this is what being bored at 5 in the morning merits

3

Diedrik Lustgarden

October 13, 1977 (40) (Libra)

5′9″ 150 Lb

Heterosexual

-Skin/eye/hair color
White, sun tanned skin, black hair, hazel eyes

-Occupation/title
Head surgeon at Health portal hospital

-Residence/ origin /ethnicity
Simplicity, American, Austrian/Greek
Lives in a penthouse suite at the hospital.

-Mental and physical health
Mental: He’s kind of a narcissist. His parents were neglectful and it had some repercussions, he’s deeply insecure but masks it with arrogance.
Physical: He’s pretty obsessed with his health and appearance, and takes extremely good care of himself. No drugs, only a social drinker.

-Family and love life
As a kid he had everything he wanted, but his parents were really famous and they only had him because it was good publicity, not because they wanted kids. He was mostly raised by their maids and boarding school. His life was controlled by the expectations of medical society and this made him defiant. His mother died when he was a teen and his father married many more times. Their relationship is tense.

Romance-wise, it’s hard to form attachments. He gets bored easily and has some commitment issues. He was known to cheat on his partners and had mostly short term relationships and sexual flings before finding true love with Kyrie and a soulmate in Tristan.

-Interests, dislikes, fears and phobias
Likes: Praise, luxury, himself
Dislikes: Incompetence, having to respond to a higher authority, wearing formal attire, himself
Fears: Failure, humiliation, having a bad reputation.

-Clothing and appearance
At work he wears mostly vintage medical uniforms and distinctions so people know that he’s important, red cross arm bands and badges.

Outside of work he dresses like a preppy rich kid, polo shirts, moccasins, designer stuff and that kind of thing.

-Personality and habits
He’s a manufactured beauty in every sense, he tries very hard to seem like a beautiful person on the surface. He has had a lot of plastic surgery and has an extensive morning routine. Before high school he was chubby and plain looking, and after puberty he was lanky and plain looking, then he actually started working out and tried to be conventionally attractive.

He also pretends to be beautiful on the inside but he’s the kind of person who likes being a doctor not because he wants to help people but because of the fortune and prestige. He can be very self centered but deep down he has a pure and noble heart, he just doesn’t know it.

He can be a serious businessman one moment and wildly irresponsible the next. His life revolves around his work and he enjoys it but doesn’t like to be held accountable and would rather do things his own way. He can be clever and flirtatious but also very graceless and anxious in social situations.

He doesn’t know he is trying to be someone he isn’t. He’s not the kind of person who is naturally smart and charming and feels at home in an important leadership position but that is what life expects him to be. He wishes he was that fake version of himself. Only tristan and kyrie have seen through his facade.

-Dreams and aspirations.
Becoming top scientist
Earning the respect of his father and the Aesculapian medical society on his own merits.

Your Kind of Birthday

Rated: PG- only for a little language
By: Lyndsaybones
Notes: For @txf-fic-chicks Birthday prompt! I banged this little bugger out pretty quickly and I don’t have a beta so forgive me for any spelling/grammar issues.

Set in season 6 post Tithonus

Autumn has been late coming this year.  But when it finally arrived, it came in cold and crisp. The frosty air clung to her throat, making every breath feel like the edge of death.


Her tennis shoes beat steadily on the concrete as she plowed through the last of the fallen leaves littering the sidewalk. So brown and dry, they disintegrated under her feet.


She peeled out of her sweaty shirt and sports bra when she arrived home. Kicking out of her shoes, she hissed at the red stain on the heel of her foot. She pushed too hard, too long. Dying and then not dying has had that effect on her.


She became a runner in the last year. A RUNNER. All caps. She’d found herself concerned with her pace, her running shoes, her form. She wanted to slice a minute off of her mile. She was training for a marathon.


She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was still healing from the damage done by Peyton Ritter’s magic bullet. Her surgical scar was an angry red line with a bumpy pucker in the dead center. She wondered if that was what Mulder was glancing at in that stupid decon shower. The idea that he would appraise her body for anything more seemed a little ridiculous. Not because she did not think herself an attractive woman. She knew she was. Same as she knew the periodic table or the Pythagorean theorem. She was proportionate and while not a bombshell in the conventional sense of the word, she knew that she was on the alluring side of pretty. She simply didn’t believe that he saw her that way, or if he did, he didn’t care to act on it.


The water was just slightly hotter than she could tolerate, running down her sore muscles, stinging the blisters on her heels. She never let them heal over, just kept on running and tearing them open again. If that wasn’t a proper allegory for the current state of her life, she didn’t know what was.


She padded around her bedroom stark naked, letting the late fall sun filter in and bounce off of her milky skin. Her phone shrilled as she dug through her drawer for underwear and she paused to answer it.


“Scully,” she said, knowing it was him, no else deigned to call her at 7 in the morning. She sat down on the end of her bed.


“Hey Scully, it’s me,” he said, sounding a little out of breath himself.


“What’s up, Mulder?” she asked as she ran a finger across her scar. There was nerve damage, so she couldn’t even really feel it.


“Pack a bag. I’m on my way over,” he clipped.


She closed her eyes and fought to keep the sigh out of her voice. They’d been at odds lately. The spaces they used to fill with witty repartee are now pregnant with silent aspersions. She didn’t want to make it worse.


“Where’re we headed?” a hand kneading at the naked flesh of her left thigh.


“London.”


“London? Mulder what the hell-”


“Missouri,” he completed with no amount of humor in his voice. “London, Missouri. It’s about 2 hours outside of St. Louis. VCU is calling in a favor. They’ve got a couple murders there that they think might be connected to a string of homicides in Kansas and Colorado.”


“Oh, okay then.”


“I’m about 10 minutes away.”


“I just got out of the shower,” she said as she got up and headed back to her underwear drawer. “I’m not even dressed yet.”


“Oh, well, uh…I’ll stop and get some bagels or something then. Wouldn’t want to catch you in your birthday suit.”


She almost laughed. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”


“Huh?” he said, sounding distracted.


“Nothing…nothing. I’ll hurry up and get ready.”


London proved to be nothing like it’s namesake. Of course. It was cold and wet though. She fumbled for her ringing cell phone as she slid the latest victim back into cold storage.


“Scully, it’s me. Did you find anything?”


“Yeah, actually. I went back and reviewed the other reports and noticed something. All of these women are fairly tall.”


“Yeah, I saw that too. So?”


“Well, judging by the ligature marks and tissue damage, I’d say your strangler isn’t…at all.”


His strangler. His case. His division. His files. His life’s work. That post in Salt Lake may not have been such a bad idea after all.


“Huh, Napoleon complex maybe.”


“Napoleon was actually average height you know,” she corrected.


“You know what I mean,” he said.


“I do. Anyway, these women were all between 5’10” and 6’ tall. Looking at the initial bruising, your guy is probably 5 feet, 5’5” at the most.”


“5’10” and taller. Guess you’re safe, then,” he said with a little acid on his tongue.


Fuck you, Mulder.


“I suppose so,” she said instead.


“Okay, well I’ve got a couple more hours here. Can you get back to the hotel on your own?”


“Of course.”


London was a small town, rating a 5 on their Podunk scale. The scale was something they’d devised during their many hours in nondescript mid size sedans. Every town started at 0 and lost or gained points based on what it did and did not have. With its lone Wal Mart, lack of Chinese food and toothless gas station attendant, it merited a 4, but she gave an extra point since it had a hospital with decent morgue. Said morgue was about 10 blocks from their hotel. With her current running pace she could get there in about 3 minutes.


But she had no intention of running. The day had been long and disappointing on a number of fronts. She hadn’t even bothered to change back into her suit. She walked with it and her coat stuffed into her bag and nothing between her and the cold drizzly night but her threadbare scrubs.


She was shivering by the time she got to her room. Off with the shoes, scraping open the red wounds on her heels.


“Well, great,” she grumbled, realizing that she’d bled through her socks and didn’t have an extra pair.


She flopped belly first onto the bed, groaning softly. She wanted nothing more than to melt into the bed and sleep for a year.


She didn’t even realize she’d let herself drift off until she woke to the steady knocking on her door.


11:50 pm.


“Scully, it’s me,” he called. “Open up.”


Rumpled and worn out, she found him on the other side of her door with a pink bakery box balanced on his left palm.


“Mulder, what’re you doing?”


“I’ve got 10 minutes left to do this,” he said as he brushed past her and into the room.


“What?”


“Make that 9 minutes.”


He opened the pink box to reveal a little round layer cake with white frosting and a lone red candle in the center.


She felt a sudden rush of something…gratitude? Whatever it was, it softened her, dropping her shoulders and tipping her head to one side.


“What’s this for?” she asked, appraising the cake.


“It’s for you. Make a wish.”


She humoured him and blew out the candle, looking up at his proud little smile. She couldn’t help but smile herself. He pulled a plastic fork from his back pocket and handed it to her, still grinning. The smoke from the candle trailed upward and the smell reminded her of being a little girl again.


“I don’t understand. It’s not my birthday,” she said as she took seat in front of her little cake.


“Yeah, it kinda is though,” he said as he sat across from her.  “You were declared ‘in remission’ on November 9th.”


Her heart literally skipped a beat. Had she been standing, she would have needed to sit. She couldn’t find a word for what that meant to her. There wasn’t one. She covered her mouth and fought the tears stinging at her sinuses.


“Shit, Scully. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to…I’m sorry.”


“No, no, it’s okay. I just…I don’t know what to say, I guess.”


“I know things have been,” he paused, looking down at the cake, “off, with us lately. I wanted to do something nice for you.”


“This is nice, thank you.” She carved a little bite out of the little cake.


“I’m just sorry you had to spend your kind of birthday in a 4 town.”


“Hm,” she replied past the morsel of sickly sweet cake. “I bumped it to a 5 cause of the not terrible morgue.”


“Might have to make it a 6 for having a cake available in the middle of the night,” he said as he took a bite.


“Thank you, Mulder, really.”


“I should have…” he seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment. “I almost lost you…again.”


“I’m still here,” she answered softly.


“I couldn’t…if you…” He was staring down at the table, like he could bore a hole through it if he just looked hard enough.


She reached out and grabbed his hand.


“Hey,” she said, trying to catch his eyes. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”


He looked her in the eye and she saw him. The bitter, frustrated, distracted Mulder seemed to fall away and she saw the man who looked at her with as much wonder as he did lights in the night sky.


There you are, she thought.


He seemed to recognize her too. A quick little nod and half smile from him and the moment passed.


“I was gonna go for a run in the morning,” he said, mouth full of cake. “You wanna go?”


“Yeah, I wanna go with you.”

7

Requested

Hiii, I really hope you like it. bye xxxx.

————————————————————————–

Luke is coming home tonight and I’m probably not going to stay focused for more than five minutes. 

There is one thing about school I absolutely adore and that is music class. I have to finish a song (that hopefully will make it unto the album we are working on) this weekend and I’m already stressed out.

**

It’s Friday.

The bell rings for the last time this week and I’m on my way home. I’ve planned that tonight is the night I’m finishing the song. Holy shit, I am not ready, I thought.

I hop in my car and start it. When I can’t see my school in the rear-view mirror anymore I scream of joy. Mostly because I am free from school and secondly because of Lucas – Oh my God, I’m a selfish girlfriend.

I drive for ten minutes before I turn left and park the car in the car park in front of our house. I live in a white normal sized house with my parents and two siblings.

“Hi (Y/N)!!” (Y/Sgs/N) yells excitedly from your patio.

“Hey, (Y/Sgs/N)! How’s it going?” you ask and walk over to (her/him).

“Good, daddy told me that Luke is coming over later. I didn’t know that, why didn’t you tell me??” (Y/Sgs/N) babbles and you laugh.

“I’m sorry, bub,” you say and hug your five year old (sister/brother). “-.., by the way, I have to go and do my homework before Lucas is here,”

“Can I help you?” (she/he) asks and you raise your eyebrows unsure.

“Please,” (Y/Sgs/N) pleads

You inhale and say:

“Sure, but I expect hard work here, okay?” you warn and (she/he) nods.

And with that you walk inside the house and then in to my room. You walk over to your guitar and grab it.

“(Y/Sgs/N), can you give me the guitar pick and my capo, please?” You say and points at your desk.

“Okay!”

(Y/Sgs/N) runs over to your desk and takes the guitar pick and the capo in (her/his) hands.

“Here, what are we going to do now?” (she/he) asks and smiles.

“You know I’m supposed to write a song,” you tell (her/him)

“Is that your homework? – really?” (she/he) asks.

You nod.

“So, I think we should write a love song because you and Luke are in love,” (she/he) suggests laughing.

You crack a smile when you hear his name.

“I’d love that, but we have to write about something we miss,” you say and bite your lower lip.

“But.., you can write about how much you miss Luke when he’s away,” (she/he) points out.

That got you thinking. (Y/Sgs/N) is right, you had missed Luke soooo much and now – in this moment – he’s on his way home.

“Hmm..,” you hum.

“(Y/N) and (Y/Sgs/N)!? – Tea!!!!” You hear your other (Sister/brother) yell and you sigh.

“Tell mum I have homework and have to finish it before Luke is here,” I say and (Y/Sgs/N) nods. “Thanks,”

Twenty minutes passes by without any results. You’ve written down stuff, but then erased it. Your phone starts to ring and you see that it’s Luke calling your facetime. You click the accept button and your boyfriend appears on the small screen.

“Heeeeeeeey, babe!” Luke says with a raspy voice.

“Hi,” you reply and exhale.

“Woah, are you mad?” he asks and grins.

“Noooo, I’m not. I’m just so freaking tired of doing homework,” I explain and he laughs.

“Sucks for you, haha,” he teases.

He knows you hate being teased.

 “-.., jet lag got me like a crying baby,”

“Well, sucks for you,” you say and hang up.

He’s an annoying idiot at the moment, that’s what he is. Luke’s face appears on the screen, but you try to ignore it. You continue with you work, but that little butthole is not giving up. You answer.

“STOP CALLING MEEEEEE!!!” You yell.

“Why are you mad? Are you on your period?” he asks.

You stare at him as if he was the one bitch at your school that you absolutely hate.

“I hate you,”

“No, you don’t. I’m coming over soooooon,” he says, pouting.

“I don’t want you here,” you say jokingly.

“Well, then I won’t come over,” he says hurt. “Good bye-“

“Noo,” you exclaim and give him the puppy eyes look.

“I’ll see you later, baby,” he says before he hangs up.

You away your phone, smiling.

-30 minutes later-

You have come up with the first verse, but nothing more (and it was Luke’s merit).

“What time is it where you are? I miss you more than anything. Back at home you feel so far. Waitin’ for the phone to ring. It’s gettin’ lonely livin’ upside down. I don’t even wanna be in this town. Tryin’ to figure out the time zones makin me crazy” you sing and try different versions of the verse.

“Knock knock,” I hear a voice say and I turn around.

“Hi,” I say, smiling widely.

“It sounds amazing,” he says and you blush.

You get up from your spot on the floor. Luke walks over to you pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you,” you say and kiss his soft lips.

“I’ve missed you, weirdo,” he says and winks.

“Missed you too,” you reply, smiling.

“How much is left [of the song]?” he asks and kisses your nose.

“I’ve only written the first verse and I need to finish it tonight so I can be with you,” you say.

“Okay, let’s do this!” Luke exclaims and takes your hand in his.

“Nooo, I have to do it myself,”

He rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue.

You sit down again and try to write something, but again; nothing. You look over to Luke. He’s making faces and acts like a five year old. You shake your head and look down at your papers again.

Hm.., Tryin’ to figure out the time zones makin me crazy and then what? – Maybe something with time or.., oh my gosh, I don’t know. You say..? -  you thought

”You have no idea how tired I am. I’m looking forward to go to sleep,” Luke says sleepily.

You nod. “I’ll tell you when it’s morning,”

Luke grins.

There we have it morning. You say good morning. And next line is, When it’s midnight. I’m doing well.

“I’m gonna go and ask your mum for something to eat. I’m starving,”

You nod again and Luke leaves your room for a moment. He returns with a bowl full of popcorn.

“I thought you said you were starving?” You say in an asking tone.

“I lied, I actually just wanted food because I’m bored,” he says.

“Of course,” you murmur.

“Can I help you with anything?” he then asks and you shake your head. “Please, with anything?”

“No, thanks,”

“Why..?” Luke asks and looks sad.

“Because,” you say.

“I’m bored and I want to cuddle,”

“I don’t have the time, I’m sorry,” you say and try to not sound to cold.

He snorts unhappy with your answer.

“I’m bored, I’m bored, I’m bored, I’m bored. Can I help? Can I help? Can I help? Can I help?”

“No, you fucking can’t!” you shout and he looks up from his bowl of popcorn.

“Language, young lady,” he grins.

“Look who’s talking!” you say and giggle.

“Look who’s talking,” he mimics with his best (Y/N) voice.

You walk over to the bed and climb on top of him.

“Shut up, I do not sound like that,”

“You do sound like that,” he teases and pouts.

“No kisses for you,” you scoff.

You stare at each other for a second; silence.

Luke intertwines your hands.

“Please.., let me help you,” he begs this time. You sigh.

You know he won’t give up.

“On one condition?” you say.

“Yeah, anything, love,”

“You are only allowed to help me with the music and the melody,”

He nods.

“I promise, now can I have a kiss?” he asks and you giggle.

You lean forward and kiss him and he cups your face. All the passion he put in this kiss made you realise how much you had missed him.

 

"The Anderson Rose" - Kurt/Blaine (5/24)

(See the masterpost for the full summary/notes/overall warnings.)

Blaine Anderson is heir to the ruling seat of Westerville and, from birth, has been destined for an arranged marriage—he must father an heir in order to ensure the line of succession. When it becomes clear to his parents that his affections lie with his own sex, they make it their mission to find him a suitable—and potentially happy—match with a carrier who can return his interest.

Kurt Hummel is the son of Burt Hummel, Westerville’s most well-known engineer. Though he has grown up far from the Andersons’ manor in a small village to the north, his family has worked with the Andersons for generations, providing them with transportation vehicles, engines, machines, research, and repair work of all kinds. After the tragedy of losing his wife, Burt takes it upon himself to explain to Kurt that, since his birth, he has been sought after by the Andersons as a potential future husband for their son, because he is a carrier.

Marley is a petite person with a sweet voice.

The first time that Kurt sees her, she’s got her skirts hiked up around her thighs and she’s crouched knee and elbow deep in a deconstructed engine block, covered in grease with six mechanics wide-eyed and quaking in front of her as she lectures them on the different merits of two kinds of machinery-grade lubricant.

Kurt is impressed, and they haven’t even said hello.

When she’s done speaking, she climbs out of the engine, snaps her gloves off, and notices him standing near the door to the shed’s office space.

He feels overdressed in the work robe that he’d put on that morning—he’s used to pants, and the light weave wrapping feels strange against his skin, but it’s breathable and looks good, if he does say so himself.

“Well,” she says, sticking out a hand at him. “I was wondering when you’d find your way here.”

He shakes her hand. “I should have come sooner. I apologize.”

She winks. “Between Luce and Blaine, I’m surprised that you remembered the sheds at all.”

“I practically grew up in transport sheds,” Kurt says, smiling. “They’re difficult to forget.”

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