#he’s baring his blowhole

[mossymandibles]

kraw doesnt like kisses? no kissies for the prettiest man alive??? 🥺

He’s good with face nuzzling though! And forehead bumps

Your POV:

#anon replies #i tried my best at this meme #kraw #he’s baring his blowhole #Kraw def doesnt get called pretty too often I think he’d be a little confused

[louiscarrotsxoxo]

berryhill (chapter eight)

Harry

I quickly zipped my backpack and ran onto the bus as Niall awaited me.

"Niall! Niall! Louis said it we're boyfriends!" I shouted 

"Shhhh! The whole world doesn't need to know mate!" Niall shushed

"Oh whatever, I can't wait to tell Gemma." I said excitedly 

"Who's Gemma Harry?" Niall asked

"Oh she's my sister, she's been sticking her nose in our relationship all along." I laughed whilst rolling my eyes.

"Ah, I see, but tell me all the details." Niall gushed dramatically 

"So basically Faith was being...how we will say, homophobic, I searched it up, and then que Louis being his usual sassy self, telling Faith off, then we talked with eachother and we kissed! Niall we kissed right in front of her!" I said as I retold the story dramatically 

If there was ever a burned into your memory moment, that might as well have been it, I've barely even known Louis and he's got me walking in the clouds, problem is I don't know how to get down.

"I know Harry, I was there." Niall replied 

"Oh- then why'd you ask?" I quipped 

"I just wanted to see you squeal, so I could laugh." Niall spoke as his laughter erupted through the entire bus, I swear that boy's vocal cords are superhuman.

"My gosh I hate you." I rolled my eyes as I slumped back into my seat.

I looked out of the window, I felt like I was dreaming, even in this typical January grey weather I was all smiles, Louis did things like that to me.

I see everything passing by in fast motion, but my heart felt everything going in slow motion, almost as if I wanted to cherish every moment.

I wanted to cherish Louis

"What do you think will happen on Monday Niall?" I spoke dreamily

"Anything really, also, that Faith girl was super rude, disrespecting my ship like that." Niall scoffed

"What?" I squinted my eyes in confusion 

"You're ship, Larry remember?" Niall reminded me

"Oh gosh- gross that's still cringey." I laughed awkwardly 

"Is not! You're the one who snogged Louis's face off in front of Faith! That was epic." Niall laughed loudly as I rolled my eyes for what seemed like the 10th time.

"What a bunch of faggots" I heard a whisper followed by a girly squeal.

Ugh, was that seriously Faith? She lived around here?!

"Faith what did you just say?" I questioned angrily

"I called you a fucking faggot Harry." Faith snarled 

"Why you-" I started 

"Watch your man." Faith countered 

"You should watch your mouth." I pointed dramatically as I rolled my eyes.

"Don't listen to Faith mate, she's just a blowhole." Niall snickered 

"Thanks Ni, in the end I know shes just a tad bit jealous, or maybe she's just confused?" I questioned 

I suppose so

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Gemma

My mind couldn't help but wander off to my brother, the past few days he's seemed extra giddy to go to school, I wonder what it was.

Possibly Louis? I pondered, that boy he was daydreaming about when we went skating that weekend. Oh, I'm so going to find out.

I scribbled down the rest of my homework as I ripped out the pages of my notebook. I intently tapped my pencil as the minutes ticked by, like clockwork, my mum entered my room to tell me I had to run down to the bus stop to pick up Harry.

"Gems, you have to pick up Harry from the bus stop-" my mum said before I cut her off

"Got it mum!" I said before dashing to grab my coat.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I walked down to the bus stop carefully avoiding the screaming children running from the bus, kids today. But speaking of kids, I had to confront my brother about my sneaking suspicion of his little crush.

My mind wandered as I walked further down the street to see two kids arguing with each other and a third tryna to break them up, so casually, wait, was that Harry?!

"Why is it such a big deal huh?! Leave me alone Faith!" I heard my brother shout

"Woah woah, Haz what happened?" I asked confused 

"I'll tell you later Gemma, see ya on Monday Niall." Harry nodded 

I turned on my heel as Harry fixed his backpack straps anxiously as he walked ahead of me. What the heck happened?

"So, how was your day Harry?" I dared to question as he glared at me

"It was amazing Gemma! Except for that last bit, I have so many details to tell you once we get home!" Harry cheered happily 

"Ooh, who put you in a good mood little bro?" I teased 

"Oh, someone, let's just say, they're unforgettable." Harry smirked 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Alright, spill it Haz, everything out on the table." I said as Harry sat idle on his bed doodling in my interrogation, typical.

"So, this boy, Louis, me and him get along really well, he was the one that talked to me on day one, and he has friends, Niall, Liam and Zayn. Niall was the one at the bus stop, long story short Faith was being a meanie and she made fun of Lou and I.. for doing something, but we didn't care, because we care about each other alot.. and yeah." Harry said quickly breathing between each sentence 

"So, what else Haz, did you and Louis finally find that's spark?" I questioned 

"Well, listen Gems, you can't tell anyone this, not even Dusty or mum." Harry said in all seriousness 

"Of course Haz, sibling honor." I said as I winked 

"I- whatever, if you spill you owe me big time." Harry pouted

"Whatever Haz! Just tell me, I NEED the drama." I swooned

"Well, me and Louis sort of, knew we were different, so we kind of had to figure out what. Lou searched up some stuff and turns our we might be, gay, or homosexual, because we have feelings for eachother. We think... well anyways Faith was being super rude about it and called us nasty names, but then me and Lou kissed in front of her." Harry said 

"I- wow, and wait, what?! You had your first kiss Haz?! What a charmer you are!" I gushed

"Wait, you're not mad about Louis and stuff?" Harry said as he looked up to me

"Mad?! I'm ecstatic! Ah, young love, you make me feel old Haz." I laughed 

"Obviously, because you're an old woman, but doesn't matter you can't tell mum." Harry shushed

"Why not?" I questioned 

Even though this whole thing was wrapped up beyond belief, I'm certain mum would understand. Or maybe she wouldn't? What would happen then, perhaps that's what I feared, Harry and Louis so young, they don't even know what love is!

But really, I don't either.

"But, that girl you were telling off, I'm pretty sure she just moved around here, her dad is mega rich and he owns the big house across the street, looks like you'll be seeing more of her around I suppose."I shrugged

"Ugh, you're telling me I'll have to see her every week day for school?! How will I survive?" Harry said throwing himself across the bed dramatically

"You're such a drama queen." I scoffed 

"I am, so what Gemma? I own it, I strut my big arse around like I own the place." Harry said wiggling his bum

"Oh gross! I don't wanna see that Harry!" I shouted 

"But getting back to the question," Harry stated slowly

"I don't want to tell Mum, because what if she knows Louis's family or something, what if they form the ultimate feud and our families become enemies!? Forcing us to love in secret! In the..shadows!" Harry said gasping loudly 

"I swear you are the weirdest boy I've ever met in a lifetime." I laughed halfheartedly

"Alright lovelies, time for dinner!" Mum sang

"Coming Mum.." we spoke as we shot each other a look

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Harry

I stared at my plate in silence as Gemma and Mum chatted about some boy she liked, as if that topic bored me enough, I spent the next few minutes spelling "Louis" in my mashed potatoes, out of pure curiosity, would this be creepy?

Besides the fact, I sat idle at the table as Mum turned to me, my head instantly shot up.

"So Harry my dear, how was your day at school?" My mum questioned 

"It was good Mum, me and my friends played in the tree garden and discovered a secret paddock behind the school, but we went too far so we went back." I told 

"Ooh, that sounds exciting, how is that boy Louis you spoke of yesterday hun?" She asked

"Oh, Louis is good, we talked a few times today.." I trailed off 

Am I really just lying right now? REALLY HARRY?! I said while scolding myself, I really deserved a time out for this.

"What about your day mum?" Gemma spoke up

"Oh it was wonderful! I went to book club and we read a new book, then a new member joined which made it extra exciting, though she didn't have a clue about what the book was about, she was busy gossiping about a fashion magazine." Mum said as my head perked up, could that be Faith's mum, the devil bringer herself?

"Mmm, really, did you hear about the new neighbors?" Gemma winked 

"Oh yes dear I heard about them, someone finnaly moved into that big old house across the street, the lady in book club however, was talking about the taxes and her pilate and yoga partners." My mum laughed as she spoke

"Wow, she sounds awful boring." I said 

"Oh yes, but oh! Harry I forgot to tell you honey," she spoke "she has a daughter named Faith, how sweet isn't it? She's the same age as you, she's an angel she is, she suggested you two have a playdate someday, that being your attending the same school as well, how great! Isn't it, Harry?" My mum laughed dramatically 

"Great?," I tested "that is, so great Mum, great to have a girl around to keep me company, you know how lonely these nights get, oh well I think I hear dusty calling me!" I spoke quickly as I jumped from the table, nearly landing on her tail 

"What?" Gemma laughed 

"Not funny Gem." I stated in all seriousness 

I honestly felt like one of those housewives my mum watches walking off stage when they feel the tiniest bit of crazy limelight.

"I just can't deal!" I spoke to myself as I walked up the stairs dramatically 

How in the heck, is my mum and her mum, knowing eachother, ever going to end well?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Gemma

After the dramatics at the table I figured after I finished my homework I would talk to Harry, after all, I did need to be let in on what was going on.

"Harry you okay?" I questioned 

"I'm fine! Just that my entire 9 year old life is falling apart at the seams!" Harry cried

"It isn't that bad, maybe mum will find out about Mrs.Sweetheart's daughter and magically fly her away and a dragon will eat her." I stated halfheartedly 

"Yeah, in my dreams."  Harry laughed

"Besides, her brother is really hot, I met him at junior high today, he gave me his number." I smirked

"Oh gross Gem! Really, he's probably even worse than Faith!" Harry squealed

"No way Harry!" I shouted as I looked at my phone 

Lukas❤: hey Gemma, u wanna meet up this weekend w/ ur little brother to meet my little sis 2morrow? It'll be fun Gems, promise ;) 

Me🌼: hm, maybe... lemme check my schedule... either way my little bro isn't having it XD

Lukas❤: LOL

"What is it Gemma?" Harry questioned 

to be continued....

A/N: SO EXTREMELY LONG CHAPTER W/ DRAMA AND SUSPENSE + A 2 PARTER #on a roll, so lovely readers, how do you think harry will react? What do you think Faith's brother has planned for the weekend? Do you think the Sweetheart family has good intentions? Comments you're theories!

all the love, Louiscarrotsxoxo ❤

#berryhill #larry fanfiction #harry loves louis #reblog dont repost

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Just a 1am thought for you. You sneak onto Captain Blowhole’s ship bc the dicks just that good. When he catches you, he has to punish you of course. And find a way for you to work off your room and board in the captain’s chambers.

BITCH HERE IS YOUR WORST/BEST NIGHTMARE COME TRUE. THIS IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER PART TO IT. I ACTUALLY AM TOTALLY INTO THIS SHIT NOW. IM A PART OF THE PROBLEM. 

@safarigirlsp LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! 

The swells swarmed the Atlantic in a storm like no other. Forty feet or more surrounding both sides of the Jolly Roger, crewmen frantically battening down the hatches, while Captain Flip manned the wheel as it spun furiously in the mood of the thunder and lightning. 

“Hold the sheet!” his crewman barked at the others spinning the mainmast as not to have it be struck down by the bolts that Zeus had rained down on them. 

“Watch the starboard side!” another shouted into the void of sopping men, struggling to keep the course for their next destination. 

“Captain, we need to find a shoreline or…. We’ll never make it!” his trusty first mate, Ron screamed his direction as his bulging muscles turned the captain’s wheel to the direction he pleased. Noticing his hat had flown from the gusts of wind, Ron picked it up and handed it back to him once the course was turned back to his liking. 

“Prepare for the worst, mate,” Flip solemnly nodded out of breath from keeping the course. He knew it was nearly impossible that he and his crew would make it out of the cursed triangle alive. He swore to himself when setting sail not even days prior that nothing ill would befall them. Karma certainly had its way of biting him back just as bad, if not, worse. 

Ron nodded back to him, returning to his post to keep the ship on course for as long as the storm would let the loyal crew set sail. Flip gazed out at the catastrophe before him, nearly tearing up at the fact that he may never get what he was fighting so hard for. He watched in slow motion as his crew battled the unforgiving waves, crackling lightning illuminating their horrified faces, the thunder drowning out their screams for help. 

Just then, a humongous bolt cracked down from the heavens into the front of the sip, sending a voltage of electricity through the wood of the vessel, causing a complete catastrophe. Crewmen flew into the abyss, shards of wood lost at sea. The last memory Flip had was his listless body sinking into the oblivion.

__________

His hearing returning to the real world echoed a mysterious melodious tune. A humming both angelic and alien in nature, his eyes fluttered as he took in his surroundings. Running his hands through the warm sun-kissed sand, his naked back on the heavenly shores of paradise. 

Putting his hand up to block the sun, of course to no avail due to the looming figure blocking the light. Thinking the shadow was a figment of his imagination, he moved to rub his eyes, groaning and flexing his tired biceps in the process. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, feeling like he had been hit by the largest monsoon this side of the Seven Seas. 

“Where the fuck…” he stammered off taking in the environment around him, the crashing shores, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the beating sunlight of late morning, and that figure becoming more clear in his line of sight. 

The flowing locks in the breeze, the sunkissed skin of a goddess, the perfect form laying against the coarse sand, surrounded by sounds of seagulls and crashing swells. He blinked a few times to take in the fact that you were perched in the spot he’d seen previous, and sat forward, his muscles bulging, slightly burned himself from laying passed out in the morning light. 

“Hh-hello?” he questioned your direction, bringing his large hands around his thankfully clothed legs. You glanced over his direction, your naked form sprawled out facing away from him, only to show your globed asscheeks in the sunlight. Your alluring eyes batting those perfect lashes, your lip pursing into a gorgeous pout. 

“Well good morning to you there, sailor,” you sang his direction, rubbing your delicate hands over your side. 

“W-what happened to me? How in the fuck did I get here?” he suddenly and blatantly questioned you, still turned towards the ebbing waves of the Atlantic. 

You chuckled, playing with the shell you’d found while waiting for him to wake up, “Well, I saved you.” 

His eyes perked up at the out of this world comment you’d shrugged off, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, sailor,” you smiled over your shoulder, still rolling the shell in your hands, “I. Saved. Your. Ass.” 

Flip sat there completely dumbfounded. This gorgeous creature, dove into the abyss during a storm, of which he’d never seen previously, and rescued him from imminent death, dragged his burly over two hundred pound body, and brought him to an unknown shore, where you could have left him to rot in the sun and die. He wasn’t convinced given the fact that he hadn’t seen you on the seas the night before.

“No. No, you didn’t,” he shrugged and laughed as if he’d finally snapped. 

Taking his sarcasm as a complete insult to your kindness, you whipped your ethereal figure around, bearing your bouncing nude breasts and plump pussy to his eyes. 

“Yes. I. Did,” you asserted in the most melodic tone, floating towards his hulking body on the sand. “What?” you pouted, “Does my lil’ buccaneer not want to grasp the fact that lil’ ol’ me came from the depths across your lifeless frame, and scooped you out of near-death to save your worthless lil’ life?”

“Wait…” he stopped, standing to full attention, rippling pectorals, toned arm muscles, and a stern face staring into your soul, “you came… from the depths?” he cocked an eyebrow. 

You saddled towards his six-foot three-figure, no doubt him staring at your bare chest as you near him, and tilted his chin to your eye level, “Yes, sailor boy, I saved you. Do I need to spell it out any more than I already have?” boring your eyes into his, no doubt taking in the intense amber fired color they emitted as they scanned your every crevice. 

“N-no. No ma’am,” he gulped inward, simply agreeing under your entrancement.

“Thank you,” he whispered out, his trance only causing more tension between the both of you. 

“You’re welcome,” you murmured inching closer to his pink, full lips, taking in the rum-soaked breath he emitted. 

His eyes closed, and he moved in for the kill. Your lips suctioning onto each other, holding them there for fear of one rejecting the other. His calloused hands moving in synchrony against your warm body, feeling every single dimple, and curve you had. The left resting on one globe behind you, and the other snaking into your beach kissed locks, pulling ever so slightly. Your hands shot to his girthy chest, rubbing and caressing his peaked nipples beneath your dainty fingers. He gasped as you pinched the sensitive skin, pulling away looking half-lidded at your glorious features. 

“Who the hell are you?” he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, massaging the back of your head, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Pulling yourself close against his swollen lips, you whispered on his breath, “Your dream come true.”

He smiled ever so slightly, letting out the smallest of chuckles, and shoved you back into his waiting lips, this time in a searing kiss that had his hands traveling down to lift you off the ground by your thighs. He shoved his tongue down your waiting throat, creating a symphony of moans and suction as he turned you around to lay your needy body on the sand. 

He loomed over you, pressing his very noticeable bulge against your pelvis. Grinding on you, eliciting more groans from his chest. He broke the kiss only to trace his wet lips along the outline of your neck, trailing to your budding breasts. He took one in his mouth, sucking ever so gently, and massaged the other with his mammoth hand. The sounds escaping you, only spurring his motions on even more so. He did the same with the other until you were writhing in pleasure and the buds turned to stiffened peaks. 

“God, sailor, I need you,” you pleaded, nearly out of breath, “Please.”

He looked up from the trail of his kisses on your stomach and settled his smiling face over your entrance. 

“Oh, now you wanna play nice with me? You haven’t even told me your name gorgeous,” he teased licking a stripe along your moist slit. 

“Uhhhh, fuck sailor, I could say the same to you,” you sang in euphoric pleasure. 

“Ladies first,” his hot breath sending vibrations along your clit. 

“Y/N,” you stammered unable to fully speak. 

He started to suck a welt on one of your thighs, and after breaking the suction looked up and moved his face to other, never breaking eye contact with your stare, “absolutely mesmerizing, Y/N,” bearing back down on the flesh, sucking for all it was worth. 

Just as he was satisfied with the bruising, he whispered back to you, “name’s Captain Flip Zimmerman,” and dove nose-first into your waiting hole, eliciting a scream from your lips. 

He traced circles around your pulsing vagina, humming at the thought of how turned on he was making you. His nose grazing your stiffening clit, every time his tongue entered your pussy. You twitched at every pulse his face was giving you. 

“Good, God Captain,” you cried out, “I-I’m gonna c-c-cum!” 

He moved his perfect lips to your aching bud, enveloped them in a French kiss, and sent you into the wildest orgasm you’d ever encountered. Crying his name out over and over again as he sucked relentlessly on your arousal. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he cooed as you moaned in complete euphoria, “sing to me my sweet siren.” 

He slurped up your sweet release into his desperate mouth smiling in pleasure as his beard tickled your overstimulated pussy.  You came down from the high, as his face connected back to yours. Your hands brushing through his ebony locks, tasting your spend on his saliva. 

“Captain,” you gasped in between his kisses, “I need your cock.” 

He looked up with eyes black as his hair and began to pull his pantaloons down, releasing his Kraken of a cock to your hungry eyes. 

“You like what you see, siren?” he noticed your gaping mouth at his large member. 

“My God, sailor, your so fucking big,” pulling your hand over your precious lips, “do you think it will fit in my tight lil’ pussy?” 

“It will,” he moved to gather the wetness from his tip as well as the spend from your weeping entrance, and moved the mixture up and down his shaft. 

“You’re gonna take your Captain’s cock whether you like it or not,” he beamed back up at you, pushing his sword into your hole in a punishing motion. The stretch causing you to cry out over the crashing waves on the beach. He stilled, watching you writhe in pleasure and pain, drinking in your perfect little moans as best he could.

“Captain, please move, my pussy is so tight, I need you to stretch me out,” you begged, tears rolling down your face. 

“You’ll be patient and keep me warm, siren, I like watching you bend to my every will.” 

He stilled for a few moments, watching the tears roll, your lips gape open, and your sweet cunt flutter around his large dick. He could cum right there, he thought, watching the shadows dance on your pretty face. After a few moments of admiration, he pulled ever so slightly out and pushed back in.  

Setting a grueling pace, he emitted the deepest groan his chest could muster upon hearing the slapping of his balls on your ass, the squelch from your wet pussy taking every inch of him. He watched your face twist and turn as he pushed in and out, his pupils only dilating more as he took you in. 

“Siren, get on your hands and knees, face in the sand, ass up,” He pulled out, watching your tears fall at the loss of contact. You did as you were told, bearing your sand clad ass to his feining stare. He smacked it and a gust of sand fell to the earth, the roughness causing an instant handprint to show on your bare skin. 

“Motherfucker!” you steamed into the beach. 

“Watch your mouth, siren,” he smacked another hand on the other cheek, “no one like’s a dirty lil’ whore mouth.” 

He shoved his dick back into your gaping hole, setting an even faster pace than previously. The moans you both emitted spurring the release even sooner than you’d thought. His hands white-knuckled the sides of your hips, pushing your body impossibly closer. His balls slapping your skin, emitting howls as he plundered your special spot. 

“Fuck, Flip,” you groaned, “I-I can’t hold on much longer, I’m gonna cum again!”

“I’m. Almost. There. Gorgeous,” he punctuated on every thrust, bringing his hand to rub his thumb along your puckered asshole. Without warning, he punctured the perfect little hole, sending you into another earth-shattering orgasm. 

“Jesus. Fucking, Christ,” he screamed as you milked his cock of his sweet, succulent, spend, “Captain is blowing his whole load!” 

He stuffed you full of his cum, thrusting a few more times just to be sure it stayed up in your heat. Both breathless, he leaned over you, sweat dripping from his brow, hands gripping around your stomach. He pulled out, turning you over, admiring your utterly fucked face. 

“You alright, gorgeous?” he laughed towards you. 

“Y-yes, sailor,” you relented, “I’m more than just alright.” 

You pulled his face towards yours, tasting his salty sweat in his mustache. He grabbed both cheeks and shoved his tongue back down your throat, causing you to melt into his brawny body. 

He pulled away, “where did you actually come from?”

You smiled, looking away bashfully, “you really don’t understand do you,” pulling away and getting up from the spot you’d both wrecked each other in. You walked towards the waves, letting the cool water caress your feet the further you stepped in. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he questioned almost alarmed. 

You looked back towards him, the smile eroding from your face, “home,” you said clear as day. 

And with that, a waterball formed around your goddesslike figure, consuming you in a snowglobe of sorts. A bright light emitted from your middle and expanded all the way around the cocoon. Your form changed from legs to a gorgeous aquamarine fin, your skin melding to the attachment, and the globe took you further out to the ocean. 

Flip stood there, dumbfounded again. He blinked a few more times, not even realizing what he had just seen. 

“Did I…” he told himself, “W-what the fuck.” 

He sat back down on the beach, contemplating what had just occurred, trying to justify the possibility that this was just his imagination. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he concluded. 

He scoured the island in search of more answers, only to come upon another impossible find. 

His ship. 

Parked on the beach, like it hadn’t been through any kind of storm in the slightest. 

He noticed his crew as well, packing goods away like he hadn’t witnessed them sinking to Davey Jones’ Locker the night before. He blinked several times, thinking it was all a mirage, or that he may have been drunk to no avail. 

Ron noticed his Captain gawking at the ship, and flagged him over, “Hey there Cap! Where ya been?” 

“I-uh,” he had no words for what had happened. 

“Hey Cap? Let’s get you back in the boat,” Ron pat his back, leading him to his quarters on the hull.  

After making sure Flip was okay to be left alone, he went back to his duties. 

The Captain sat at his wooden desk, feet perched on the top, his hands running through his mustache, trying to piece together what had just occurred. 

The storm, the destruction, you, his ship turning up unscathed. 

You. Holy shit. You. 

A fucking mermaid. You were a creature of the ocean, who had happened upon him during his hour of need, scooped him up and saved his entire livelihood in the process. You were enchanting. A literal siren song. He played through the moans you made, the sarcasm you shot at him, your whole aura was absolutely mesmerizing. He’d never encountered anything as perfect as you. 

He wanted to find you again. To feel your soft skin on his beard, look into those piercing eyes, and hear his name on your lips. He had to find you. If it meant he didn’t have any other purpose than that on the ocean. 

As he made his mind up, he took all the texts he had on your kind to study the lore, hoping to find the answer he so desperately needed. Upon hours and hours of inspection, he stopped at the Holy Grail. Picking up the map slowly, he chuckled like he’d lost his mind. 

The City of Atlantis. 

That had to be home. You had to be there. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, now knowing what he had to do. 

He set the course, watching his crew scramble to get the ship headed the correct way, smelling the salted sea air on his nostrils. He tipped his buccaneer hat and looked into his spyglass. 

“Here we fuckin’ go boys,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, anxious to see you in the flesh again.

__________

CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE IS OUT TO FIND HIS LADY LOVE!

THANK YOU FOR YOUR THIRSTY ASKS PLZ SEND MORE I LOVE YOUR SICK MIND. 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

#pirate!flip #flip zimmerman #adam driver #black klansman #mermaids #flip zimmerman x female reader #flip zimmerman one shot #flip zimmerman fanfic #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman request #flip zimmerman x reader #pirate au #the siren series #a siren song

[gwens-fiction]

3, 8, 15, 16 UwU

Fic Writers Meme

Answering them out of order so I can put a read more over the snippet. I chose a long snippet haha. Also for those interested in my tpom fanfic things, check out my other side blog (@gwens-projects)

3) Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

There are so many tropes out there, I'm sure there is something that if I come across it I wouldn't be fond of. However, off the top of my head I'm struggling. Maybe the trope of joking incest between family members for sake of comedy trope? And gross/bathroom/vomit humor tropes?

I know kids shows both of the above show up sometimes and I get squicked out.

15) If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oh, my A Scientific Romance series. It would make a great spin off soap opera for Penguins of Madagascar.

16) If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Seeing as how the past couple of years I have written few ships that were not Franski (Kowalski x Dr Francis Blowhole), it would probably be that one. The dorks snuck into my fics, and even their dynamic has entered some of my original wips.

8) Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I'll explain first, then show the snippet so it's not so long. First off, this comes from my fic Scientist Overboard. It's from the opening chapter where Kowalski and Blowhole are having breakfast together. I love the snark and banter. I love the domesticness. I love I based this off a tumblr post where a couple were arguing over toast. Overall, I just had a blast writing it.

"Of course I made sure it had different heating options." He rolled his eyes as the herring popped up after a couple minutes. He picked up a pair of nearby tongs to fish the herring out and sat them on a plate. "See? Nicely toasted."

The dolphin leaned in closer to inspect it. "Yep. Nice and burnt."

"What?!" Kowalski looked at the herring himself again. "No! That's not burnt. That is sufficiently toasted."

"Sufficiently overdone perhaps."

"Alright, alright, so I'll cook yours at a lower setting." He turned the dial down.

Blowhole then reached over and turned the dial down even further. "That should be about right right there."

Kowalski squinted at this but nevertheless dropped two herrings into the toaster again and pressed them down. "While this cooks I'm going to-" He then is interrupted by the herring popping right back up. "Great cod that was barely in there!" He fished them out and looked at them. "These don't even look toasted!"

Blowhole looked down at them and nodded. "Looks right to me."

"It's barely even warm, Francis!"

"That's properly toasted herring."

"That's not toasted. I could have just sat the plate of herring by the toaster while the other batch toasted to get this warm."

"I can't help that you like your herring burnt. I like mine to still taste like fish, not char." He rolled his eye, getting the plate. "However, thank you for breakfast. Interesting invention. Nice to see it didn't catch fire this time." He took another sip of his coffee.

Kowalski grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath as he stepped over to pour himself another cup of tea. "You're welcome for your lightly warmed herring, Francis."

Blowhole glanced over at him. "Hope you enjoy your dry, flavorless herring crisp, Mittens." He swallowed one of herring. "Because my herring is fantastic."

#fic writers meme #the penguins of madagascar #franski #a scientific romance #scientist overboard #tpom

[dolls-self-ships]

MORE stuff about my friendship with the Penguins !!

part 1

* Skipper is kinda like my dad in a way, he’s arguably the most protective of me and he can’t stand to see me upset- with his men it’s a little different because they’re all like brothers to him, plus they’re his soldiers, but I’m sort of like his little girl (not that he would ever admit that). Sure we probably argue the most out of everyone, but we always come out of it having learnt something new about the other, or with a new perspective on something. It’s some good ol, fatherly-daughterly love. God forbid I ever bring a boy or a girl home though, because Skipper is all over that like hot sauce on fish. He wants names, addresses, alliances, accomplices, places of work, ect.

* Private and I definitely have the most in common, and are the closest because of it. He’s like my baby brother/best friend. We watch cartoons, listen to musicals, draw, and bake together all the time. We’re both really soft and wholesome people so our vibes just kinda bounce off each other to create even more wholesome vibes. It’s cute, but sometimes too cute for the others to bare. In Skippers words, “oh god, there’s two of them!”

* Kowalski kinda simps for me lowkey but we’re still tight. I like to listen to him talk about his inventions and scientific theories- I don’t understand any of it but he’s happy to have someone around that’s at the very least interested in what he’s saying. I find it admirable that he’s so passionate about what he does, even though it can get out of hand sometimes. And even though he doesn’t necessarily think of the Fine Arts as the most productive course, he supports me nonetheless because at the end of the day he (and all the others) just wants me to be happy. Believe it or not he’s actually a very comforting friend with a small part of him that’s secretly soft. He doesn’t show it for obvious reasons but when you look at certain scenes in the show you can see a bit of that peaking through and it’s just 🥺🥺🥺

* Rico’s like my chaotic older brother that spent most of his life in a frat house. He teaches me how to fake belch (I still couldn’t do it in the end), shotgun beers (it took a while but I got it eventually), and backflip safely off a roof while still looking sick as fuck (yeah, the others didn’t let me do that, no chance in hell). He’s always barfing up things to my convenience though! This annoyed Skipper at first because it was ‘unauthorized hacking’. I was also grossed out by it at the start but now I just keep a packet of wet wipes on me and I’m good to go. Lots of fist bumps with this man! Lots of ‘em! He’s a total bro, always got my back! And I got his! Loyal as fuck!

* Skipper, on multiple occasions, has accused me of “turning his men into pansies”. I always kinda roll my eyes and try to ignore remarks like this, but I really try to make him see why sometimes that’s okay. Of course Skipper cares deeply about all three of his soldiers, so it’s probably just a front when he says things like that. Though... I do have to help him work on all that misogyny he carries around.

* “All I said was that it’s okay to cry sometimes.”

* “Crying shows weakness!”

* “Skipper, it’s just emotion.”

* “Exactly! I can’t have my men letting feelings run their lives.”

* “What about your anger issues? Those are emotions.”

* “Those are manly emotions, kid! Fierce, unapologetic warrior rage is what makes a good commander.”

* “I-“

* Or on a separate occasion

* “You’ve made my men soft”

* “And? You’re next you know.”

* *GASP*

* One time Blowhole captured me and roasted me for a solid hour in front of the Penguins both out of spite and his pure hatred for humans

* “You pen-gu-ins have really let your standards drop! I mean, how could you stoop so low as to befriend a weak, puny-brained, fleshy human?”

* Rico: *gasp followed by angry gibberish*

* Kowalski: YOU BITE YOUR TONGUE, BLOWHOLE

* Private: That’s not very nice!

* Skipper: Hey, that’s OUR weak fleshy human!

* After that, the Penguins decided that if I’m going to continue to be friends with them, it was mandatory that I learn how to defend myself. Because as long as I associated myself with the four, I was subject to more than than just Blowhole capturing me like an 80’s cartoon villain

* Over time I do pick up moves, learn skills from each of them (sadly, not Rico’s hacking) but Skipper knows that I am in no way soldier material. If he were to train me like he did his men, it would break my spirit

* He just wants me to be able to handle myself in case of emergencies

* He is very much like a worried dad

* At some point sooner or later I end up meeting Julien very much against the Penguins will. He’s just too nosy, and annoying, they can’t stop him

* He is instantly trying to put the moves on me bc he’s horny on main (again, not my suggestion, 100% my sister’s. She KNOWS I can’t handle it when people flirt with me so why would she-)

* The only way I can get him to leave me alone is by showing him my jewelry box, the shiny bracelets and dangly earrings distract him for a good while

* I even let him have a few things that are old or I don’t wear anymore.

* Julien immediately starts gasping and tearing up because he is so touched that I am just giving him this for free???? Just like that????

* He clears his throat and composes himself because obviously I’m giving him gifts, he is the King after all

* Our dynamic for a while is a little awkward for me though because it’s basically this iconic text post

* “Alright, raise your hand if you thought Julien and I were dating. Julien, put your hand down.”

* The feelings were very VERY unrequited :,(

* But it’s okay because once Julien gets over that we actually vibe really well!!!!

* He’s a himbo, and I’m a bimbo, therefore, we get along

* We do all that frivolous shit together: get drunk, go to parties (he knows all the obscure places that send you the location like an hour before the rave starts, it’s wild), get our nails done, talk abt our taste in people

* He’s a raging, flirtatious pansexual and I’m a romantic but shy bisexual

* Of course our friendship drives Skipper up the fucking wall

* He’s worried I’m gonna become more like Julien, but Kowalski says the likelihood of that happening is 0.05%. I might pick up one or two quirks of his because that’s just what happens when you spend time with people but no dramatic changes will be had. I’ll still be their same ol’ Cassandra

* Skipper still thinks that’s one or two quirks too many though of course

* This is way far into the future but my brain kept coming up with ideas for it so; on my wedding day, if I were to ever find someone I wanted to marry, everything is extremely chaotic, to say the least. Skipper is on constant guard mode, under the impression that one of his villainous foes could come and crash the wedding, which everyone doubts is gonna happen

* Kowalski, bless his heart, is the one helping me plan everything. Private pitches in too with decor and food ideas, but the price, date, location, guest list, probability that someone will try and assassinate me, that’s all Kowalski

* Rico is surprisingly into helping me pick out my wedding dress, he knows a thing or two from keeping up with the latest fashion for Ms. Perky

* And Private, he’s my main man on the big day. He’s the one helping me remember my vows, breath, talking with me before my human friend’s come in to do my hair and makeup. If it were up to me I would’ve made him my maid of honour, no joke. He said he was, well, honoured!

#i dont know where all the wedding stuff came from i seriously dont #but i had fun writing it! #bees self ships #self shipping #self ship #self ship community #self ships #self insert #platonic f/os #pom #the penguins of madagascar #skipper #rico #kowalski #private #king julien

[gwens-projects]

A recent snippet from Chapter 11 of my Penguins of Madagascar fanfic: A Scientific Conundrum.

Link to A Scientific Match FFN | AO3 Link to the sequel, A Scientific Conundrum FFN | AO3 Link to spin off fic, Scientist Overboard FFN | AO3

After a few minutes of silence, Blowhole glanced back at him. "How bad does it look?"

"Your bite?"

"Yeah."

Kowalski inched his way down his back down to his tail. He then looked back at him. "Well, you are bleeding...But it isn't as bad as it could be. Puncture wounds." He took out his clipboard and opened it, taking out a small med kit. "I can wrap it."

"Is it bleeding that bad?"

"Well...No, but it may help less bacteria get in. Really would suck to get a gangrene tail and have to have it amputated."

Blowhole made a face as he continued to swim forward. "I believe the odds of needing my tail amputated from a little orca bite infinitely small, Kowalski."

"But there is still a chance!"

"If it'll make you feel better, fine, wrap it." He rolled his eye, shaking his head. He then sharply inhaled as it started to burn. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST WRAPPING IT?"

"I had some disinfectant, too."

Blowhole took a deep breath, baring his teeth. "Fine." He gritted out. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Oh, hold your seahorses, Bottlenose. I'm almost done." He snipped the bandage from the roll with his beak and put the roll back into his clipboard. He tied the end in and inched his way back up his back to his dorsal fin. "Okay, you're good."

"Great, thanks. Now, why don't you put your helmet on and swim some more?" He glanced back at him. "We're getting close to the pod and I'm not swimming in looking like a peng-u-in's noble steed."

"Oh, you're my noble steed? In that case—" Kowalski stood up on his back, holding his helmet high above his head. "HI-YO, DOLPH-UH-IN, AWAY!"

Blowhole stopped swimming abruptly. "That's it, I'm bucking you."

"NO!" He squealed and clung to the fin. "I WAS JOKING."

"DO I SOUND LIKE I'M IN A JOKING MOOD?"

"NO YOU SOUND MAD."

"I'M NOT MAD. I'M HURTING AND—"

"—Nervous?"

Blowhole went silent for a second before snorting. "No. I'm not nervous. Not at all nervous. Why in Neptune's name would I be nervous?"

"Riiiight, right." Kowalski slipped the helmet on before diving from the dolphin's back. He bobbed up beside him. "My bad, but the more you declare how not nervous you are, the more I think you're nervous. It's perfectly acceptable to be nervous, Francis."

"I'm not nervous!"

Kowalski patted the side of his head. "It's okay."

"Oh Neptune." He rolled his eye and gently shoved him away.

#tpom #the penguins of madagascar #penguins of madagascar #fanfic snippet #a scientifc conundrum #kowalski #blowhole #franski

[abyssal-despair]

CHAPTER 3 EXECUTION - NAMIROU KUJO, SHSL AQUANAUT

art by anya and moa writing by mik!

Before he can reach the exit, a chain shoots from the ceiling at the opposite side of the room, right between the group of people still standing at the trial room, and straight towards Namirou. His neck is caught by the hook, which later drags his body backwards while he struggles to stop himself from being pulled by using his hands as brakes on the floor. But it’s useless. He is pulled upwards through the same door on the ceiling where the chain appeared from.

He is yanked into a very small and tight submarine-like craft in the shape of a fish, where he can barely move. His arms and legs are squished together as he grinds his teeth and shifts his eyes around in fear. The ship is on a shore, pointing at the sea whilst the mascot takes out a match to light a fuse that is coming out from the back of the submarine.

PART OF YOUR WORLD 

The ship blasts away from the shore, leaving a huge flame trail behind. At first, it glides forward on the surface at a high speed. Slowly, it begins to sink, without losing its momentum. The ship stops once it hits the underwater ground, launching a confused and dizzy Namirou out into the waters, with his hands and feet tied. Strange and colorful creatures start swimming around him, they seem to be fake and fantasy-like. As if they are cardboard cut-outs drawn by children.

More creatures start to join in to circle the aquanaut, one bigger than the other. Absurd and loony rays, eels, seals, octopi and sharks. From behind him, a blurry dark shadow gets closer, until it is finally revealed that it is an immense whale that is coming towards him. With one bite, it swallows Namirou whole from behind.

The whale scares off all the other animals as it begins to swim afloat. Then, the big animal proceeds to spray water out of its blowhole, along with Namirou tied up and conscious. The splatter reaches what seems to be space. His expression shifts from fright to one of longing and regret, his eyes fixed on the dark sky filled with stars as he floats around this unknown world for a few seconds. The vast void reminding him not only of the ocean itself, but of a particular someone.

"Oh. So this is where he will be. It’s...actually kind of cool. I’m glad, he’ll love it."

A couple blinks later, gravity does its role at last as Namirou is pulled back to earth.

Free falling at full speed, it seems like he is going to land back in the ocean. However, marked with a target, there’s a single piece of land in the middle of the water. Surrounded by precious water, Namirou crashes head first into the dry island, creating a big smoke of dust. Once the scene is clear, only the aquanaut’s unmoving legs can be visible sticking out of the newly formed crater. Which is now splattered with pink and the remains of Namirou’s upper body.

#abyssal despair #chapter 3 #important #execution #chapter 3 execution #exe #Fangame #fangan #fangan ronpa #fanganronpa #fangan rp #Dangan Ronpa #danganronpa #dangan ronpa rp #dangan ronpa rp group #dangan ronpa roleplay

[mintjamsblog]

Wet (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.  

"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."

Warnings: NSFW!

Wet

It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.

He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.

The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling.  He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.

Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.

The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.

–––––

The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way.  He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.

If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.

"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."

"Well hello to you too, darling."

Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.

Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."

"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.

"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."

"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.

"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ...  where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...

"Alfie? You sure?"

"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."

"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.

"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?

He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.

–––––

The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.

"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.

"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."

"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."

It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.

"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"

"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.

"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."

"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."

"You what?" Alfie splutters.

"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."

"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."

"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."

That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.

"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."

"I'll be back later. Got people to see."

–––––

Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.

His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup."  See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.

"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."

"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"

And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.

"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.

Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...

A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's  cold.

"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though.  "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.

As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.

"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."

The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat.  "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.

"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."

"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."

"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.

"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."

Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.

"It is."

"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"

Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.

The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.

Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating.  Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.

"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."

"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.

"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.

He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."

Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.

"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.

Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.

"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.

"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.

"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.

He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.

"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.

Strange that this should  feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.

"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.

When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.

The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.  

"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.

Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.

And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.

Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.

Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"

"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.

"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.

"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."

"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."

"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him.  "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.

"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"

"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #Alfie Solomons #Tommy/Alfie #Tommy Shelby

[aquadestinyswriting]

WIP- Fangthane’s Folly: Prologue

The morning broke dark and gloomy, the sun barely able to eke out any brightness to light up the golden cap of Fangthane, which was unusual for the middle of Reaping. Suddenly the clouds broke and dull thunder echoed over the plains around the mountain. The Dwarves living inside the mountain continued about their usual morning business, unaware of the weeping clouds for the moment as forges were lit and kettles boiled. In the upper reaches of the mountain the Cathedral of Kherillim’s bell tolled out, announcing the beginning of morning prayers for those living and working within. 

Jotunn Ragnarsson, High Priest of Moradin, frowned as he strode down the narrow corridors to the Chamber of Contemplation deep below the main cathedral. A deep uneasiness had settled in the pit of his stomach when he had awoken and, while it was not an unusual occurrence given the recent war with the Kobold king Torg, it had not yet abated. Indeed as the High Priest continued on his path, his uneasiness only continued to grow. Jotunn finally stopped in front of the impressive golden door that led into the Contemplation Chamber and attempted to calm his frantic thoughts and thundering heart. He smiled slightly as he felt the warm and comforting touch of Moradin’s presence, though he still did not feel entirely at ease as the touch seemed almost… sad. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the stout dwarf steeled his nerves and pushed the massive golden door open, shielding his eyes as the light of the molten gold within the huge scrying pool set into the floor beset them. 

After taking a moment to adjust to the change, the High Priest cast his gaze around the huge room, finally settling on a slumped, still form at the edge of the pool of molten metal. Forgetting all sense of his usual decorum, Jotunn rushed to the older dwarf’s side, his heart dropping the moment he began to move. Archlector Kargunn Vanskleig, the most venerable dwarf under the mountain of Fangthane, even now gently held his staff of office in his grip, his gaze still lingering on the scrying pool as the High Priest of Moradin knelt at his side, frantically checking for any sign of life in the old dwarf. A few moments later, Ragnarsson gently closed the Archlector’s eyes for the last time and bowed his head in silent prayer. 

Every last dwarf under the mountain and even those working in the fields right outside stopped what they were doing the moment the Bell of Deep rang out its dolorous tone. Most were simply confused, it was rare for the bell to toll more than once every couple of centuries, never mind thrice in a little over a decade. For those closest to the heart of the matter, however, the tolling came as first a shock, then a wave of combined grief as the High Priest of Moradin confirmed their worst fears. The loss of so many during the Demon Wars still weighed heavy and the war with the kobolds under King Torg had exacted an even heavier toll on the already beleaguered dwarven people. To add the loss of the Highest of High Priests seemed to be almost too much for the people of Fangthane to bear in such a short space of time. King Storri, however, was determined that life, as difficult as it had become as of late, would carry on.

The Council Chamber was in an uproar as the members of the Fangthane Council debated what on Titan was going to happen,

“Why are we even surprised by this, the man was practically ancient even by oor standards.”

“Did he even have a successor in mind?”

“Oh come on, we a’ ken Ragnarsson’s goin’ tae take up the position, just makes sense don’t it?”

“Ye gone senile auld man? That’s no’ how it works.”

“Shut yer blowhole ye wee scallywag, nae-one alive kens how this is gonnae work! Been o’er eight hunner years since onyone last had tae sort this sort o’ mess oot.”

“Och, ye dafties, ye forgettin’ we’ve still got a’ the records o’ whit happened last time?. Besides there’s a whole section dedicated tae this situation in the Book o’ Moradin.”

Ragnarsson sighed heavily as he watched the other dwarves bicker and argue amongst themselves, it seemed the passing of Vanskleig had released the valve that had been holding back the rush of fear and anxiety that had pervaded the halls of Fangthane for the last ten years. Dwarves, generally, did not deal with sudden change very well and had a tendency to work in timescales of decades and centuries rather than months and years. The priest was startled from his musings by a gentle hand on his shoulder,

“I’m sorry Jotunn, I didn’t realise just how lost in thought you were.” The dwarf turned to look at who was speaking and smiled hollowly at the High Priest of Galana,

“Ach, ‘tis nae worry Edwin, it does neither dwarf nor man nae guid tae get lost in his ain thoughts fer too long.” he replied, casting his gaze back over the rest of the Council with a frown. Edwin followed his gaze and shook his head,

“It’s all a bit of a mess right now isn’t it?” he mused. Jotunn snorted,

“Tha’s puttin’ it a bit mildly lad, but I get whit ye’re sayin’.” he replied, “Still, we’ve weathered worse, this will pass like a’ the others eventually.” Edwin nodded, settling back into his seat as much as he was able. Eventually, the hubbub in the chamber died down as King Storri, young Princess Garni at his side, strode to his usual place and laid Račun to the side of his throne. His guardsman tapped the end of his warhammer on the ground, silencing the other dwarves. Storri nodded to him and remained standing as he addressed the room,

“The passing of Archlector Vanskleig has dealt us another mighty blow even as we attempt to recover from the war with King Torg and his armies. I am more than aware that many under the mountain, and even beyond, doubt whether we as a people can continue to weather the storm that even still batters at our gates. However, I remain confident that we can and will endure We have successfully pushed back the invasion attempt from under our feet and can now…”

“Aye, wi’ the help o’ outsiders, and those were fi Toreguard besides!” an angry voice erupted, causing all of the dwarves and the lone human in the room to turn and stare at the individual in question. Ragnarsson snorted as he saw the High Inquisitor of Moradin rise to his feet, his bright ginger beard almost blazing in the dim torchlight, “Aye, I’ve nae doobt we kin weather the storm as ye say, but a’ that wee stunt did wis make us look weak!” he shouted. Storri, to his credit, met the blazing glare of the older dwarf,

“Forgive me High Inquisitor Firetome, but I will have tae disagree.” he replied levelly, “The opportunity arose tae take advantage o’ a situation that wid save the lives o’ a guid number o’ dwarves. Lives that we canna afford tae lose when a’ the reports we’ve received suggest that there’s worse tae come.” Firetome snorted,

“Oh aye, it saved a load o’ lives in the short term, I’ll grant ye, but fi whit I understand, they never finished the job and now we get tae deal wi’ a Lich leadin’ an army fu’ o’ Death Knights instead! Tell me, Yer Majesty, is that really better than how things would hae turned oot withoot their interference?” Jotunn and Edwin glanced at each other nervously as a frightened whisper rushed through the chamber. Storri looked over to where the head of the Moradjar Paladins now stood, glaring daggers at the Inquisitor,

“An’ fi whit I understand o’ the situation, we’d be dealin’ wi’ this regardless since this wis Darkhide’s plan a’ along!” he snapped. Firetome scoffed,

“Ye say that, but who wis it that brought that maniac’s attention upon us in the first place?” he sneered, “S’far as I kin tell, Darkhide wis perfectly content tae terrorise jus’ Toreguard until we got involved in their affairs.” he sneered, directing his attention back to King Storri, whose glare had softened a little as he considered the other dwarf’s words. Ragnarsson growled slightly as he rose,

“Ye’re forgettin’ yer place Firetome!” he snapped, “That we got involved wi’ Toreguard wis the Will o’ Moradin Hissel’! Or are ye arrogant enough tae believe that you ken better than the Dwarf Faither?” he asked. The room immediately hushed as everyone looked between the High Priest and the High Inquisitor of Moradin. Firetome’s glare deepened,

“Of course not!” he snapped, “What I question was why we allowed the outsiders inside our mountain in the first place.”

“You ken damn well that ours is no’ tae question the will o’ the Gods Firetome. Sit back doon afore ye embarrass yersel’ ony more!” The Inquisitor’s glare deepened, but he slowly sat back down in his seat crossing his arms over his chest with a muttered grumble. Ragnarsson bowed towards the young king,

“Ma apologies Yer Highnesses, that was an outburst that should never hae occurred. Carry on” he said, sitting back down himself with a weary sigh. Edwin gave him a concerned look and leaned over as the King regathered his wits about him,

“Well that’s going to get the whole mountain talking, make no mistake there. I hope you know what you’re doing by pulling rank on this guy.” he said quietly. Jotunn grumbled slightly,

“I’m hoping so too. The last thing we need richt noo is a major schism.” Edwin nodded sympathetically and returned his gaze to the King, who had started talking again,

“Well, however this turns out, I’ll be happy to back you up if you need it.” he said quietly. Jotunn smiled quietly,

“Ta laddie, I rather get the feelin’ I’m gonnae need it.” 

King Storri looked around the room and sighed heavily,

“While these are indeed trying times, I am still confident that we will endure as we always have and come out the other end stronger than before.” he concluded. He glanced up towards the High Priest of Moradin, “High Priest Ragnarsson, we understand that, traditionally, the Archlector chooses a successor to his position in advance of his passing. However, we have heard nought of this from the Cathedral’s clergy.” Jotunn clenched his jaw as he stood again, he was not looking forward to this,

“If ye’ll fergive ma candidness Yer Highnesses, Archlector Vanskleig never named a successor. It wis his belief that the position should ultimately be o’ Moradin’s an’ Kherillim’s choosin’.” He paused for a moment while a confused whispering sprang up. Storri’s Kingsguard tapped his warhammer on the floor and the rush of noise stopped. The young King gestured for the Cleric to elaborate, Jotunn swallowed heavily, 

“While I am masel’ uncertain as tae how he believed that this would become apparent, there are still procedures in place tae elect a new Archlector should the previous pass afore namin’ the next.” he added. KIng Storri nodded in understanding,

“I see.” he said, steepling his fingers as he thought the matter over. After a few moments of contemplation he nodded, “Are we tae understand then that the matter will be dealt with by the Religious Council alone?” he asked, glancing around the room. High Priest Ragnarsson nodded,

“Aye Yer Highness t’will be.” he confirmed, “It may, however, take some time fer us tae come tae a full agreement on the matter. It has been well o’er five generations since this situation last occurred.” At this an elderly dwarf sitting nearer the front of the stands pulled himself up, pushing his spectacles back up his nose,

“The main Library still contains records o’ that precise situation. If it wid help the Religious Council come tae a conclusion that wee bit faster, I can arrange fer those records tae be found and handed o’er temporarily.” he suggested. Jotunn nodded gratefully,

“T’would be a great help if ye could Master Haneskeeper.” he replied, “Aifter a’, the sooner we get this sorted oot, the sooner we can a’ concentrate on the matters tryin’ tae bash oor gates in.” King Storri nodded in satisfaction,

“Then I may as well call this Session tae a close. Unless there are ony other matters that require our immediate attention?” he asked. Upon hearing no answer, he gently tapped Račun on the floor and stood, his daughter quickly following suit and both exited the chamber, closely followed by their Guard. Jotunn frowned as he watched High Inquisitor Firetome turn to the High Priest of St. Cuthbert, both of their expressions unhappy as they filed out along with the rest of the dwarves in the room. Edwin laid a hand on Jotunn’s shoulder, redirecting his attention,

“Come my friend, I think we both need a chance to unwind after that.” the human glanced up in the direction the other High Priest had been looking, “While Firetome’s  attitude is somewhat concerning, I wouldn’t let it worry you.” Jotunn grumbled into his beard and shook his head,

“Ye ken fine weel it’s no’ just Firetome wi’ that attitude.” he retorted quietly, “I’m just hopin’ that this latest catastrophe willnae result in a’thing blowin��� up on us.” Edwin nodded sympathetically as the two of them made their to the streets outside,

“I know, but unless and until that happens, there’s not too much point in worrying over it.” he pointed out, “Come, you look and sound like you need a stiff drink and I have a friend who will be more than happy to ply you with large quantities of good, strong ale.” Edwin grinned as that finally earned him a chuckle,

“Well, if ye’re payin’ I might as well take ye up on the offer.” he joked, gesturing for the human to lead the way. The High Priest of Galana sighed as he started off down towards the market district of the city,

“I’m not making any promises.” he retorted with a smirk.

#writing #Fangthane's Folly #WIP #Fangthane #Titan Fighting Fantasy #WIP prologue #D&D fiction #our DM named the Kobold King Torg...

[sebthesnipe]

A Not So Nice Warning

First // Previously // Next

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Chapter 19

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

“You’re lying,” Roman accused flatly, pinning the flamboyant man with an unamused look. 

“Psh! You're one to talk, Princey!” Remus scoffed, his incorporeal form moving to sink down onto the disheveled bed. “Listen, as much as I’m enjoying our little chat, I don’t have much time for this much fun. Can we move this along?”

“No,” Roman replied, sifting the raccoon in his arms for better purchase. The prince was careful not to jostle the beast too much, fearful he might aggravate his wound. “You’ll answer my questions; beginning with who you really are!” 

Remus rolled his eyes, starting to pick at his teeth absently. It was a disgusting sight, causing Roman to crinkle his nose in response. 

“You always did have a flare for the over-dramatic, Roman,” The obnoxious man pointed out. He gave a small giggle, wiggling his shoulders as he did so. “Then again, so have I,” he teased with a wink. “Sorry to break it to you Prince Charmless but I really am your brother, though I am a bit offended that you would assume I’m one of those,” he gave a shiver of disgust, “abominations.”

Virgil gave another hiss, clawing at Roman’s arm to try and get at the intruder. Roman held strong, worried what the man might do to the raccoon if Virgil tried to attack him again. 

“Aw!!! He’s so venomous! Please, Ro?! Let me keep him! Why do you always get to keep the fun ones?!” Remus practically whined, pushing to his feet once more to stoop to get a better look at the raccoon.

Roman pulled Virgil back further, away from the man’s attention. “No. You can’t have him and witches are not abominations; and you are not my brother. ” the prince added with his own venom infecting his voice. The words earned another eye roll from his twin. 

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, brother.” Remus straightened, folding his arms over his chest, the motion causing the frill of his shirt to bounce.

“I don’t have time to explain everything and even if I did, I wouldn’t,” he chuckled eerily, “I can tell you this though, wherever you’re headed; whatever you’re doing; stop.”

“What?” Roman mumbled, brows furrowing. The man was certainly odd, but he did seem familiar somehow, not that Roman wanted to admit it. He studied the stranger’s features carefully, catching the subtle differences between his jawline and Roman’s, the shade of his eyes compared to the prince’s. Suddenly, something shifted in the intruder’s gaze, something serious, something dangerous. 

“Ditch the witches, Roman. They’re going to be the death of you; the death of us both,” Remus warned, the playful macabre dissipated. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Roman pressed, feeling Virgil still in his arms as the raccoon listened intently as well.

“You don’t know it yet, but they’re leading you to a fate that is worse than you could imagine, worse than any of you could,” Remus continued. “The lanky one is lying to you, he knows your fate if you keep following them. You need to get out now, Roman.”

“I won’t leave them!” the prince snapped, barely registering the growl Virgil supplied. It didn’t seem to have as much conviction as the last defensive snarl. 

“You couldn’t even protect that one!”Remus countered, his own voice raising with desperation. He pointed an accusing finger at the raccoon who suddenly fell silent as Roman held Virgil closer to his chest almost instinctively. “You can’t do anything for them, Roman. You need to leave them. Let them move on with their idiotic quest without you. They’re just another set of strays. You’ll find more.”

Roman was quiet as Remus continued, the intruder’s voice returning to its normal volume. The words chipped away at the prince’s composure, tears threatening to fall as his gaze moved to the floor. Maybe he was right. Logan, Virgil and Patton didn’t need him. He was useless, always had been. How long would they put up with him trailing along, using up rations and just taking up space. Maybe it would be better if he just-

“Son of a-!” the prince cried as the beast in his arms sank his sharp fangs into his hand. The jolt of pain had Roman almost dropping the creature in shock, just managing to keep his hold on the monster. “What the heck in hightower, Virgil?!” the prince demanded.

Virgil ignored the overly dramatic man’s production as he gave a small chirp, tongue darting out to sooth the injured hand softly. The action seemed to sooth Roman emotionally just as much as it did physically. Virgil could spot a downward spiral easily enough and though his comforting tactics were a bit unorthodox they seemed to work well enough on the royal. 

“I’m not leaving,” he informed the projected man before him confidently. “I don’t know how you know so much about me, or the others, but whatever you’re planning isn’t going to work.”

“Roman-” Remus began.

“No,” the prince interrupted once more. “I don’t care, I’m done listening.”

Remus’ frown deepened into a grimace as he glared between Virgil and his brother. They were all imbeciles! Why did no one ever listen to him! 

“Fine!” he spat angrily. “But don’t come crying to me when I end up right, as usual! As for you,” he added, pointing at the procyon, “Maybe you should ask that partner of yours what he’s really hiding. At least then you might listen to reason, since this blowhole won’t! I’ve done my part! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Remus finished before simply vanishing from the room. 

Roman’s gaze shifted over the room as if half expecting the man to reappear. He had seemed like the type that would have enjoyed scaring others for the shock value. However, after a few moments, the prince began to relax, his hold on the raccoon loosening. 

What the hell had just happened?!

He sank down to the floor slowly, letting Virgil wiggle out of his hold to sniff around the spot Remus had been occupying only a moment ago. 

Roman didn’t know what to make of any of this. Was Remus his brother? If so, wouldn’t Roman know? Remus had acted as if he knew Roman as well as any brother should and yet… The prince couldn’t even place the man. Surely, this was some kind of trick. Remus wanted something from Roman, but what?

“He’s right you know,” Virgil’s voice came, making Roman give a small jerk of surprise, his gaze lifting to the smaller man, dressed in a pair of Roman’s trousers that were obviously too big for him. When had he switched back? How had Roman not noticed? 

“Virgil!” All of Roman’s concerns seemed to evaporate as he drank in the sight of the melancholy witch, his expression brightening to the point it was almost blinding. He scrambled to his feet, obviously preparing to embrace the hesitant man. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Virgil warned, lifting his hands up in defense. “Slow it down a bit Sir hugs-a-lot. I’m still hurt.”

“Oh,” Roman breathed, obviously disappointed. “Right, sorry.”

Virgil eyed him a moment before giving his own eye roll and sighed, “I didn’t say you couldn’t hug me, just not too tight, alright?” 

Roman’s smile returned full force as his arms wrapped around Virgil’s shoulders carefully. He made sure to apply just enough pressure to feel the way the witch pressed against his body, but not enough to cause him any undue discomfort. Still, he felt Virgil shift to cover the redish-pink expanse of new skin that marked the place he had been stabbed protectively. 

Roman held him there just for a moment before the now human procyon managed to wiggle out of his hold. 

“You good now? Got it all out of your system?” Virgil huffed, his cheeks flushing slightly, though Roman wasn’t sure if it were from embarrassment or pain. 

“Not entirely, but I’ll manage,” the prince chuckled. The tease earned a small glare which Roman couldn’t help but savor. He wasn’t sure how long he would have Virgil in his human form, but he was determined to make every second count. 

“He had a point, Roman,” Virgil offered, ignoring Roman’s playfulness. “I mean, he said a lot of junk that was bull but…” the witch hesitated glancing away from the prince to glance out their small window overlooking the alley behind the inn. “I dunno, Logan’s been hiding something for awhile now. I was hoping to figure it out before… well before everything happened.” 

Roman considered the words carefully, brows furrowing in thought. He didn’t know Logan well enough to know when he was keeping something from them. However, Virgil did and if Virgil was worried then maybe he should too. Then again, Logan didn’t seem the type to hide something without reason. 

“Patton is a dragon,” Roman offered simply.

“What?!” Virgil snapped, gaze shooting to the prince in surprise. 

“Well, I assumed you didn’t know because you kind of passed out, but Patton is a dragon and helped rescue us from an angry mob in the last village,” Roman explained with a shrug, studying the man’s reaction. 

Virgil stared at him for a long moment, the words soaking in slowly before he scrubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. “Okay…” He breathed slowly. “That is… That is a lot to process.”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly handle it well either,” Roman offered with a small huff of embarrassment. “I think he thinks I hate him.”

Virgil scrubbed his face once more before letting his hand tangle in his dark locks, messing them even more than usual. “Okay,” he repeated. “Patton is a dragon,” he nodded.

“Yup,” Roman replied.

 “Patton… is a dragon…”

“Yes.”

“Patton. Tiny, horrible-joke-telling, far-too-chipper-to-be-anything-less-than-annoying Patton is an ancient creature capable of mass destruction with nothing more than a sneeze.”

“Um, Virgil… are you alright?” Roman asked hesitantly.

“Yup, yeah, great, fine, perfect,” Virgil answered in far too quick a succession, “I just found out that dragon’s can shapeshift and that I’ve been traveling with one that could kill us all at any moment, but I’m good.”

“I doubt Patton would harm us intentionally,” Roman offerened in a tone he hoped was reassuring. 

“You could have left out the ‘intentionally’ part, thanks,” Virgil grumbled in response.

“Sorry,” the prince whispered softly, shrinking in on himself a bit, unsure of what to do. 

“It’s fine. I’m just freaking out a little, sorry,” Virgil sighed, rubbing his arm subconsciously. “Let’s backtrack a bit. So… Logan knew?” the witch asked, glancing up at the man next to him expectantly. 

“I dunno, I mean… it looked like he knew when they showed up in the village,” Roman offered, with an arched brow. 

“So, he lied to us about what Patton was from the beginning,” the witch huffed in disbelief, giving a shake of his head. “Unbelievable. Well, I guess we know why he couldn’t see past the cave in his visions. But that still doesn’t explain…” Virgil trailed off as he became engrossed in his thoughts.

“Explain what?” Roman pressed impatiently, causing Virgil to glance up at him once more. It was almost as if he had forgot the prince was there, not that he ever actually could. Roman took up far too much room as he crowded near the smaller man, smelling of mint and cedar and giving off such delicious heat. 

“He was acting really weird after we arrived at the first village. At first I thought that it might be Patton, but the way he talked to him… It just didn’t make sense,” Virgil explained, “Then when you offered to go with me to run errands, he seemed almost panicked. I dunno for sure, but I don’t think that Patton is the only thing Logan is hiding from us… I think Lord Grass-stain was right, at least about that.”

Roman listened intently to Virgil’s concerns, taking them to heart. He had faith that Logan was doing what he thought best for them, despite his actions. Still, he found himself growing concerned. If Remus was right about Logan, could he be right about everything else?

“Then maybe it's about time we asked him,” Roman offered.

To be continued...

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

#sanders sides #sanderssides #sandersides #sander sides #virgil #ts virgil #anxiety #ts anxiety #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #raccoon!virgil #witch!virgil #wizard!virgil #roman #ts roman #roman sanders #creativity #ts creativity #creativity sanders #princey #princey sanders #ts princey #prince!Roman #logan #ts logan #logic #ts logic #logic sanders #logan sanders #cat!logan

[iamhaaru]

THE RED STRING

(Fan fiction- VMIN)

As the sun kissed the Earth good-bye, the moon shone from the dusky pillow of the clouds. The sky was changing colours. From lilac sky to blue-black sky. A seemingly enlarged red moon was shining brighter than the usual nights.

The wind was murmuring through the trees causing its branches to swing and made the green leaves dance to its rhythm. Tiny splish-splash of waves were formed near the seashore.

The silent zephyr kept slapping Jimin's face softly and tenderly as if it didn't want to hurt him. His eyes were focused at the waves gently touching his bare feet. Jimin's lower lip rested on the lip-plate of the flute and blew air across the blowhole causing the air enclosed in the tube to vibrate and produce the soothing melancholic music.

He suddenly paused and said, "You came!"

"How did you know it was me?" Taehyung was bewildered as the older guy didn't even turn to see who was approaching behind him.

"It's a soulmate thing," he winked and lightly slapped Taehyung's shoulder.

"The moon looks pretty!" Taehyung exclaimed in awe with his hands pressed against his mouth.

"Isn't it?" Jimin continued, "This is the moon I wanted to show you."

They both were admiring the natural aesthetic scenery when Taehyung suddenly called out, "Hey Jimin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know the old myth related to the red string?"

Jimin was now facing Taehyung and held out his pinky finger and said, "You mean this invisible red string that's tied with your pinky finger?”

"Yes!" he chuckled.

"It's not funny TAEHYUNG!" Jimin cried out as he knew Taehyung was softly giggling for the difference in their pinky finger's size.

"Jokes aside, I always wondered what will happen if this string breaks?" Taehyung stated.

"The red string connects two people that are destined to meet, regardless of time, place and any circumstances. It's never bound to break." Jimin beamed a smile.

"I hope it never breaks," Taehyung spoke in an undertone. Jimin realized the younger was weeping and softly rubbed his tears with his thumb and consoled him, "Aww, don't cry."

"Let's get back to the dorm. It's getting late now."

#my writing #writers on tumblr #bts #fanfic #fiction #kim taehyung #park jimin #friends #bts fanfction

[dontatmethanks]

Part of your world

A levihan fic (mermaid AU)

AN: Hi guys! Sorry that I took so long with this chapter, it was hard figuring out which way to go with it but I think I like the how it turned out 🥰 lmk what you guys think 💕

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5:

Levi watches them from below the observation deck, he eyes the group of kids who are observing him with wide eyed expressions as Hange filled them in with information. From what he can hear she’s telling them about how he got here.

He frowns.

Hange looks back at him and gives him a supportive smile, he pretends to look away.

“Mermyds can actually speak. From what I’ve gathered, Levi must have come from clear waters. His speech is in fluent English.” Hange tells them.

Sasha leans against the railing of the observation deck before calling out to the mer, “Hello mister mermaid, I’m Sasha would you like a treat?”

Levi ignores the girl and picks at his sharp nails.

“Oi! Don’t ignore us you damn guppy!” Eren yells from beside her.

Levi snaps his head towards the teal eyed boy and narrows his glare at him, gills flaring in annoyance.

“Get in here and say that again you bratty human infant!”

Hange sighs, “that’s enough of that, Levi please be civil.”

He just crosses his arms and growls underneath his breath.

Hange let’s the teens introduce themselves to the mermyd who gave them all an indifferent look.

“What happened to your tail?” Armin asks him timidly.

Levi’s glare turns into a sour scowl, the blonde teen flinches at the sight.

“None of your concern.” The mermyd growls and slides into the water, letting only his head bob above the surface.

He looks to Hange and gives her a look that says, ‘I’m done now’ and dives underneath.

“Don’t worry guys, he’ll warm up eventually hehe.” Hange tells them with a nervous laugh

It wouldn’t be an easy feat, but Hange was never one to give up easily.

The next day Hange makes it to work later than usual. Her day had begun a little rough, she overslept past her alarm, accidentally cracked her phone screen and almost got into a car accident when she spilled her cold brew all over the drivers seat.

Yes, today wasn’t one of her best days but it would take a lot more to truly dampen her mood.

Hange makes it to work thirty minutes late, clothes wrinkled and coffee stained, greasy hair pulled up into a haphazard ponytail and her signature wide grin slapped onto her face.

She changes into her wet gear and meets Erwin and Moblit by Sawney and Bean’s enclosure.

“Wonderful of you to join us Hange.” Erwin greets her, raising an eyebrow at her messier than usual hairstyle. Moblit notices and grimaces slightly.

Hange presses her hands together in an apologetic like gesture, “I’m so sorry Erwin I overslept past my alarm.”

“Pulled another all nighter Dr.?” Moblit asks her already knowing the answer.

Hange grins sheepishly.

“That’s alright Hange, the kids just arrived. Yeager, Ackerman and Arlert are with you today, Kirstein and springer are with Mike and Oluo and Reiss and Braus are with Petra and Nanaba.” Erwin fills her in and Hange immediately perks up.

He lifts a hand up before she can speak, “please be careful with them around Levi, I don’t need a lawsuit in my hands.”

Hange grins and throws an arm over the taller mans shoulders.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take good care of the kids.”

Erwin just gives her a dead stare and dismisses himself to his office.

Hange goes over her work routine with the kids. She shows them how to punch in and where to report everyday. She shows them goes over all of her patient’s personal diets and assigns one to each teen.

“You guys will rotate between patients under my supervision of course.” Hange tells the teens who are already in their own wergear.

It went like this; for breakfast Armin will be feeding June, the kelpie. Mikasa would be feeding Sawney and Bean, and Eren would be feeding Levi with Hange. For lunch the my rotated to Armin feeding Levi, Mikasa feeding June and Eren feeding Sawney and Bean. And finally for dinner time it rotated to Eren feeding June, Armin feeding Sawney and Bean and Mika’s feeding Levi.

June appreciated Armind efforts in preparing her breakfast, her favorite being a large mixture of wild Krill and chunks of bluefin tuna. She even went as far as to let the shy boy pet her horselike snout. The blonde complied with equal enthusiasm, ocean eyes sparkling in awe as he stroked the water horse.

Sawney and Bean were equally as great fun for the breakfast Mikasa helped prepare for them. Hange showed her how to prepare the squid and octopus for them as well as the correct portion of vitamins that they needed. Bean allowed the girl to rub his snout after he ate, Sawney of course being the shark with the most attitude just thanked her with a dismissive thrash of his tail fin as he retreated from his usual brooding spot.

Levi much was less enthusiastic about having one of the kids prepare and feed him his breakfast, much less it being Eren. He ate his food regardless, all the whole glaring intently at the poor boy who fidgeted nervously where he stood.

“Not so mouthy when you’re in here eh brat?” Levi chided him with a scary glint in his eyes.

Hange rolled her eyes and stood from where she was collecting samples of the water.

“Don’t be scared of him Eren, he only acts like a pufferfish.” Hange reassured the boy while giving Levi a teasing grin.

Levi’s eye twitched.

“You shitty human. If I had those two driftwood looking things you call feet, I would shove one so far up your blowhole you’d be coughing it up for a week.”

That made Hange burst out laughing. She clutched her stomach and wheezed so hard that tears formed in her eyes.

“He-*wheeze*-called it-*wheeze*-a blowhole!”

Eren could barely contain his own laughter, a snort escaped through his nose and the teal eyed teen quickly slapped a hand over his mouth when Levi shot him a murderous glare.

Once hange calmed down she gave Eren and Armin the task of helping Moblit cleaning the filter of Sawney and Bean’s enclosure and as well as cleaning Levi’s enclosure. She had Mikasa help her take the samples to the lab and she showed the girl the ropes around the lab.

“We have water monitors set up in June and Sawney and bean’s enclosures and we’re working on setting one up in Levi’s.” Hange tells her and gestures to the testing kit in front her. “But I always like to be safe so I also lab test the water.”

Mikasa payed close attention as Hange taught her how to set up the kit and test the samples properly. She also showed her the cleanup system and the rules of the lab.

Once it hit two PM it was Armin’s turn to feed Levi his lunch. He was much more timid around the mermyd, fidgeting every time Levi glares at him.

“I’m not going to eat you brat, so stop looking so scared.” Levi tells him sternly as he rips into a juicy sardine. “Your friend though, he might lose a leg or two.”

Armin blinked.

“Oh ah, E-Eren?” He asks.

Levi nods and swallows, “That mollusk has a sly mouth.”

Armin grins a little and chuckles, “He can be a little abrasive sometimes but he usually means well, he is my best friend and all.”

Levi stays silent, eating his lunch in contemplation. He ignores Armin as the teen sits two feet away from him, looking as if he wanted to ask him something. Levi frowns.

Why the hell is he still here?

Levi looks up at the blonde haired boy with a look that said, ‘the hell do you want?’

Armin fidgeted before asking, “W-What was it like for you out there, underneath the ocean I mean?”

Levi paused in mid bite. Why the hell did this kid want to know about his shitty life under the cold depths of the sea? To be honest with himself it wasn’t much living, more like surviving. He didn’t remember much of his early years as a young fry, just some flashes of what he assumed to be his mother holding him while humming some unrecognizable tune. His more prominent memories was when he was forced to be a part of a small pod of other mermyds. He was constantly roughed up by the other members, the treated him like he was an outsider. They made him scavenge and hunt for themselves, and when they would encounter another pod of mermyds, which was rare, they would attack them. And if Levi would refused to take part they would attack him and make him starve to put him in his place. The leader who they called Kenny, taught him most of what he knew about survival in the waters, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Soon Levi broke ties with the pod and went solo, but his departure did not go without blood.

Armin was still waiting for him to answer, wringing his hands together in nervousness. Levi squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head softly, bringing his thought back to the present.

“Not as amazing as you’d think, let’s just say I barely survived.” Levi responds to his questions, voice a little scratchy.

Armin digested Levi’s response, his blonde brows furrowing in thought.

“Whoever did that to you,” He says, gesturing towards his injured tail with his chin. “Did they do it on purpose?”

Levi’s eyes glazed over, small fragments of fogged up memories flashed behind them. He couldn’t piece them together entirely, it made his chest ache. He should remember, especially since-

His thoughts halted.

“Where’s Hange?” Levi asks him flatly, mask not faltering. He needed someone he could trust.

That thought made him pause slightly, so he trusted that shitty doctor now?

“Ah she’s assisting Moblit and Eren with the sharks.” Armin tells him, breaking him away from his thoughts once again.

Levi wrinkled his nose when Armin mentioned sharks.

The teen opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Hange who bounded down from the observation deck.

“Sorry I left you guys alone poor Eren got his foot caught in Sawney and Beans filter hehe, he’s just as clumsy as me.” She announces as she approached them.

“It’s okay Dr. Hange,” Armin reassures her, “Mister Levi was well behaved.”

Hange places her hands on her hips and chuckled, “oh-ho, you’ve been upgraded to a higher title know mister Levi sir.” She teases with a mock salute.

The mer rolls his eyes and shoves the empty bucket towards Armin who grabs it and stand up.

“I should probably check on Eren to see if he’s alright.” Armin says to Hange with a small smile. She pats him on the back and nods, “Good idea they’re at the common room near the cafeteria in the main building.”

Once they were alone Hange sets down the bag that she had been holding and plops herself next to it.

“I need to check your vitals and I also will need a blood sample.” She briefs him with a huge grin. Levi ignores the way her grin makes his pulse quicken and narrows his steel colored eyes at her.

“You’re gonna stick me with that thing again aren’t you?”

Hange cringes before nodding, “yea sorry but it will be just as quick as the last time.”

“Let me guess you want me to piss in that cup thing again?”

Hange nods and laughs heartily when Levi’s fave forms into a grumpy pout, gills puffing our at his neck.

“What the hell are you laughing at shitty glasses?” He grinds out as she continues to giggle as she rifles through her bag, pulling out a stethoscope.

“You’re cute when you pout.” It slips out before she can catch herself.

Levi’s eyes widen as his cheeks turn bright pink. Hange snaps her head up to looks at him and she can hardly contain herself when she sees his embarrassed expression.

“C-cute?! The hell are you saying you dumb human, is all that pollution finally gotten inside your stupid head?!”

Hange laughs again and ruffles his dark hair, the mer slaps her hand away in response.

The tips of his ears still burn at what she said to him as she works on him. She takes his temperature and blood pressure after checking heart rate, surprised to find that it was racing slightly.

Levi avoided eye contact, what the hell was this woman doing to him. Every little thing she did, her big ass toothy smiles, cheeky grins and all those annoying ass noises made him feel all weird inside. It made him want her to be around him more than she already was.

He couldnt believe he was saying it but be actually wanted that shitty humans company.

Once hange finished she gathered all of her materials and samples and stood up.

“Oi,” Levi says to her before she headed out, rubbing the arm where she drew blood from. “We’re still reading today right?”

A goofy smile forms on her face, “Of course Levi, after dinner though, I’ll be here all night.” She tells him before winking and heading out of his enclosure.

Dinnertime rolls around at six, and Hange trusted that Mikasa could handle Levi alone for a while because she had to help Mike with a turtle hatching emergency.

Mikasa didn’t mind she did her job and brought the mermyd his dinner. Levi gave the girl a halfhearted thanks before digging into the bucket only surprised to find that not only there was his usual fresh catch of sardines but also a couple of crawfish mixed in as well. He gave Mikasa a questioning look.

“Hange said it was her treat, though you could use some variety in your diet.” The teen mumbles.

Levi huffs and tucks into his food graciously, he could feel the brat’s eyes on him as he ate.

“You have a pretty tail.” She says bluntly.

It catches him off guard and he gives her an incredulous stare.

“..it’s missing a fin, the color also makes it look shittier so I don’t know what you’re referring to as ‘pretty’.”

Levi was never fond of the color of his tail, it was an ugly grey black transition, it made him look scary unlike other mermyds he had seen.

Mikasa shrugs and sits down near the waters edge, crisscrossing her legs.

He eats in silence agiain while Mikasa just stares into the water, deep in her own thoughts.

“I used to be really obsessed with mermyds when I was little, it was something that me and my mother shared together.”

That made the mer sigh internally.

What was it with these kids being so mouthy while he ate, Why couldn’t they just leave him in peace ?!

“ it’s what made me want to pursue a career in the marine biology.” Her tone was flat, robotic almost.

“It’s not ugly, just different and being different makes you pretty.” She continued, eyes shifting look at the mermyd.

That sentence strikes a cord in him, a memory flashes before him. Bubbly giggles and watery smile engrained in them. His chest tightens as he swallows, it was getting hard to breathe.

“It’s just something she would say a lot.” Mikasa finishes before getting up and taking the empty bucket from him and leaves him to his own thoughts.

A few minutes go by while Levi just sits there breathing heavily.

The Memories were flashing quickly now, some broken and foggy and some clear as day. A hot day, cold darks waters, deep red blood swirling into sea space around him. They make the corners of his eyes burn.

Isabelle.

She had said something similar to him once

‘ your tail, it’s different, but that’s what makes it beautiful big bro!’

Isabelle, Farlan....fuck.

These stupid kids reminded him of them so much, the only real family he ever had.

The ones he lost along with his fin.

Fuck.

He was panting now, vision blurring with tears. The ache in his chest spread like a burning fire all over his body. The mer pressed his hands over his face and let out a heart wrenching sob.

He didn’t cry when it happened, he could barely react at the moment as he was being attacked himself. But now it finally hit him, like a boat against coral.

They’re gone and he couldn’t protect them like he promised.

Levi was hyperventilating now, curled into a fetal position as he sobbed uncontrollably unable to contain his emotions.

It all burned through his system.

He grabbed at his hair and screamed in rage and clawed at the ground beneath him as a heavy flow of tears continued to stream down his face.

“Levi, oh my god!”

Her voice made through the cloudy fog that was his head, his breath hitches and he let out a broken whine.

Hange was in her office when she was alerted by Moblit on Levi’s breakdown, he had been observing the live camera feed from the enclosures. Hange literally ran into his enclosure as soon as he told her.

She quickly kneeled by the broken mermyds side.

“Hey, hey Levi what’s happening, are you in pain? Can I touch you?”

At this point Levi didn’t care he just wanted the pain to stop, needed her to help him breathe again. He nodded.

As soon as she placed her hand on his quivering shoulder he let out another hard sob and curled up closer to Hange, sliding his head on her lap and gripping her shirt. His gills struggles to take in air as he choked on his own sobs.

Hanges arms hovered over the poor mermyd, he completely caught her off guard when he actually willingly touched her.

Her heart panged for him.

“It’s okay, it’s alright, I’m here, you’re safe nobody is going to hurt you anymore I promise.” She whispers to him in a soothing voice as she threads one hand into his surprisingly soft hat and the othe rubs his shuddering back.

“Breathe, Levi, remember to breathe in and out, slowly, everything is okay.”

He choking graduates back down to hyperventilating and then eventually slows down into weak shuddering sobs. His arms are now tightly holding on to her waist and his cheek was pressed against her stomach, tears soaking through her fishing shirt while Hange continues to bring him down.

“I c-couldn’t s-save them.” He tells her groggilly once the sobbing stopped but the tears still flowed.

Hange’s brows knit together. “Who?”

“Isabelle, F-Farlan, it’s all my fault.” His voice is raspy from all the sobbing and screaming. “They’re dead and it’s my fault, I-I-” He is cut off by another racking sob that vibrates through his entire body. Hange let’s him ride it out while she rubs his back and combs through his hair with her fingers.

Two minutes pass and the tears begin to slow down.

“Isabelle and Farlan, they were important to you?” Hange asks him quietly.

Levi nods and sniffles against her stomach and squeezed his eyes shut.

“They’re gone, along with my fin, I couldn’t save them.”

Hange sighs softly and rubs the tips of her fingers along the nape of his neck and he shudders.

“It’s not your fault Levi, you were in a too terrible condition to even swim yourself. Please don’t blame yourself, I’m sure you’re friends would understand and know that you did everything you could for them. Judging from how much you cared about them I’m sure they knew and if they could they would tell you that it’s okay, you’re alive. You survived and you’ll make them very proud by keeping their memories and the ones you shared with them alive with you.”

There was silence when she finally finished and she was worried that she may have said something wrong until Levi gripped her harder and completely let go of everything else that was left inside him.

He shuddered, quivered and shook, fresh hat tears poured from his normally steely eyes, leaving a river like stream in their wake. Hange held him as he sobbed, her heart squeezing uncontrollably at the sound of his low whines. She didn’t know why it hurt her so much to see the mermyd so broken like this. It almost made her angry as the feeling of wanting to protect him from everything came over herself.

They stayed like that for almost an hour until Levi was exhausted and was slipping in and out of consciousness.

The sun had already set and the cold night air blew softly against them.

Hange didn’t care, she continued to stroke his hair.

She made a promise to take care of him, and here she was doing just that and so much more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: HOLY FUCK! I actually teamed up while writing the last part 😭 maybe because I wrote it at three AM in the morning lmaooo. I really want Levi to have an emotional scene with Eren later on but for now he can be a little shit (*eren cackles in the distance*)

Anyways thank you so much for reading ily 💓 see you in the next chap!

#POYW

[7deadlycinderellas]

At the End they formed, a true lover’s knot

AO3 Link

(Why yes, this was entirely inspired by an image I had in my head of Bran as the Ice King)

The three-eyed Raven had said that Brandon Stark was gone.

Gone, that seemed a good enough way to put it at the time.

It was easier than pushing through from the labyrinth inside his mind.

The last thing he remembered seeing before he touched the weirwood tree had been Meera. The next thing he sees is her again, staring at him with contempt.

What did I do? What did I say? Bran thinks, deep within his own mind. He knew that if he searched, swam within the sea of memories, his own, and the memories of the Raven and the visions, that he could find it.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know what he had said to make her look at him like that.

One moment he was a child again, climbing the walls of Winterfell. The next he was in the head of the Raven, soaring above the forest, and before he could try and figure it out, he was in the stands at the tourney at Harrenhall, and before the strike of the gong, he had returned to the age of heroes.

When his mind touches the Long Night, he doesn’t know what to do. With the Raven’s eyes, he doesn’t know if what he saw was real. If the memories overwhelmed him, seeing the night leaves him catatonic.

Sometimes when he’s lucky, he’ll be back north of the wall. Back before, before the Raven taught him the secrets buried in the ice and snow. Summer would still be be his side, sleeping cuddled roughly by Hodor, as though she were a toy. He’ll be when Meera pressed her face into his chest in a vain attempt to shield herself from the cold. He feels his own heart thrum uncontrollably, and he relishes the feeling, desperate for it to last, before he’s pulled away.

“Your Grace?” he hears. He opens his eyes, and Tyrion Lannister is offering him a handkerchief.

“Sorry Your Grace,” the man who he himself had once called the Imp says again. “You were crying.”

The visions take the most out of him. He only dimly is even aware of the passage of time, much less the difference between past and present, without adding future into the mix. Much like the Long Night, the visions of the future are so incredibly chaotic that Bran is uncertain as if anything in them could be real. And so, when they come, Brandon Stark retreats even further into the labyrinth.

The only time Bran Stark got any power over his own mind was in his dreams. Though they had once led him on his way to the Children, now Bran’s dreams were again his own.

In his dreams, he could walk again. He could dance and ride, and fly. Fly in a way that the Raven could never let him.

In his dreams, he can be beside his siblings again. Arya dreams of the sea, and the canals. Bran rows for her, wondering why they’ve turned back to Westeros already. He’s with Jon, again beyond the wall, in a beyond-the-wall that was new and open for life. When Sansa rides beside him in the cold of the North, he wonders if all these dreams are simply his.

Sometimes in his dreams, he reaches out and touches them. He wonders if they could feel it.

But then again, he has no control over his dreams. He was simply brought along for the ride, as welcome as the ride was. Or at least he thought.

One night, asleep in his chambers the new, much smaller and more modest than before, Red Keep, Bran dreams that he’s drowning.

The water isn’t like the pools in the Godswood back in Winterfell. It’s brackish and wild, and dragging him under. He fights and flails, but it brings him no closer to the surface.

Then he feels something underneath him shoving him roughly. The surface rushes to him, bright light through the green-gray water. His hands reach for it grasping for anything. Grasping seemingly forever, until his hand found the rope. He grabs on and pulls, pulls with all his strength, and finally, with enough strength to pull himself above the water.

With a splash from the water, Meera is beside him, pulling the rope from his hands and then pulling him the rest of the way from the water.

“You forgot your tether.”

With an unusual amount of control, Bran reaches out and touches her, as he had times before with his siblings. He brushes one of her dark curls, still wet from the water, behind her ear. His fingers linger as long as they can.

“But you brought it to me,” is what he says.

He fights waking, fights it harder than near anything he’s fought in recent memory.

When he does wake, the feeling of her skin lingers under his fingers.

When awake, he goes to the time on the road North to the wall. Jojen tells him of the time Meera pulled him out of the water when he tumbled off one of the crannogs before he could swim well. The grey water had gotten into his lungs then, and she had chided him for playing so close to the edge without being tied to the shore.

The next night, he wonders if he could try and seek her out again in his dreams. But the next night, he is with Arya.

She is on a ship, a small one, not like the one she left on. She steers it all herself, from the crow’s nest. She’s steering it towards the shore, towards a gathering storm.

“I told him I’d come back,” she says, with trepidation, “Eight moons ago I did. “

Dimly, Bran realizes he is not himself, but a porpoise. His smooth skin slipping easily through the water.

When he says, “Then you should,” he still has Brandon Stark’s voice.

“What if I can’t stop myself from leaving again?”

“Don’t make promises, and remember to bring gifts.”

He takes a deep dive under the sea, and when he rises, expels the water forcefully from his blowhole before waking.

The next night, he is climbing a staircase. Sansa is in front of him. The stairs rise and spiral, the way some of the stairs in Winterfell did. The steps are wood though, not stone, and he’s pretty sure all the staircases in Winterfell stopped at some point, instead of merely going higher and higher.

At some point, Sansa has become Lady. The pale gray pup, still as small as she had been when Bran saw her last. Not that she’d had any time to grow into her full size.

Bran gives her a scratch on the ear, and she says,

“You’re lonely and you shouldn’t be. Isn’t that what you told me?”

And then he wakes.

“You’re lonely and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s the next day,

“That sounds like what you wrote your sister last week. Shame she feels loneliness is part of her duty,” Tyrion comments from across the table.

Bran fixes on the words, he tries to so hard, but then he’s gone again.

The breadth of the Raven’s knowledge is so great that some days Bran barely even touches the years he was born in. He could spend a lifetime following the lives of the people in a Westeros that bears no resemblance at all to the one he knows.

He doesn’t want to. It may be a fight, but Bran wants his own life back.

In the night, there are storms. There are more boats, but they are not Arya’s. Some of them appear to be toys, carved from rock or driftwood, awash on the waves.

All of the Starks are here, though they are children again. Arya and Sansa are swimming amidst the waves, as if half fish themselves. Jon is beside him on the stone barge, munching on a loaf of bread.

“I’m going to go over,” Bran says, peeking overboard.

“That’s okay,” Jon insists casually.

He again peers over into the sea, afraid.

He feels a hand slip a rope around his waist and tie a knot to hold it. He doesn’t even have to look.

“If you’re going to sit so close to the edge, you’re going to need a tether,” Meera tells him, in the same tone she must have used years ago on Jojen.

A tether. He wraps his hands in the rope. And then he reaches out to Meera, desperate to touch her again.

But just like the nights when he wakes thinking their still north of the wall, he reaches and keeps reaching.

A tether.

His mind reaches, pulls on that rope as hard as he can, hoping the memory of her will help him pull himself out.

It almost works.

At breakfast, he asks Tyrion,

“What do you know about asking for forgiveness?”

“From a person? Or do you feel you have somehow displeased the Gods?”

“A person. A woman.”

He tries so hard to hold onto Tyrion’s explanation, and his suggestions, and tries not to think too much about his pitying gaze, before being pulled away and sinking again.

The words come out of his haphazardly, a few at a time, the ink smearing, his handwriting occasionally unrecognizable. He apologizes, with every bit of his being. He puts in words, for the first time, the way she used to make him feel, the way she still does. Every few minutes, his mind will try to retreat again, and he will grab his wrist and squeeze, pinching the skin violently in an attempt to stop it.

He can’t send it right away. He has to look.

The last memory, the one Bran lets himself go to before he retires. He has to make himself see.

Meera’s words hurt, especially now that he understands. She’d lost her brother, and all she wanted was to be with what remained of her family before the end came. He stares at the look in her eyes, when the words his own mouth produces are so cold.

He’s angry, so angry that he’d allowed himself to become that. To have let go so completely of the one person who had been with him through the thick and thin. To have cast her off. To have become the person who did that.

It’s just luck, so he thinks, that the memory follows him into his dreamspace.

“All I wanted was for you to ask me to stay. I don’t know if I would have, but I wanted you to ask.”

The dream words cut deeply. The setting is the same as the memory, though she is sitting beside him. This is one of the few dreams where Bran finds he still cannot feel his legs, as if this were life. He tries not to notice that she’s naked, as is he. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a dream get sidetracked like so.

“If I asked you now?” His voice quietly seeks.

She ducks her head, paying no mind to the rope in her hands. He reaches and grabs it, wrapping it around his wrists loosely.

And then he leans forward to kiss her, with a certainty he would have never even dreamed of having in waking life. The noise she makes hurts him deep inside. She’s warm, and tastes of summer rain. Then she shudders.

“It isn’t fair, “ she whispers, barely a breath away from his lips “It isn’t fair that this is just me dreaming something that could never be.”

Overcome, he reaches out with one hand to embrace her, running the fingers of his hand through her thick hair. When he pulls back, he only does so far enough so that he can wrap both of their wrists with the length of rope and ties the ends together in two intertwining overhand knots.

Meera lifts her wrist and examines it.

“You know what the fishermen call this right?”

Those are the last words before he wakes, and Bran clings to them desperately. Her words are his tether.

Without even leaving bed, he reaches and rereads the words he’d written the night before. They are true, and honest, but feel so stilted. Before he can send it, he has to.

Bran’s not much of an artist, but the lines are easy enough, two overhand knots interlocking, and below it written.

I know what the fishermen call it, and I forgot my tether.

Gods above, if he hadn’t actually managed to reach out and touch her he was going to sound like double the madman he feels.

After he sends the letter off with the messenger, it takes all of Bran’s strength not to look. He’s resisted anyway, put off by his last memory of Meera, but now he feels that looking might make his attempts to stay grounded worse. He cannot let the Three-Eyed Raven stay in control.

He resists every single urge to peek into the future. The glimpses has made his rule easier, to be sure, but it’s also the easiest way to lose himself.

It seems people notice too. Tyrion asks him one day during petitions if he’s beginning to feel more like himself.

“I can’t say I knew you before, but-”

“I’m trying. Me before was just a child, but I’m trying.”

His attempts are aided by Arya’s reappearance in King’s Landing. Her formal welcome is brief,

“This place looks much better than when I left,” she says, “It seems you’re doing a good enough job.”

“The fire gave us a chance to start anew, and I’ve got plenty of help.”

Arya still moves nervously, as if she is unsure of her next moves. But she is happy, happy to see him, happy to be back with stories. When he has their dinner brought to his solar so they can eat in peace, she notices the ropes tied around his wrist. He’d put them there the night he sent the message to Greywater Watch, and touching it seems to help center him.

“You remembered something I showed you.” Her eyes are wide. She’d practiced her knots quite a bit before she’d set out for her voyage, and in his more lucid moments, she’d shows him several and taught him their names. He could have figured it out himself, but her teaching him felt important to her. She looks touched, and Bran is again grasped by guilt for what he had let himself become.

Breaking the reverie, she adds,

“I still think the name is overdramatic.”

“Sailors and fishermen spend so much time away from their loved ones, “ Bran tells her, hoping to nudge her heart, “It’s not surprising that they might be romantic in their naming. I’m surprised you don’t like the symbolism.”

Arya wrinkles her nose,

“What do you mean?”

Bran tugs at the loose tips under the bend.

“The two lines can still be moved independently of each other, even though they can’t be separated unless the knot is undone. “

Arya looks mollified by his words. Her eyes are shining. She jumps forward to hug him gleefully.

“I’m so glad you seem more like you again. Magic be damned, I missed my little brother.”

“I’m still a little lost,” he admits, “But I think I can find my anchor again. At least I hope.”

The messenger doesn’t return until a week after Arya’s departed, making her way to Storm’s End. And he doesn’t return alone.

Meera looks much the same as he remembers. Her hair, having grown a bit longer during their journey, has been trimmed back above her collar. Her cheeks are pinker, and she looks better fed. She carries her net on one hip, her knife on the other. He’s grateful she did not bring her spear.

She truly does not look like someone who had been summoned by royalty. But who did anymore? Bran himself has never ha a taste for dressing richly, and only wears his crown when the ceremony would demand it.

Her face is equal parts confusion, hope and a guarded facade.

Tyrion greets her when she arrives with a similar look on his face. Though he really should know better by now, it would be a lie to say he hadn’t become attached to his young king.

When Tyrion leads her into throne room, Bran asks him to leave them. It takes all his nerves not to retreat back into himself, to hide.

Meera takes a seat, and glances up at the Iron Throne. One of the first things Bran had done in the Red Keep was to set up a table and chairs instead, to hear petitions. Even if he had been able to handle the stairs, he finds the thing ugly and abhorrent, and a reminder of all the blood that had been spilled because of it.

“For all the fighting over it, it looks terribly uncomfortable,” is how she breaks the silence.

“However you think it, it’s worse, I think I might order it melted down,” he responds.

There’s another long pause. Meera shifts uncomfortably in her chair, knowing exactly why she came, but unsure still if she should hope.

“Why did you write me that letter?” she cuts through to the point.

Bran nearly chokes himself getting the words out.

“Because I played too close to the edge, and went overboard. I didn’t have my tether.”

Her face transforms, through the steps of disbelief, nervousness, recognition and powerfully uncertain joy.

“Can -can we please dispense with the metaphors?”

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he says with more power in his voice than he really intends. “I want to be Bran Stark again, but I get so lost, if I’m not careful, my mind becomes a maze that I can’t find my way out of.”

He reaches out across the table to take her hand. He stumbles and nearly loses his breath when he notices she’s got a rope tied around her own wrist just like he does. From the way she jumps, she’s apparently noticed too.

“I’m so, so sorry for the way I treated you before. I could try and say it wasn’t me, but it’s my fault either way. I let this happen to me, I let myself be dragged off into the world of the Three-Eyed Raven, and but now I just want to be Bran again. Ever since the dreams started, grounding myself has been easier, and I think it’s because of you. You make me want to be a person again.”

In a single smooth movement, Meera stands and moves to the other side of the table, seating herself on the edge.

“How can I know that you’re not just going to disappear again?”

Bran looks up at her. He’s used to people, women too, standing over him. It hadn’t been so bad with Meera, she wasn’t especially tall, but now she really feels like she’s looking down at him.

“I can’t promise anything. But if I leave again, if you can’t pull me back? Feel free to do exactly what you did before. All I’m asking is that you try and keep me here, now.”

If he loses himself again, he doesn’t think there would be anything he could do. He would be gone, truly.

She slips down off the table and takes both of his hands in hers. He only has a half second to react before she kisses him. He tries to meet her halfway, and bumps her nose with his, making her giggle against his mouth. She doesn’t taste of anything but her.

She pulls back ever so slightly, and cocks an eyebrow at him.

“So did you know I was going to do that?”

He laughs then, a deep belly laugh. He hasn’t done that in a while.

“I hoped.”

She laughs too, a beautiful sound. And then kisses him again. One of his hands comes free and touches the side of her face.

When they come up for air, Meera giggles again.

“Well I suppose I have just one more question.”

Bran is confused. Elated, but confused. Elated, giddy, light-headed, all those good words. His blood is rushing in his veins, in a way it hasn’t since the North.

She tilts her head, to whisper conspiratorially in his ear.

“That last dream, did it start as yours or mine?”

Bran feels his cheeks go red. He used to hate blushing, but now it’s something else to make him feel human. He fingers the rope at her wrist gently.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really, it can be ours.”

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #breera #bran x meera #fic

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

jameson whiskey send tweet. BLOWHOLE.

A/N: WHALE, WHALE, WHALE KITTEN... here we are... another installment of the siren series with Captain Flip and finding his sultry sea maiden! I hope ya like it kitten @maybe-your-left 🖤. I did a few time jumps to cement the story a little further. If you haven’t read the beginning of my Blowhole series please refer to it in my Masterlist under the Flip Request section for context. 

Warnings: Mild angst, pining (from Flip and us too), mostly plot hardly any porn I’m sorry everyone, mentions of alcohol, mentions of possessive behaviors, masturbation, Flip is an irritable motherfucker as usual, and of course pirate slang slathered throughout the entire story, coupled with Little Mermaid slurs

(Y/N’s POV, the day you saved Flip) 

You startled awake, gasping as a flurry of bubbles left your lips, a nightmare that had stirred you awake from your restless sleep. 

You rubbed your tired eyes, stretching your muscles and tail from the king-sized clamshell bed in your extravagant palace of opalescent towers, gazing out at the majesty of the underwater mecca you’d called home. 

The bustling of merfolk swimming in all directions, schools of fish making their ways in and out of the caverns, and the heart of the city blossoming with light as the shining palace glistened in the light of the morning. 

It was truly a paradise in the depths of a trackless sea, an epicenter of life only visible to those seeking it out the most. And in this hustle and bustle, you felt lost. 

The longing to be free from the chains you’d been given since birth only growing as your age advanced. Being the daughter of the king of the ocean had its perks, including the charmed life you’d grown to know and love. Showered with affection and attention by all who had come to know you, attending galas and balls weekly, being taught the highest educational studies the merpeople could offer, and the access to the most precious possessions in the ocean, to which any man or woman would kill to have. 

But the worst part of all of this was your indifference to it. Yes, as a child the affection and material prizes were all the rage, but as you got smarter, grew into the stunning beauty you were, so was the pressure to uphold the family traditions. 

Those included taking your rightful place on the thrown, with the strongest merman as your king to lead the people in keeping the peace between land and sea, just as your father had done and his father before him. 

This had been cemented into your studies from your preschool years and on, the consequences racking up as your age did, and the pressure to find a suitor as well, which nauseated you to no end. 

One evening at dinner, you’d not been in the mood for foolish tricks, settling to quietly consume your seafood as your parents droned on and on about foreign relations with the land folk and treaties of such nature that you’d tuned out. 

“My darling,” your mother prompted as you were pulled from your distant state, “you haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on sweetheart?” gazing as you shrugged, rolling the shrimp on your fork and pushing your palm into your cheek. 

“It’s nothing mother,” sighing as you took a sip from your chalice, avoiding all eye contact with both parents while the room grew more silent. 

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with her,” your father booming out, stuffing his face with the delicacies like the titan he was, “she’s neglecting her duties!” smacking his lips together and boring his eyes into yours. 

“I am not!” slamming your fork down to lift yourself from your chair, “you don’t even know what it’s like to be me!” tears welling in your eyes as he lifted his hulking body to meet your eye-level. 

“Do not raise your voice at me, Y/N!” he commanded, a swirl of water whirl pooling as he grew angrier and angrier, “you will comply with my choices and you will marry one of our chosen suitors by the end of the full moon celebrations!” forcing an imaginary hold on you to stay in your seat. 

“It’s time you stop fucking around, Y/N!” he bellowed, your emotional state the furthest from his mind as he stuffed tradition down your throat, “you’re not getting any younger!” cementing his point to cause you to wail out in a pained cry. 

“Let me go, father!” squirming in his magical grip as you struggled to release your body from all of the stresses of being in the family, “I don’t want to be someone’s possession! I want to be in love!” screaming with pained tears as you writhed free from him. 

“Love!” he chuckled, the word a foreign thing to him as he married your mother for the sake of treaty, “my sweet stupid siren, you know nothing of love because it doesn’t exist!” his laughs ringing through the dining hall as you sobbed into your hands, your mother trying to comfort you as you were given the harsh reality of the rest of your days in the palace. Her silent tears falling under the mixture of your hurt as well as her own sad significance to her husband.

“Y-you’re w-wrong!” you stifled, heavy cries releasing from your lungs as you grasped for something to parch your aching thirst, wiping the heavy tears that dissipated into the saltwater. 

“Y-you’re s-so w-wrong f-father!” speeding your tail out of the great hall, the echo of his angered voice radiating through the hall as you burst out of the castle, swimming at the fastest speeds you could. 

Your tears clouding your directions as you rocketed through the masses of folk passing through the town square, fish hurrying their way out of yours as you cried through your pain. 

“I-I’ve got to g-get out of h-here!” you hiccuped as the lights faded from your view, the darkness of the ocean enveloping you in a mysterious veil as you tried to curb your sobs. 

You stilled your breath, stopping in the abyss to gather your surroundings, knowing you were far enough from home for your father to pull you back with his vortex with the flick of his wrist. Scoffing in sobs and flipping the bird in the direction as a thunderous roll hummed through the ocean. 

The light from above striking the surface in a lightning cloud as thunder boomed from the skies, your eyes gazing at the majesty from below as you solitarily floated in the swells, watching the huge waves ebb over each other in a frenzy. 

Suddenly, a huge object grew over the surface, the oval shape of it covering the crackling sky above, pulling you towards it like a beacon. 

Your tail moving unconsciously as you neared the large wooden hull, noticing its undoubtedly characteristic figures from the books you’d nosed through in your study. 

“Holy sh-,” barely getting the words out as a crack of light shot through the bottom of the ship, sending debris into the seas as the wooden vessel disintegrated before you. 

Bodies strewn amongst barrels of alcohol, cannonballs, and masts fell to the depths of the ocean, maneuvering the wreckage as you surveyed the devastation. 

Amongst the chaos, floating in the ebbs of the depths, you noticed the most striking being you’d ever come across in your years. His ravened hair flowing in the ocean as his lifeless body rag-dolled in the currents, his chiseled features glimmering in the crackling lightning as you came closer to his hulking figure. 

Running your scaled hands over his nose, his facial hair, his plush lips as you finally came to grips with what you had to do. Taking his dead weight into your arms as you turbo your way from the shipwreck, the bubbles trailing your tail as you figured out your next move. 

The panic set in when you realized this man wasn’t like you, his pulse no doubt fading the longer he was under the ocean. 

You hastily tried to find a speck of sand, bobbing your head up and down out of the water as you clung to the surface, trying to give him the slightest bit of oxygen as the thunder rolled over the stormy seas. 

“Come the fuck on!” you cried out, looking left and right as you caught the glimpse of a palm tree wavering in the hurricane winds several miles away. 

You barreled yourself and your extra weight towards the shores, dragging his thick muscle onto the sand as the wind howled through the patch of trees settled in the middle of nowhere. 

Laying him out on his back, trying to shield him from the ebbs of the shores, and the debris flying through the air as you surrounded him with your slick tail. Holding his deadened face in your chest as you covered him from the turbulence above. 

“Dammit, dad!” grunting into his ravened hair, cursing the swells that had grown familiar to you when he’d been stirred the wrong way, “would you fucking calm down?!” yelling into the thundering greyness that only swirled into a bigger frenzy as you gave it life. 

“Fine!” you screamed out, the swells howling as the clapping continued over the vast sea, “I’ll do whatever you fucking want, just please, stop this tantrum!” tears streaming down your face as the words left your lips, sentencing you to a life of loveless encounters all for the good of the merpeople. 

Upon your claims, clouds cracked, the thunder dissipated, and the waves calmed as if there hadn’t been a tsunami wrecking the open ocean in the slightest. Seagulls squawked as they elevated into the clear blue sky, the smell of the sea penetrating your aching lungs. 

The sun crept through the whitening clouds, beaming its light on the tanned shores, your eyes squinting as the tears steamed off your cheeks in the searing fireball. Choking on air as you savored the last moments of your freedom, feeling the land beneath you and the spray of the seashore on your tear-stained face.

“T-thank you,” the bile straining from your throat as you gagged back the fake appreciation, looking back to your sailor, his skin glowing in the sunlight as you removed your tail from his body. 

He stirred underneath you, heaving his chest as he puked up seawater, gasping for air as he writhed on the sand. 

“H-holy f-fuck!” grunting out, trying to shield his eyes as you quickly shape-shifted to avoid more shocking revelations from your handsome stranger. 

His thick pectorals straining in his shirt as he coughed up more spit and water, trying to grip himself back to reality. 

His eyes straining upwards towards your silhouette, the frame of the sunlight sitting perfectly on your glistening face, your nude form covered in sand as it clung to the beads of water sporadically strewn on your legs and arms. 

“H-hello?” he strained out, taking in your features as you melted in his amber gaze below, his honeyed bellow rippling through your shocked body embracing you in a warmth hotter than the beating sun. 

Your breath left with the tropical winds as you watched him sit up towards you, his chiseled tanned features becoming more human as he gained more consciousness. You felt something you’d only read in storybooks, something you had hoped for, ever since you were a guppy.

You stared at him, watching his chest heave in and out, his rippling arms gathering himself to sit up, his grunted breaths penetrating the sea air over the waves crashing around him. 

“Well good morning to you too, sailor,” you sang out in the most enchanting melody possible, losing yourself in lust as the morning peaked over the palm trees. 

Figuring that you had sentenced yourself to a lifetime of duty to your people, what was the harm in getting at least one romantic fling before heading back to reality? 

And it devoured your body up and down, right in the sandy shores of the Atlantic. 

__________________

(Flip’s POV, in search of Y/N)

The heavy swells of the sea cast over the proud Jolly Roger, relentlessly plowing through the white water in the bright light of an Atlantic morn. The course had been set by the fearless buccaneer in his quest to find his elusive mermaid lover, his focus not wavering even when he laid to rest his eyes at night. 

He filled his head with folktales and legends of the lost city, hoping to find an Easter egg to lead him closer to his precious prize. Every port they landed on, he was nose deep in the libraries, swilling rum to curb his irritation at the exclusivity of information on these folk and where they hid their secrets.

“There has to be something,” he sat in the candlelight, puzzling as he rubbed his ravened mustache, maps and books strewn over his desk, combined with notes he’d added to help or hinder his progress. 

“For fuck’s sake there has to be!” slamming his fist down, throwing the texts on his wooded floor in a thud, rubbing his temples as he filled his cup with another helping of his precious hooch. Slamming a shot or two down with large gulps as he fed the demon brewing within, becoming more and more frustrated at his dwindling expertise. 

He had found treasures buried in the bellies of beasts for God’s sake, been to all corners of the ocean, even dared to look Davey Jones in his squid tentacles and spit on the ground he walked on. It couldn’t be that fucking hard to find his precious scaled dame, who captured his heart and wracked his brain every single day since the moment your sultry eyes met his. 

He got up from his seat, rubbing a hand through his silken waves as he sighed. Taking another swill of his poison to cleanse his dried throat, rubbing his eyes from the headache that had built up in his desperate attempts at finding a sign. 

“I just need to quit for the night,” heavily sighing at his failures, angrily going to remove his effects from his person, his tensed muscles aching as he rubbed the back of his neck in a strained groan. 

“Mmm, fuck,” he growled, stripped down to his skivvies as his half hardened cock waved in the motions of the ebbs and flows of the ship, the pained movements egging the erection to grow harder and harder coupled with his thoughts of you. 

He laid in his chambers, the warm light caressing his freckled skin, showcasing his muscular form as he propped himself to stifle his need for your soft pussy. 

The more he laid staring at the ceiling, the more he conjured up thoughts of you. How perfect your hair glimmered in the warm sunlight, your enchanting eyes swirling in his mind, boring into him as if you had actually been in the room. Your glistening skin that gave off an opalescent hue in the light of the beach that morning, your perfectly pouted lips, begging to be covered in his as you coaxed him to you. 

He laid uncomfortably now, eyes furrowing as he gripped his mast in his thick digits, slipping his wet tip in them to slide the moisture down his veiny shaft, “Y/N,” he whimpered, his mind racing with more images of you that morning, “Y/N please,” begging as he sped up his motions on his throbbing cock. 

Your perfectly plump tits, shimmering on the sand, grit covering parts of your coconut-scented skin, the curve of your ass showcasing your siren charms as you coaxed his mind into his own pleasured memories. 

‘What are you gonna do to me sailor?’ a melodic and enchanting voice ringing through his psyche as he palmed his girth in his hand, his balls tensing as he thought of you and your wiles. 

“Oh fuck darlin’,” he sped up his assault, “I-I’m gonna storm your shores so f-fuckin’ hard,” he groaned, feeling his orgasm build and build on his fantasy of you sand-covered, begging for his cock, “y-you’ll be cummin’ in w-waves on m-my, f-fuck!” he cried out feeling the heat spread over his lower half. 

His motions speeding and squeezing on his Kraken even harder as he finished his thoughts, ‘come on captain,’ you purred, covering your body in more and more sand as it stuck to your glistening curves, ‘blow your load all over me,’ your lips whispering to him as your eyelashes batted in his direction. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” he shouted, his release clouding the image of you as he snapped back to reality. Hot cum spurting in waves as he dumped his wasted spend on his chiseled abs, balls tightening as it cascaded down over his knuckles. 

“M-mother f-fuck,” groaning as he threw his head back into his pillow, feeling the wetness cover his hand as he finished his ministrations, recoiling after it began to feel like too much on his softening cock. 

 He glanced down at the mess, huffing and puffing at the wasted release, shuttering as he saw the amount that had come out of him. He wished it was six feet deep in your velvet cunt. Wished it was dispersing itself in your vacant womb, seeding itself so deep that he’d marked you his forever. 

He shook his head, the ache returning in his temples as he laid there. Completely spent from his quest, wishing you were laying on his chest, smelling your tropical scent on his nostrils. Feeling the kinks and curls of your freshly fucked hair, hearing your sweet breaths escape your lips as he’d try to kiss on them before lulling you to sleep in his chambers. He only wished. 

Suddenly, a series of hasted knocks threw him out of his daydreams, the sound of Ron begging him to open up. 

“Captain! Captain!” he cried, seemingly in distress, as Flip hurried to make himself decent, throwing on his pantaloons and white undershirt, grunting as the knocks came quicker and quicker. 

“Hold the fuck on!” he bellowed, slamming his boots on the wooded floor to kick the books he’d previously thrown from his desk, ready to strangle his mate for disturbing him so late. 

Throwing open the heavy door “what the hell is going on, Ron?” his clearly irritated demeanor causing his buddy to jump back, shying away as his intentions seemed to be overzealous in their action. 

Flip lifted to his full height, crossing his arms to practically cover the doorway, the smallest slivers of light from his room emitting in a halo around his head, huffing his chest to hear what the commotion was about. 

“Uhmmm, Z,” he timidly questioned, not making eye contact with his captain as he knew the second he’d panic knocked, he’d signed a death warrant on himself, “I-I think you need to see this,” leading to the doorway that pulled them on the main deck of the massive ship. 

“See what, Ron?” gritting out as he lumbered behind him, a mixture of puzzled and pissed as he helped him jiggle the latches on the double doors. 

The cool sea air penetrated their faces, the sounds of the waves crashing the hull as it pushed its way in the set course, the night sky spotted with bright stars and a moon that illuminated the entire ocean as his night crew was busy with their chores, raising and lowering the sheets to readjust the direction from the winds. 

Ron led him to the captain’s wheel, being manned by a crewman who had taken Ron’s station for him to alert Flip to the sight. The man scurried away when he saw them approach, Ron gripping the wheel to keep the ship in the right direction as his other hand gripped the telescope laying by the maps given to him. 

“Here,” he gestured, placing the tool in his captain’s hand as he lifted to extend it out to look through, “about two paces to the right from where the ship is headed,” he pointed, to which Flip did as his mate had told him. 

Zeroing in on the spot he’d mentioned, eyes squinting as he took in the scene from the spyglass, “what the fu-?” he adjusted the fine vision on the lens to reveal something he’d never seen before in his life. 

A bright beam of lights, emitting from the horizon, colored in blue and green hues as it danced on the trackless shoreline they were headed. The streams seemed to pulse with life as they danced on the waves, the stars beaming through as the light show continued on and on. 

“What do you think it is?” Ron’s voice, stern but concerned as Flip closed the glass to glance over at him. 

He huffed, stalking over to the maps on the other side, looking at them to see what the answer could possibly be, caressing his goatee as he forked through the latitudes and longitudes. 

Dragging his large index finger over the directions he’d mapped out, looking at landmarks, squinting as the light of the night didn’t help his vision. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the possible answer, shimmering in the light of the moon like a beacon, calling to him like your siren song had rung through his ears that day. 

“This,” he slammed a sausage down, a devilish smirk painting his face as he glazed over the name labeled on the parchment. 

Ron glanced down to notice the name inked on the spot, looking in his direction, noticing his demeanor changed in an instant as he marveled at the map. 

“The Bottom,” he chanted, as he gripped the ship’s wheel, watching Flip snap into action, a frenzy of map tracking and smiles at his traction gained on finding his prize. 

“The Bottom, Ron,” he chuckled, the both of them looking up as the lights grew larger in the sky, seemingly large fingers coaxing the Roger towards it in an enchanting procession. 

“You really think it’s there?” he steered puzzled now as the lights brought them closer and closer, Flip’s eyes beaming with the shadows of them as he was entranced by the thoughts of you in his arms again. 

“Only one way to find out, buddy,” he grinned, placing his buccaneer’s cap on his thick locks, reaching for the bottle that was kept on top of the map. 

Taking a large swig of sweet nectar to let out a huge gasp, rubbing the remainder from his mustache as he tossed the vice to his mate, who took a swig too, aiming the ship still as he gripped the glass. 

“We gotta go to the bottom of that barrel, Ron,” cocking an eyebrow as he prepared his crew for all that would be beyond the lights. 

_______________

WILL HE FIND YOU IN TIME BEFORE YOU’RE SHIPPED OFF TO MARRY ANOTHER UGLY FUCK? 

FIND OUT ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF BLOWHOLE AND HIS SIREN LOVE!

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman request #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x you #flip zimmerman x you #flip x female reader #flip x reader #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman imagine #the siren series #a sirens song #the bottom of the barrel #pirate!flip #pirate au #flip zimmerman x mermaid reader

[gwens-fiction]

12 for the kiss prompt please! 💙 kd-holloman

12) a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

Putting under a read more. Decided to write a test scene for one of my fanfics.

Potential spoiler warning for any reading Scientist Overboard.

“Oh Neptune.” Seeing the small bundle of black and white on the beach, Francis quickly rolled over. He held his breath as he leaned down and checked for a pulse. He then carefully but sternly shakes his shoulder. “Kowalski. Kowalski, wake up.”

With no waking indication from the penguin, Francis gently picked him up and held him close. He visually checks for anything external, any bleeding. There are only some bruises and a small cut on his leg, but it was already scabbed over and was probably from his time on the island. He reached up, pressing a button on his mechanical eye and scanned over his boyfriend’s tiny form and took out his phone for the results. 

Broken ribs, probable concussion. Nothing near as bad as he was anticipating, but the concussion was worrying. This time he just softly stroked Kowalski’s feathered chest. “Mittens, I need you to wake up. I need to know that you’re okay.”

There was a slight stir before the penguin finally blinked his eyes exhaustedly open. It took him a moment longer to focus on the dolphin’s worried face. “Blowhole?” He whispered weakly.

Francis smiled and gently nuzzled him. “Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. You’re safe now. Neptune, you had us so worried.”

Kowalski squinted slightly as he took this in. He barely moved his little flipper to feel Francis’s and his eyes widened slightly. “You’re not a hallucination?”

“No, I’m not a hallucination.” He paused. “Have you been seeing hallucinations?”

“Prove it.” The penguin then hoarsely whispered, “kiss me.”

“If that’s how you’ve been doing dolphin identity checks, Jan, then we need to have a talk when you’re better.” He shook his head before giving the penguin a gentle peck on his cheek. “I need to tell your teammates, but then you’re going with me back to the lair, alright? I don’t trust the vet to tend to you properly.” He started rolling towards the other three penguins.

“My head hurts.”

“Not surprising.”

“My ribs hurt.” 

“Also not surprising.”

“My leg hurts.”

“Once again, I’m not surprised.”

“I’m tired.”

Francis adjusted his grip. “Well, don’t go to sleep yet.”

“Ugh, that’s what hallucination you said earlier.”

#penguins of madagascar #tpom #scientist overboard #Anon

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season Ten Rewatch:   "Heist"

The basics:  A bank heist targeting a single safe deposit box has NCIS investigating the theft and the company that rents it.

Written by: Jordana Lewis Jaffe  wrote or co-wrote wrote or co-wrote “Honor”, “Patriot Acts”, “Dead Body Politic”, “Paper Soldiers”, “Unwritten Rule”, “Big Brother”, “Iron Curtain Rising”, “Exposure”, “Savior Faire”, “Beacon”, “Defectors”, “Exchange Rate”, “Black Market”, “Payback”, “Battle Scars”, “Mountebank”, “Vendetta”, “Where Everybody Knows Your Name” and this season’s “Pro Se”.

Directed by: Yangzom Brauen, who directed “Venganzna” last season.

Guest stars of note:  Peter Jacobson returns as Special Prosecutor John Rogers from "Asesinos".  Dina Meyer as Veronica Stephens, MacCallister Byrd as Greg Papastathis, Lisa Kaminir as Andrea Nelson, Tina Masafret as Clare, Nawal Bengholam as Nour Abar, Roz Witt as Gertrude, Tony Van Halle as Lincoln #1 and Kayvon Esmaili as Lincoln #3.  

Our heroes:  Look into a bank heist without Matt Barnhart.  

What important things did we learn about:

Callen:  Going to have an aneurysm if Rogers shows up at the office every day. Sam:  Thinks there are coincidences and then there are coincidences. Kensi:   Aghast Deeks doesn't know where the box is. Deeks:  Speaking in long form is what he tends to do. Eric:  Playing video games on the big screen with Rogers using Rogers's own gaming console. Nell:  Working in the gadget room because Rogers took her work station chair. Hetty:   Giver of long leashes.

What not so important things did we learn about:

Callen:   Never saw "Titanic" (Kensi must be aghast about this as well). Sam:   Planking. Kensi:   Doesn't know a good name for the bar, knows a lot of bad ones when she hears them. Deeks:   Workshopping "The Blowhole" as a bar name. Eric:  Benefiting from the closeness of Rogers and his body heat. Nell:  Behaving selflessly by leaving Eric alone and close to Rogers. Hetty:  Absent.

Who's down with OTP:   All is well.  Kensi and Deeks have a nameless bar and Sam and Callen level bantering as they try to approach Greg Papastathis.  Nell is making Eric a better person by avoid him and Rogers as the work closely in Ops, where Eric tells Rogers Nell is his girlfriend.

Who's down with BrOTP:  Bantering away.

Any pressing need for Harm and Mac:  I'd say no but I do wonder if Harm knew Veronica Stephens.

Who is running the team this week?  After a four-week Ochoa run, John Rogers is now in charge or as he calls it "adult supervision".

Mosley watch:  Not mentioned but Rogers presence is because Washington doesn't trust the team.

Fashion review:  Callen and Sam start the episode in their gym gear.  Dark blue tee and grey shorts for Callen.  Long sleeve black tee, baggy shorts over running tights for Sam.   The dark blue button down shirt for Callen with his dark grey jacket later in the episode.  Black henley and black leather jacket for Sam.  Kensi is wearing a red long-sleeve top with blue stripes but no jacket in an episode where almost everyone outside is wearing one.  Dark grey long-sleeve tee for Deeks with his distressed jacket.  Blue sweater over a blue and pink dress shirt and long pants for Eric.  Print floral dress for Nell (no bow!).

Music:   Tune free.

Any notable cut scene: No.  There seemed to barely be enough scenes in the episode.

Quote:  Rogers:  "I'm not making you nervous, am I?" Eric:  "No, not at all." Rogers:  "Are you sure?" Eric:  "You know, it's fine, because, um, you know, we have to keep this room really cold because of all the electrical equipment, and, um, because you insist on sitting so very close to me, I'm kind of benefiting from that, uh that body heat of yours, so that's a bonus.  And also, you know, who am I to stop you from choosing this chair as your favorite chair, out of all the chairs in the building full of chairs, when this chair clearly belongs to my girlfriend and coworker Nell Jones? - It's fine." Rogers:  "Well, all righty then.  Because I'd really love to start looking through your team's past cases, try to establish patterns of behavior, calculate the property damage incurred." Eric:  "Cool.  Well, look forward to that." Rogers:  "You know, I dabble in I.T.  myself.  Around the office, whenever anyone has an issue, I'm their guy." Eric:  "Oh, yeah, I-I don't I don't really do I.T." Rogers:  "Well, you kind of do." Eric:  "Um, with all due respect, Special Prosecutor Rogers, I know slightly more than your average I.T. guy" Rogers:  "Exactly." Eric:  "Yeah.  No, I was being modest." Rogers:  "Why?" Eric:  "Because no one likes a braggart." Rogers:  "Why?" Eric:  "Because it's not looked upon favorably by society." Rogers:  "Why? Eric, Eric, a little life lesson free of charge.  It's not bragging if it's true."

Anything else:   As a woman with a cup of coffee enters the Trust National Bank, three bank robbers – two men and a woman – wearing Abraham Lincoln masks follow her in.  While they are waving around guns, they are rather polite, swearing that if everyone does as they're told, nobody will get hurt.  After collecting everyone's cell phones in a pair of canvas sacks, one Lincoln helps an older customer when the head robber ordered the customers and bank employees to the ground.

The head robber wants the bank manager – a woman named Andrea - to open the vault.  With a gun in her face, Andrea cooperates.  As Andrea returns to the others (and the floor), there is a small explosion from the vault.  Head robber returns and the Lincolns apologize for the inconvenience.  Dropping the sacks of collected cellphones on the ground, the Lincolns leave.

Kensi and Deeks walk into the now completed bar.  Deeks is proud, so is Kensi.  While they have a golden hammerhead shark on the wall and a vagabond living upstairs in Callen – who is will to work as a bouncer on weekends Deeks jokes - they don't have a name for the place.  Deeks is thinking "Schmitty's".  Kensi is not.  There is no back-up.  Maybe "Monty's" because of the dog or "Roberta's" for "Mama Deeks".  After "Slamming Salmon" falls flat, the two are going to work on names.

In the gym, Callen and Sam are bantering about things being all about Callen (obviously Sam has seen the DVD covers) as Sam is planking.  Eric arrives – they have a case.  Callen, Sam and Eric join Kensi, Deeks and Nell in Ops.  Nell has video of the bank robbery running on the big screen.  Sam asks how much money was stolen.  None, according to Eric.  The robbers stole a safe deposit box.

Kensi wants to know why NCIS is involved, bank robberies are the FBI's responsibility.  While they are, the stolen safe deposit box belongs to Veronica Stevens, a former Lt. Commander in Naval Intelligence.  She owns CCG, a consulting firm that does business with the government.  Callen wants Kensi and Deeks to check out the bank, he and Sam are going to see Veronica Stevens.

Leaving Ops, Deeks does "What's in the box" from the movie "Seven".  Deeks jokes about the box Kensi gave him – whatever became of that?  Kensi turns around a little stunned – "you lost my box."  Deeks says no, it was a joke, he was kidding.  He shoots a panicked look to Eric and Nell.  They agree – Deeks has no idea where the box is.

As the team walks down to the main floor, John Rogers is waiting near the stairs.  He thinks it is casual Monday with Callen and Sam still in the gym clothes.   The powers that be in Washington think the office needs some "adult supervision" and Rogers wonders about a dress code too.  Sam tells Rogers he and Callen were working out when they were called for case.  Rogers is unhappy they are working out on government time.  Callen reminds Rogers that working a desk may not require strength and endurance but being a field agent does.  Rogers wants to know how much time each of them spends a week working out at the office.

With questions of his own, Sam wants to know why the team wasn't told about Rogers visit.  Rogers is there to retroactively review a number of past cases and to observe the team in action.  Rogers promises to work fast – he should be done by June.

Kensi and Deeks arrive at Trust National.  Andrea the bank manager tries to keep them out – the bank is closed – but Kensi's badge has Andrea welcoming them to the investigation.  She is worried she is going to be fired for what happened.  Deeks asks to see the vault.

Inside the vault, the only damage is to the door of the one missing safe deposit box.  Kensi and Deeks are impressed by the targeted trouble.  Andrea had the surrounding safe deposit boxes checked – no damage.  With the robbers pulling this off in less than three minutes – faster than LAPD could arrive - using highly specialized explosives, Kensi and Deeks realize they are dealing with people who really know what they were doing.

Kensi asks Andrea how she is dealing with the trauma.   She was terrified at the start of the robbery but the polite and mild demeanor of the bank robbers kept her calm.  Looking back, Andrea had nothing to fear.  In the sacks with the cell phones were the robbers' guns – plastic and harmless.  The robbers did not take a dime from the bank, just the one safe deposit box.

In the elevator going to CCG's offices, Callen tells Sam he is going to have an aneurysm if Rogers shows up at the office every day.  Sam thinks that a little dramatic but Callen does not.   Hetty gave them "a long leash" while Granger knew how to work the system to keep people like Rogers from the office.  Sam thinks Rogers will get bored so why not give him a chance.  Asking who side Sam is on, Sam reminds Callen things are not always about him.  Callen and Sam ask to see Veronica Stephens as they enter CCG’s offices.

A young assistant brings Callen and Sam to see Stephens but not before offering them an array of beverages.  Cutting a call short, Stephens was is chatting with Bono.  She is sorry NCIS was dragged into what happened at the bank – surely there are much better things for the team to be doing.  Since they are at the office, Callen asks Stephens what was in the safe deposit box.  Stephens sighs and talks about leaving things in an allegedly secure place when they were likely safer under her mattress.  Sam asks what would be safer under the mattress.  Jewelry, pieces that were in the family collection for generations.  None of it was all that valuable but some of it was to her.  And she's sad it is all gone.

Sam thinks pawn shops or E-Bay may be places they can look for pieces.  She apologizes again – shouldn't LAPD be doing that?  Asked about enemies, Stephens has the assistant, Claire, for the list of enemies.  It is a binder of enemies, actually, just covering the last 12-months.  Working with companies on climate change and trade policy can cause ruffled feathers.  "I'm only trying to help but I'm always pissing somebody off."  Callen asks to take the binder, which is fine by CCG – they have multiple copies (fun reading on a slow day).

Eric is working on something in Ops with Rogers sitting close to him.  Since Rogers "insists on sitting so very close" to Eric, Eric is grateful for the extra body heat in the otherwise chilly Ops Center.  And who is Eric to complain that Rogers is sitting in that chair, the chair of his co-worker and girlfriend Nell Jones.

Rogers would like access to the team's cases to look for patterns of behavior, property damage assessments, etc.  Eric is having a problem accessing a database.  Rogers offers to help – he's sort of the IT expert in his office.  Eric explains that Eric's job is not IT.  What he does is way beyond IT.  Rogers knows that – why did Eric not make that clear?  "Nobody likes a braggart."  Rogers goes with that old gem that is isn't bragging if it is true.  Eric goes back to typing.

Nell asks an arriving Callen and Sam what's in the box.  "Heart of the Ocean-type jewelry?" Nell asks.  Callen is clueless.  Sam talks about "Titanic" and the necklace the whole movie was about.  Nell disagrees.  "Titantic" was about the American class system told through the eyes of the passengers on an ill-fated ocean liner.  Pushed by Sam, Nell admits the "necklace did tie the whole thing together."  

Callen isn't watching "Titantic" anytime soon.  He does tell Nell that the jewelry isn't worth much, something Nell thinks will lead to unhappy bank robbers.  Callen and Sam agree something here is not adding up.  Callen wants Eric and Nell to check out Veronica Stephens's company to see if everything is above board.  Sam hands over Stephens's binder of threats.  Nell wonders how people have to time for binders full of threats.

Andrea the bank manager has binder (big binder episode) with a list of everyone who used their safe deposit box in the last few months.  If they need more records, she has everything in storage.  Kensi finds the book helpful.  Veronica Stephens was a regular seeing the box.  "Veronica is in here all the time to access her deposit box."  Kensi wants to see the older binders with the access records.  While Andrea retrieves the older binders Kensi and Deeks think it is odd to visit a safe deposit box regularly, especially if it is nothing but old, mostly worthless jewelry.

Nell finds Callen and Sam with their laptops working in the armory.  Sam says Callen is hiding from Rogers.  Callen thinks it is more avoiding.  Nell understands.  Rogers is in her chair upstairs so she's set up shop in the gadget area.  Callen and Sam are not pleased that Eric is left alone in Ops with Rogers.  That earns a "Damn" from Sam and a "Nell don't play" from Callen.  

The real reason for Nell's visit is she has news.  CCG's books are cooked – tax evasion and holes in the balance sheet that wouldn't pass government muster.   All odd behavior for a company doing business with the Navy.  Callen wonders if the heist was a blessing in disguise.  Sam doesn't like the coincidences.  Steal the box, get an investigative agency looking at Veronica Stephens and her company.  Sam thinks they are playing into somebody's hands.

Callen, Sam, Kensi and Deeks are all leaning on their desk revising the case.  It is a lot of talking about the case while Deeks goes off on a tangent on the film "Meru" in just time for Rogers to arrive.  Rogers saw "Meru" and wonders why the team is taking a break for their case.  Callen considers the team's process is unique.  Callen and Sam are off to see Veronica Stephens.  Rogers wants to join them but Sam won't allow.  They are driving the Hellcat – no back seat – "safety first."

Callen and Sam are back with Claire, offerer of beverages, before talking to Veronica Stephens.  Callen wants to sit down – she is doing this interview standing.  Callen and Sam asks about her regular visits to the safe deposit box.  Stephens is not happy with the questions – she's already answered all their questions.  Callen and Sam leave, wondering if Stephens is going to lawyer up.

Up in Ops, Kensi and Deeks join Eric and Nell.  Eric was reviewing security video from the bank going back a few weeks.  There is a young man who hangs around the bank – outside, walks in, walks out.  He never spoke to anyone inside the bank, never deposited or withdrew money.  Nell believes the man was counting foot traffic – trying to find when the bank would be as empty as possible.  The video photo is grainy – a dead end, causing Deeks to say "Bummer."  But Eric was kidding.  He has a Gregory Papastathis ID'd and already located.  Eric is proud he got one over on Kensi and Deeks.  

Kensi and Deeks pull up to a Venice outdoor eating area.  They try to figure out how they are going to approach Papastathis.  Deeks finally calls out "Hey Greg" as Papastathis is getting on his motorized scooter to leave.  Papastahis runs when Kensi yells "Federal Agents!"  Deeks commandeers a motorized scooter from another man and promises to return it.  Kensi chases on foot, Deeks on scooter.  Deeks gets hung up among a group of parents with jogging strollers.  He says hi to the kids and recommends they don't do drugs.  Kensi winds up hitting Papastathis with a skateboard to the chest.  He's down for the count.

Nell walks to Ops and sees Eric and Rogers huddled over Eric's workstation.  She quickly reverses course.  Callen and Sam call in.  She asks if she's a horrible person for making Eric fend for himself.  Sam respect that she is doing it for Eric.  Nell talks about making Eric a better person.  That's a bridge too far for Sam.  

Callen and Sam want Nell to review CCG's projects – see what they're hiding with the creative accounting.  Nell thinks that is what the people who stole the safe deposit box would want the team to do.  Sam knows that but they'll deal with that later.

Kensi and Deeks have Papastathis handcuffed to the Audi's rear door.  He's not the sharpest tool in the shed.  Kensi figures he and his good looks showed up in Hollywood to be famous but the only work he's gotten was bartending jobs.  Deeks tells Papastathis they have him on security video casing a bank for the last few Mondays.  Papastathis is confused – he was at the bank over the last few Mondays but not today.  He was paid to count how many people visit the bank on Mondays and when the tellers get coffee.  It was a Mission Monkey gig and the easiest one he ever had.  Deeks uncuffs Papastathis – he knows nothing about the bank robbery (and really much else).  As Deeks points to an imaginary squirrel which Papastathis looks for, Deeks sprays the former suspect with the overwatch spray.

CCG works with some countries with bad diplomatic relationships with the US – most notably Iran.  There is no way the Navy would continue to hire her if they knew she had Iran as a client.  Nell found a pattern that whenever CCG gets a Navy contract, Stephens receives $750,000 into a personal account.  Callen suspects she is selling military secrets.  Rogers applauds.  Today, Callen and Sam exercised, discussed documentary films and found a traitor – "and it's not even lunch, bravo, bravo."

A serene Veronica Stephens is in interrogation.  Sam is still bothered they don't know who set this in motion.  She's a traitor and it is a good thing to have her in custody but he isn't sure this ends with Stephens in handcuffs.  Walking into interrogation, Callen and Sam offer Stephens the opportunity to get anything she needs off her chest, get ahead of anything like, say selling secrets to Iran.  Shaking her head, Stephens said LAPD could handle the robbery – she tried to warn them, keep NCIS out of it.  Stephens isn't a traitor, she's CIA.  She isn't selling secrets to Iran.  She's been sending them bad intel since she was 26-years old.

Kensi and Deeks followed Papastathis to a meeting with a young woman.  The two are having animated discussion.  Kensi thinks he knows more than he told them.  Deeks takes some photos of the woman for Eric and Nell to search.

Callen and Sam tell Stephens the CIA denied ever working with her.   Of course they would, she tells them, they're the CIA.  Sam said NCIS's contact inside the CIA doesn't know her either. Maybe, but Stephens drops the name Vostanik Sabatino, who has no idea who she is.  She's been working outside the agency for years.  The safe deposit box was a drop box between her and the CIA.  Whoever took it knew she was CIA.   Her latest assignment was just dropped off. She was going at 11AM to retrieve it but it was stolen instead.

Callen and Sam are torn.  Stephens could be telling the truth.  She could be above Sabatino's pay grade, "which isn't hard," according to Sam.  Or she could be selling secrets to Iran.  Callen has another idea – she's a pawn for whoever set this in motion.

Kensi and Deeks hear from Eric, Nell and Rogers.  The woman in the photo is Nour Abar, a Saudi national according to Rogers who jumped Nell's line.  "I got caught up in the moment for which I apologize," he tells her.  Kensi wonders if Saudi Arabia is behind the heist.  The Saudis and the Iranians are not allies.  Exposing Iran buying secrets from Stephens would damage the country's reputation.

A van pulls up near Abar and Papastathis.  Kensi and Deeks watch as Abar hits Papastathis in the neck with a syringe.  He starts to droop as a man from the van comes behind him.  Throwing a hood over Papastathis's head, Abar and the man from the van push Papastathis into the vehicle.  Papastathis isn't alone in the back of the van.  There are three Lincoln masks.  Abar jumps on a motorcycle and takes off behind the departing van.

Callen and Sam return to Veronica Stephens.  Her dealings with Iran caused the Saudis to go after her safe deposit box.   While Callen and Sam want to know what was in the box, Stephens can't help.  It is her only way to contact the CIA – she has no idea what was there.  Stephens wants to help.  If she really does, Callen wants her to name her Iranian contact.  If she really wants to help, and keep the contact alive because the Saudis likely have his name, give him up now.  

Stephens is reluctant to help.  Callen thinks turning her over to the Saudis for questioning might end NCIS's involvement.   She would get "a free trip to Riyadh, stuffed inside several diplomatic pouches."  A dry cleaner name Farazan is her contact.  He works at a dry cleaners.  NCIS is picking him up.  

Outside of interrogation Rogers is waiting.  While Kensi and Deeks are in active pursuit of the van and Abar's motorcycle, Callen and Sam are off to get Farazan.  Rogers is joining them.  Reviewing the schematics of the Hellcat, he thinks he can squeeze into the child-sized back seat.

As Kensi and Deeks are following both vehicles, the van turns left while the motorcycle goes right.  Sticking with the van, they continue their pursuit.  Someone inside the van lights a smoke bomb and tosses it at the Audi.  When the smoke clears, the van is gone but the motorcycle turns right onto their path.   Eric and Nell are looking for the van.  By the way, the Audi logo may be off the front of the vehicle but still there on the back.

The woman on the motorcycle pulls out a gun and while still riding, starts shooting at the passenger side of the vehicle.  A ducking Deeks asks about Callen and Sam – they are nearby.  In fact, they coming down the street in the other direction.  With Rogers in the back, Callen and Sam are going after the van, which is about a block away.  Saying he's cool, Rogers also does not think Callen and Sam have to drive at high speeds making tight turns to impress him.  That gets a laugh from Callen.

The woman on the motorcycle moves to the driver's side of the Audi but Kensi keeps her near the sidewalk by swerving near every time the bike gets close to the driver's side window.  The woman on the motorcycle is so fixed on Kensi and Deeks that she doesn't notice the parked cars she's about to hit until she actually hits them.  Flying off the bike, she is no longer a threat.

Callen and Sam do the same to the van – get the vehicle on the side of the street and run them into some parked cars.  When the van hits the cars, there is an explosion.

Kensi checks the woman riding the motorcycle, who is dead.  Kensi and Deeks start running to the nearby van explosion.

Callen and Sam race to the van with Rogers a few steps behind.  Inside the back of the van are Papastathis and the man who grabbed him after Abar drugged him.   Sam wants Eric and Nell to send ambulances.  

While Callen has his gun drawn on the van driver, Kensi and Deeks arrive.  Papastathis is coming to, asking what's going on.  "Well of course, you're fine," an exasperated Deeks says, noticing the safe deposit box is in the van.

Out of interrogation and in the boat shed's main room, Stephens has the safe deposit box.  Sitting between Callen and Sam, she is told the robbery was never about the box's contents.  It was about making the American public think a former military intel officer and current Defense Department consultant was a spy for Iran.  This would help the Saudi image.  Stephens wonder if it was an official act by the Saudi government or a rogue move.  With one of the robbers expected to make a full recovery, NCIS should have that answer soon.

Sam asks what's in the box.  "Wouldn’t you like to know," Stephens teases.  She apologizes again for getting NCIS involved and not being able to tell them everything.  She is also grateful they didn't ruin her cover.  While her cover may be intact, Callen reminds her someone leaked her name to the Saudis to cause all this trouble.  And now NCIS is involved.   Stephens reminds them she did try to warn them against being involved.

Later that evening, Callen and Sam walk into the bar with no name.  Nell is already there while Kensi and Deeks are behind the bar.  Callen asks about Eric – is everything OK in the world of Neric.  It is.  Rogers is a "Fortnite freak" according to Nell.  He and Eric are "geeking out" on Rogers's person console – he had it in his car – and playing on the big screen in Ops.  Using the gym argument, Sam is unhappy that Rogers is playing video games using government property on government time.  Nell points out that since their day is over, it is technically not government time.

Kensi and Deeks offer everyone some beers.  Callen is happy they're cold – a nice shout out to "Where Everybody Knows Your Name".  They offer a toast and enjoy the cold beers.  Sam asks about the bar's name.  Deeks is trying "The Blowhole" as in "Come down to the Blowhole."  Not a lot of fans present.

What head canon can be formed from here:   Personal head canon.  Kensi took whatever was in the box out after Deeks returned the smaller box to the top of the cabinet post racoon episode that shall not be named.  She always planned to give Deeks her father's ring – now she had a way to do it and a small way to tease him about it.

As for the episode – several times, the team stop what was going on to review everything the audience saw going on.  This made no sense storywise.  Make the car chases a minute or two longer if you need to add more content to the episode.  No real reason to tell us what we just saw.  The same with the assistant who keeps offering beverages.  Why revisit that stale joke for a second time?  Lots of verbal padding here.

Episode number:    10-10: the tenth episode of season ten.  It is the 226th episode overall.

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