But you never know. Things can escalate.”

Dilara glances at him as he picks out the mint leaf from his drink. It suddenly occurs to her that this may be hitting a little close to home.

“It’s… precarious,” she admits after a moment. “But it doesn’t really change anything. Not with us, I mean.” 

Namjoon nods, eyes still on his drink. “Well,” he says at last, “that’s good for you, I guess.” He meets her eyes briefly before giving her a small nod and starting to move away.

“Kaya,” blurts out Dilara, watching as he slowly turns around, “is getting published. An excerpt from her thesis - I forgot what it was called -”

“Behavioural Economics in Decision-making,” says Namjoon, nodding and smiling. His dimple appears out of nowhere and catches Dilara by surprise. “That’s amazing. Tell her… tell her congratulations from me, the next time you talk to her?”

He’s actually asking, Dilara realises. She’s about to agree, but at the last second, she looks up at him knowingly. “I’m not telling her anything,” she says, somewhat regretting it when Namjoon nods in acceptance. “You can. You should. She’s happy about it. She and her friends went out to celebrate and everything.”

“Yeah? She tell you that?”

“Not everything,” she admits. “I saw it on Instagram. Which means it’s probably a big deal.”

“Point taken.” Namjoon raises his free hand as Dilara waves at him before walking back into the living room to join the others. He swallows, not sure why the lump is appearing in his throat again. She’s happy about it, apparently. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he wants.

He should congratulate her. Slipping out of the kitchen, he heads to the room he’s sharing with Yoongi and shuts the door behind him, scrolling through his contacts. A notification appears on the top of his screen and he clicks it out of habit. Ignoring the actual subject of the message, he navigates to Kaya’s Instagram, second in his Search results.

Namjoon finds the pictures immediately; it’s the latest album she’s uploaded, consisting of three pictures of a group of people at a nicely-lit restaurant. He absently leans against the desk, missing her so immensely that he feels like his heart could crumble.

Kaya looks beautiful - and tired. But a happy tired, as though she’s worked for months burning the midnight oil and finally given herself a night off. He scans the rest of the people in the first picture; mostly peers from her program, some of whom he’s met before. He swipes right to see a solo picture of her with her glasses on and shifting her hair, followed by a third picture with the entire group around the table, all holding their drinks up towards the camera.

It’s obviously taken by someone else, perhaps a waiter or a passerby. Kaya is a couple of chairs away from the centre, in between her friend Alex - and Adam.

For a moment, his brain doesn’t know how to react. She’s sitting next to him, and smiling - but there are six other people at the table, too. Her thesis advisor went to her celebration dinner. Her thesis advisor that hit on her, slept with her and sees her every day, went to her celebration dinner.

Namjoon bites his lip, feeling his mind about to turn a corner it shouldn’t, for it wouldn’t help anyone. But it’s too close by, just within reach. With the minor buzz of the two mojitos he’s had, his intrusive thoughts take over. He swallows and grits his teeth, regretting it instantly - but it’s too late, for he can see it now: Kaya, Kaya with him, naked and glorious, eyes closed, kissing him, being pleasured by him - 

His bedroom door opens loudly, making a couple of people in the living room jerk in surprise.

“Jungkook,” he says gruffly, “you’re carrying your old phone with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” answers Jungkook, standing up slowly. “You need it?”

When Namjoon nods wordlessly, Jungkook gets to his feet and jogs to his room to retrieve his old Samsung, the one he’d brought on tour before buying a new one in London, Namjoon following him.

As Jungkook leads him to his room, he peers surreptitiously into his leader’s room, frowning slightly when he sees his phone on the ground by the wall in three pieces, the screen shattered.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[ichorai]

live like animals ; kimiko miyashiro.

track five of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; kimiko miyashiro x gn!reader, frenchie x gn!reader

synopsis ; you and frenchie try to show kimiko how to have fun on a day off.

words ; 1.0k

themes ; fluff, mild comedy

warnings / includes ; mentions of fire/bombs, frenchie and reader get in a heated debate on stacking cards in uno, basically just domestic fluff

main masterlist.

“This is Monopoly,” you told Kimiko, gesturing out to the board game in front of you. You handed her a couple wads of money. “That’s yours. You can use it to buy land and houses. See, if you land on these particular squares, you have to draw a card and do what the card tells you.”

Appearing puzzled, Kimiko moved her game piece to the question mark and picked up a card without rolling. Frenchie winced, placing down his own fake Monopoly money.

“Eh, perhaps we can play something else—something that involves a bit less explaining, maybe?”

Relenting, you moved on to the next game, pulling out a deck of cards—Uno.

“Okay, okay, for this game, you just gotta put down cards that have the same color as each other, or it could be the same number,” you explained patiently, smiling at Kimiko as you handed her a few colorful cards to start out with. Forgetting to explain to keep your cards close to your chest, Kimiko splayed out her cards with a smile, pointing out that all of hers were blue, save for a single red one.

“Ah, mon coeur, don’t show us!” exclaimed Frenchie, dramatically flying his forearm up to cover his eyes.

Kimiko, worried she’d done something wrong, gathered her cards back in her hands and furrowed her brows. 

“We’re not supposed to know what the other players have in their hands,” you told her, not unkindly, “it keeps the game fair and more interesting.”

After you dealt out a fresh set of cards, on the three of you played, glad that you’d finally found a game Kimiko could enjoy—until you placed down two sevens: one green, and one yellow.

“No,” stressed Frenchie, thick brows pinching together. “You’re not supposed to stack!”

“What do you mean, everyone stacks!”

“It’s practically cheating!”

“It’s not cheating! And how ironic, the man who builds bombs for a living is raggin’ on me for ‘cheating’ Uno!”

Crimson-faced, Frenchie shot back, “It defeats the entire purpose of the game! You either place the same color in one go, or you put the same number, you cannot place down two cards of the same number but different color—it makes no sense!”

The two of you burst into a heated argument between who was right, Kimiko glancing back and forth between the two of you with a baffled expression. After almost five whole minutes of bickering, cards were hastily shoved back into the deck. 

“Fine. We’ll play another game,” you huffed, glaring at Frenchie and childishly sticking your tongue out at him. “Sorry, ‘Miko. He’s just being a sourpuss.”

“At least I don’t have to cheat to win the game,” hissed the man, accent thickening with his frustration.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him.

“Here—why don’t we play Twister?”

Twister was also a disaster. Kimiko had nearly snapped Frenchie’s leg in half when she toppled on top of him, and Frenchie had accidentally kicked you in the face while he was twisting around to put his left leg on a red circle. All in all—it wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences.

“Alright… I guess playing games is a bust. You have anything else you wanna do, Kimiko?”

The woman’s expression lit up, and she tugged on Frenchie’s sleeve, miming cracking an egg open and frying it on a pan.

“You wanna cook?” he asked, grinning. “Sure—I’ve been meaning to teach you, anyways.”

The three of you filed into the dingy little kitchen, where Frenchie began pulling out ingredients. “We can make french toast. It is not actually French, but it will do for now.”

You were tasked with whipping the eggs while Frenchie showed Kimiko how to properly cut up the strawberries. It was all going smoothly—until the frying bit.

Somehow, Kimiko had ended up burning the toast with a pan that was far too hot. The two of you winced, telling her to try again. The second time, a small spark of fire somehow kindled aflame when Kimiko accidentally spilled some oil onto the stove. Hurriedly, you ran out of the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher, yanking the pin out and spraying the white foam all over the fire, ruining the remains of the french toast beyond salvation.

Frenchie wiped some of the extinguisher’s foam from his brow.

“Well,” he said, huffing out a sigh. “Anything else you wanna do?”

The three of you settled on watching a movie. It was an old sixties film that you couldn’t recall the name of, but it had Audrey Hepburn and the characters were singing a song about being a ‘prim and proper’ woman, which seemed to completely enrapture Kimiko’s attention.

“You okay?” Frenchie quietly asked you when he noticed that you weren’t paying much attention to the movie.

Instead, you had your gaze trained on Kimiko—on her sweet smile, on her indented dimples, on the way the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she laughed. 

“Yeah,” you distantly replied. “I’m just glad we got to spend the day together.”

Kimiko turned to you with a wide, toothy grin. She began signing, and you looked to Frenchie for the translation. 

The man had his own warm beam pulling his lips thin. “She says thank you for being so patient with her.”

You reached over to gently take Kimiko’s hand in yours. “It’s my pleasure, Kimiko, really. It’s not often we get days off—what with Butcher sending us on missions every other minute and Vought looking out for us like hawks. It’s nice to just relax for once.”

“Cheers to that,” said Frenchie, sipping on a bottle of beer he had procured out of seemingly nowhere. 

The three of you fell into a comfortable once more, fixing your attention back to the movie in front of you.

Not twenty minutes later, you and Frenchie had both fallen asleep, your dozing heads resting upon either side of Kimiko’s shoulders. She, however, stayed wide awake, watching the movie until the very last of its credits, silently mouthing along to the songs.

[melmac78]

Here’s chapter 5 of the USS Lexington story.

Small chapter before the big stuff comes around… though after the next chapter I have some major rewrites so it’ll be a bit of time and more sporadic.

I don’t have photo of the party room, so enjoy more of the hangar deck and photos of the dentist room in the lower deck tour - as it relates to this chapter.

Fun facts - 1. the plain wall behind the nose of the plane above and far back of the third photo are the fire walls mentioned in part 4. They are normally not closed - this was prep for a rodeo banquet. 2. Elmo’s was a real restaurant in Corpus Christi. Sadly, it’s out of business and the building was recently torn down.

Previous chapters:

Four Three Two One

•••••••

The next morning was mostly cloudy, adding some coolness to the non-climate controlled decks.

The Tracys had a different form of cool however - they had their birthday celebration for Scott.

Between the five brothers they ate all of a large triple chocolate birthday cake and enjoyed food catered by Elmo’s.

It was fitting it was from Elmo’s - the revived 1950s style restaurant offered a variety of food items one would see in the ‘40s as well.

The brothers ate burgers, shakes, and even local items such as seafood stuffed mushrooms and potato skins.

A few of the Boy Scouts peeked inside hangar bay three where the Tracys held the party.

Virgil saw the boys and, after they all visited and talked about the Thunderbirds and Scott, felt bad when their leader gently collected them for chow in the wardroom.

Scott agreed and immediately contacted the mess deck to see if they could arrange for more cakes to be brought on board for after the evening's mess.

"That's really thoughtful of you, Virg," Gordon said when he heard his oldest brother finish the call.

He then tossed a thumb at his youngest. "Just keep Alan away - If he digs in like he did just now, he will have to have his stomach pumped."

Alan stuck out his tongue in retort, making the others chuckle. “I didn’t eat *that* much,” he retorted.

His “partner in crime” however continued.

"Well, even though they *are* technically museum displays now, there is a sick bay on board and a dental clinic too," Gordon teased loudly enough for and the others to hear him. “I'll be happy to swap out the mannequins and fill all of the cavities Alan will get.”

"I won't get sick! Grandma didn't make this cake," said the youngest.

Sally for her part just quirked an eyebrow, deciding that Alan being teased was enough reprimand for insulting her cooking.

Besides, Max did give her a few positive chirps last time her cookies were just dark brown and not black.

"It's not who made it that worries us, it's the amount you consumed,” said Scott, chuckling.

The middle brother, who was still savoring his slice of cake, looked up, pretending to be serious. “Right," John said. “Just don't get seasick. If you do, I'm not cleaning it up!"

Alan saw John’s eyes twinkle in mischief, but pouted, indignant. "I don't get seasick. Besides this boat is hardly rocking at all being secured to the dock permanently for tours."

"This 'boat' is an aircraft carrier - a ship. Plus, it doesn't rock even when out to sea in a storm," corrected Scott, who then ruffled his brother’s hair. “Now, why don't you go burn off some of those calories you just ate?"

Gordon smiled, thinking of the perfect place to make his younger speed loving brother smile. “Come on Alan, let's go try out the flight simulator," he suggested.

Alan took the opening for “revenge.”.

“Yeah, after you flew Thunderbird Two that time over the ocean, you could use the flight practice,” he teased.

Gordon raised his eyebrow and lightly punched Alan's arm.

"Ow!" Alan cried in mock pain and chased Gordon in the room.

Scott grabbed both of them by their shirt collars as they went by. "No running! This ship is a memorial - people died on these decks! Decorum needs to be addressed!" he scolded almost a parody of Jacob's drill sergeant routine.

The others laughed, much to the two youngest’s chagrin.

"Sorry, Scott," Gordon mumbled.

Yeah, sorry," Alan added.

Scott let go of their collars. “Good,” he said, then checked mischievously. “You better be or I'll tell the ship leader you had your shirts untucked.”

Gordon and Alan yelped - knowing if they were caught they'd be doing pushups later that evening, and they left at a much more leisurely pace to the simulator.

They also tucked in their already secured shirt tails in - just in case.

Scott shook his head with a slight smile and waved them away.

Grandma Tracy laughed and waved Scott back into the room. "Come on over Scott, we have a toast for the birthday boy," said Sally.

Seeing the bottle, he smiled."Really? You guys have already done so much!" Scott began.

"Not yet," Virgil said, handing him a glass. “There’s other events in Corpus we’re going to do too you know.”

Scott laughed. “True, but this one is already unforgettable,” he said as Sally poured the glasses.

Virgil then raised his glass. “Here's to the guy that stepped up when needed, the guy that keeps us all together and working to continue our father's dream,” he said to the eldest.

They all clinked their tin mess cups and took a sip. Seeing Scott's look at the taste, Grandma Tracy chuckled. "It's sparkling grape juice right now - if only out of caution for the younger set, but we'll take you out for a real drink later on this afternoon," she said.

John however wondered if he actually had a real drink.

The air felt warmer than normal - and it was climate controlled. He felt slightly unsteady, with a minute roar in his ears.

He was the first to sit down, hard and rubbed a hand over his face. Virgil looked at him and noticed John’s uneasy countenance.

"Hey bro, are you okay?" queried Virgil.

The younger man looked up at Virgil, who was to his relief in focus. "Yeah, fine why?" John asked, bewildered.

"You look beat," Virgil answered.

The middle brother was going to respond when his eldest took a closer look. “Yeah, your cheeks are red too," Scott added, not adding he too was concerned about John's confused look.

"Really? I feel fine," dismissed John. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Virgil narrowed his eyes at the slight sway the younger man gave, and confused look.

When John paled slightly in the process, Virgil broached the issue gently. “No… I don’t think so. I think you’re feeling dizzy, maybe even a bit faint.”

John shook his head adamantly. "No ... I feel fine," he said, starting to get up.

He paused in mid-action. "On sec...ond..." he faltered...

A gentle set of hands set him in the chair again. Another hand rested on his neck, guiding him into putting his head between his knees. "Deep breaths kiddo," said Sally, gently rubbing her grandson’s back.

The astronaut mumbled as he felt his head clear from the change in position. *OK, maybe I was caught off guard there,* he mused, starting to become more alert.

He then slowly sat up with Scott and Virgil's help. "Sorry Scott... heck of a way to celebrate your birthday," said the astronaut, not missing Virgil grab his left wrist to check his pulse.

Virgil was relieved to find John’s skin felt cooler than yesterday’s spell.

The eldest however gently scoffed. "Don't be John. Virgil said you had a rough night and we knew this was going to take a bit out of you, even if you hadn't experienced space sickness," said Scott, standing and offering out a hand.

"Listen, why don't you go back to the berths and rest a bit? I’ll ask Jacob to make sure the living quarters is a quiet zone.”

John pondered the offer, but shook his head. "But what about the guided tour through the new part about to open?"

"Tour can wait - I'd rather you rest," said Scott, who then grinned mischievously. "I mean, you don't want your eldest brother to celebrate his birthday carrying his fainted brother through the corridors in the soon-to-be longest tour route... right?"

Those words had the impact needed when the astronaut glared at him.

Scott knew John hated being carried.

The astronaut then chuckled in concession. “All right Scott," said John, taking his brother's hand. He admitted that maybe a rest would be good. After all, they would be competing in a scavenger hunt later that evening.

But with the Tracy brothers… even a scavenger hunt can become the start of a different - and dangerous - kind of adventure.

[onim5]

Yandere Portgas D. Ace, 6

Chapter 6: A Smile

Female reader

Warnings: I won't spoil, so read at your own risk.

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

You had stayed in Ace's chamber for four days. He came five times a day with too much food. He acted so kind and sweet that it was impossible to even get the thought of what a terrible man he actually was. But you knew. . . . . You knew him, but do you really. Pushing the food around on the plate, you looked at Ace, who sat on the bed munching on a bone of meat. "Ace, can you tell me a bit about yourself?" He looked surprised and then started talking about favorite foods. Surprisingly, he had a lot.

"I don't mean, likes or dislikes, but rather where you're from. Why your a piarate, a bit about your family, maybe. You know stuff like that." You mumbled, Ace sighs and then tells you about Dawn Island. It was different to see him like that. So soft and vulnerable. It was weird, though why did he trust you with such information? Why did he tell you that much? "And that's when I decided to join the Whitebeard pirates." Ace said as he felt nostalgia flow his mind. He kept on speaking, and it felt nice to remind himself of everything.

Ace glanced at you. He immediately got quiet and just stared. When your expression changed and a look of confusion settled, he excused himself and left. Making his way into a storage room. He hid in a corner and just fell down. The pictures of you in his mind had always been beautiful, but the one you had before he had glared was different. The smile was real, there were no hint of fear nor pain. It was just a wholehearted smile. Why had you not smiled like that to him before? Why did you give him one? Ace grabbed his hair.

He knew very well why you hadn't smiled like that to him. Ace shivered as he looked at his hands. You were unaware of this, but Marshall D. Teach had been missing for the three past days. Well, the reality was that Ace had gripped his neck and watched as he woke up weak due to the lack of air. And then he had carried Teach out to deck, knowing no nightwatchers would come until like half an hour. So he held him over the fence.

Teach had barely any air left and held on to his consciousness the best he could. Since when were Ace this physically strong? Teach's eyes were wide as he glared at the man who strangled him without any emotional expression. "Y/n is not yours." Ace said, his hand sparked with light of fire, and after some seconds, Teach was dead. He let go of the ablazed corpse and watched as it landed in the water, never to be seen again.

A single tear escaped his left eye as he reapeted the scene in his head. He had killed a man who didn't really do anything. Ace felt his hands. The attacks that he uses while having you in mind were strong, so strong that they hurt his hands for three days. He, of course, endured it. It didn't hurt anymore from that time, but he could still imagine the heat. Sighing Ace sat down in the corner of the room. Pushing down his hat, he tries to understand what he has done to make you smile for real.

You held Ace hand lightly as you two walked on deck. The other pirates greeted you and Ace. Marco walked up and reached out his hand. "The name is Marco, I'm in charge of the first division." He introduced. You shook his hand and answered by telling yours. Ace felt the jealousy thicken inside of him. But it disappeared fast as he saw your fake expression change a little. It was such a tiny change. He shouldn't have caught it. But it was hints of sadness, worry, anxiety, and fear. Damn, you Marco. Stop! She's afraid of me. Ace thought, he let go of your hand and smiled. "I need to do some stuff. Why don't you give Y/n a tour and show her the mighty Moby Dick. "Sure."

[alwaysteveswife]

Titanic | Steve Harrington x Fem! Reader (part 1)

Sorry, it took longer than I wanted to do this chapter, but I needed to redo the scenes where it was difficult to make the gender change fit in. Anyway, I'll try to upload more often 🥲.

(Short, I know, but it's five in the morning and I'm about to fall asleep listening to the Titanic soundtrack).

Words: 666

It had been more than three hours since the ship had sailed. Most of the passengers already had their belongings out of their suitcases, arranged in the trunks in the rooms or lying on the bed in complete disarray.

Robin and Y/N, like those many people, had stowed their few belongings in the small trunks given to the lower class.

The room was no big deal. It was small, so small that there was only a single berth, a nightstand and the trunk. Despite that, the girls couldn't have been more excited. Y/N had spent the last three hours going over how much money they had won in the bet, and Robin, on the other hand, had been pacing around the harried room, prattling on about how this was her dream come true.

"We have to go, Y/N, it's the welcome party, or boat, what difference does it make? it's a free party!" Robin insisted, sitting down on the floor next to her best friend and only confidant "it'll be fun, I promise."

Y/N let out a giggle so low that, if it weren't for Robin's incredible hearing, she wouldn't have even heard it. "Why don't you go by yourself? I don't feel like going out at this hour, it was too emotionally packed a day."

"I know, I know, but it'll only be ten minutes, after that you can come back here and rest" Robin pleaded, taking Y/N's hands and squeezing them gently "Please?".

She just rolled her eyes, causing a big smile to settle on Robin's face. She had won.

Y/N took a big breath of fresh air, letting out a big sigh and relaxing his muscles. Contrary to what she thought, the party had been very hectic. There were people dancing everywhere. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes flooded the room that could barely cope with all the people in it. Yes, it was suffocating, but it wasn't unpleasant to the point of vomiting either, or at least that's what Y/N tried to tell herself as she remembered the countless number of people she saw getting drunk until they passed out.

She stretched both arms above her head, walking across the deck of the ship slowly. It was quite late, so there weren't many people next to her, except for a few night workers watching from above.

She reached into her right pocket, pulling out a cigarette that, much to her regret -or so she tried to convince herself- she had been forced to steal.

She lit the fire as easily as an expert smoker could, perhaps she was. She sat on a bench near the ship's rail, taking a long puff of smoke and staring up at the night sky. It looked splendid.

She closed her eyes for a moment, barely a few seconds, seconds that were enough for quick, heavy footsteps to come towards her at full speed. When she opened her eyes there was no one in front of her. She looked both ways, stifling a gasp as she saw a smartly dressed man start to climb over the railing.

"Wait!" came from Y/N's lips, so loud and sure that even she couldn't believe she had said that. "Don't do it," she said, watching every move expectantly, slowly approaching.

And then, as if he was waiting for her to speak to him -or at least Y/N wanted to think so- the boy turned away.

The air caught in her throat as she saw him face to face. He was beautiful. There was a lot of wind, enough to ruffle his chocolate brown hair, his eyes looked dark but bright at the same time, they looked as if they were searching for a reason to live.

And Y/N set out to give it to him, even if it would only be temporary.

Masterlist

Tag: @kaverichauhan

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 17: Pleasure

SWTOR

Pairing: Theron Shan/Eva Corolastor

Words: ~870 (reasonable)

~~

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She looked up at the familiar voice, pressed into an unfamiliar form.  Eva had learned that the correct response, whilst wearing evening gloves, was to extend her hand toward the voice and either get a firm hearty handshake or to have lips graze the top of the satin fabric. 

Her ability to think was always severely compromised whenever she saw Theron in another guise, as another man, as if they were in different universes, over and over again meeting each other for the first time. 

Time stopped for Eva, each time, each first time.  Maybe it was leftover brain disarray from the carbonite, when she dissociated regularly and didn’t know “when” she was.  It was different from when she first saw him in disguise at the casino on Katalla, and they had to pretend to be strangers.  The hitch wasn’t there.   

Or maybe these episodes were flashes into another universe when it was their first time meeting.  Eva had idly considered it before, in other spaces, in other times.

What if Eva had been caught after Corellia or there had been more hand-wringing before the Pub employed her for Ilum…would she have been sitting at an interrogation table, alone with the files and accusations against her and her broken heart as Theron walked in to question her….?  And when he had sussed out the truth and did what he did best – a victim debrief – what would they be then?

What if they had crossed paths on Nar Shaddaa, and Eva hadn’t been so tipsy with Risha and eating burgers that she’d noticed Theron pick a fight with a Houk and disappear around a corner…Would they have become fast friends over busting up Morbo the Hutt’s trafficking ring, with Bowdaar approving almost immediately upon completion of the rescue?

What if Theron had been deployed on one of those top secret missions that he was still reticent to talk to her about?  Was part of the hesitation knowing now that she’d been nearby?  That his presence would affect how she thought of him now?  Would it matter that he was disguised as an Imperial on King’s Ransom or even the Voidwolf’s flagship?  That he had lurked around Port Nowhere as Eva and Darmas had carried on, publicly, in the cantina?... or even if he had seen them at the tables on Canto Bight?

How different would things have been if Master Oteg had decided Eva and Risha had needed a supervisor on their trip to Maelstrom Prison…one with insight on the man they were meant to rescue?

Or…

Or what if they had never met before she came to Odessen?  Eva didn’t know if she’d be the Outlander if she hadn’t worked with Theron before (and she never would wonder that out loud to him, ever), but… even as the Voidhound (five years later, five years darker, five years harder…) would she catch his eye?  Or would she batter his professional because he caught her attention, some fire still inside of her after five years with the worst part of herself taking the lead, continuing her cartel work, in defiance of the Eternal Empire?

There was never a question that Eva would never bend the knee to the Eternal Empire, and there was never a question that Theron would join the organization would save the galaxy.   

It was just a question that if their paths crossed later…would they?  Could they?  She would be worse (she was sure of it), but would Theron…have someone else?  Gotten better about his attachment issues?  Or would he just be in that devotional state to a cause, his personal life an empty quarters on Odessen, decked out with the basics, his clothes and shave kit, and nothing more?

If their paths crossed earlier?

Or was it only in that moment, that one second when they decided they were both going to the cantina after Darok’s debrief that was the space that ‘they’ could start to exist? 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She looked up at the familiar voice, pressed into an unfamiliar form.  Eva had learned that the correct response, whilst wearing evening gloves, was to extend her hand toward the voice and either get a firm hearty handshake or to have lips graze the top of the satin fabric. 

Now it was here, as he bowed low to grasp her red satin hand and kiss the knuckles, just off to the side of a ring (which had to be real, because their audience could spot a fake a parsec off).  His hair curled, as he never let it in daily life.  The suit was expensive, and he’d probably rented it or borrowed it from someone on base with a more active social life who actually did take leave. 

Eva rose to her feet as he straightened up, still grasping her hand. 

“I’m sure it’s always a pleasure to meet you,” Eva replied, the people around them chuckling at the joke or the audacity. 

Theron’s eyes lit up, not an act, and he took her signal to escort her out to the dancefloor.

There was a mission.  There was an objective. 

And then there was them, spinning around, always coming together, somehow. 

~~

@fluffyfebruary