pilot-nobody

[pilot-nobody]

What a beauty! Photo from my collection, no documented date/info.

[pilot-nobody]

Invictus Con is happening over on Discord and I’m BOOTHING ONLINE!!! isn’t that so cool? Anyway that means there’s a discount code INVICTUS25 for 15%off if yall wanted to use it.

[pilot-nobody]

heyyyy i love your works SO much! could you maybe do the NSFW alphabet for Dino Ortolani or Peter Schibetta? whoever you prefer!

Yayyyyyy! Always wanted to write more for Dino! For one episode he really made an impact on the fandom. He’s sort of rough around the edges but you know he’d be a time and a half ride 😂 Thank you for the request!❤️

NSFW Alphabet with Dino Ortolani

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Not necessarily mean after sex but he’d be very sarcastic to not let you know how much you affected him. “You’re still here? Fine, stay, go, your choice?” *lights cigarette and blows the smoke at you*

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his lips. Plush Cupidy lips. Ask him and he’ll say prick or something but in reality, he loves that he’s able to kiss people into oblivion. His favorite body part on his partner sounds weird. It ankles. He likes to grab them and pull your body and fold you in half so your ankles are by his ears, him kissing your calves.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh he’ll fire away anywhere and everywhere. You have to aim his dong wherever you want it ‘cause it’ll end up wherever his prick is aimed at the moment. No skin off his nose. “Clean that up ‘fore you kiss me.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has used a strap to double penetrate someone before. It doesn’t sound like something he’s ashamed of, but owning a strap isn’t exactly something he considers macho. He’d double penetrate his partner with someone else but he doesn’t want their dicks to touch. It’s a weird feeling for him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dino’s been fucking. Knows bodies and what to do with them. He’s a little selfish in bed, but he can usually satisfy while getting what he wants. I’m saying Dino started in high school.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Workout, Dirty Dancing, Iris. Lots of non-missionary positions where he can drill into you. I mean just absolutely jackhammering your hole. He’s intense lol

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s allowed to be sarcastically funny but you’re not. He’ll take it very personally if you’re not completely falling apart in his grasp. Honestly it might do him some good but he likes being the asshole, not you. “Enjoying the *grunt* view?”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Honestly think he’s fairly hairy down there. Just really bushy. He’d trim but never shave completely. Considers it manly to be hairy down there. (Though if I’m honest don’t think he thinks women have to shave either tho. Like I think a bush or some fuzzy legs wouldn’t turn him off. Just the vibe I get.)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’d present he’s less romantic than he is. Like he’s gonna be pretty sarcastic and blunt for the most part, but he’ll be kind in the way he’s able to be kind. “Yo, you’re supposed to piss after sex. Take a fucking piss, I ain’t gonna stop fucking you if you get a UTI.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Calls it “firing the torpedo”. Will announce every time he has a discharge to anyone around. Prefers socks or fleshlights where he can really get pressure all the way around. Likes pressure around the base.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Crurophilia (attraction to legs), discipline (him disciplining his partner- “gonna make Daddy punish you?”), and face sitting. Likes the weight of his partner on his shoulders.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bathrooms, kitchens, and his office are his favorite places. If you suggest the bed he calls it “traditional” but will oblige anytime you want to ride his cock. He’s not picky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Expose your legs to him or pretend to be “naughty” and need a “punishment”. Sometimes you expressly piss him off just to for the consequences that come later. Woo, consequences!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Frotting (rubbing two penises together). Also doesn’t like heat or fire play. It’s less of a turnoff and more of a why bother?. Also doesn’t like anyone touching the inside of his ass during. You can grab it but no fingering.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ok so I think he likes receiving more than he likes giving but I think when he gives he puts his whole pussy into it. Like just absolute fucking UNIT. Absolutely unravels you every single time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s fast and rough all the way. Moves like a fucking jackrabbit on crack. He’s got insane stamina and will ONLY have sex if you can both be drenched in sweat after.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Oh fuck yeah he’ll take a quickie any time you’re offering. Once got a quickie before his trial. Once before receiving communion. He’s a goddamn animal lol.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s basically running the experimentation in your relationship. He can take any idea of yours and make it a massive sexual game. He took you to Italy and fucked you as you dangled off a cliff side.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

God. Five rounds. Think that’s the most of anyone I’ve done so far but homie is LOCKED in. He can cum one right after the other if he needs to. Can ALWAYS get hard immediately after. He might be shooting blanks towards the last rounds though.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Owns a strap. Also owns a chastity belt for his partner when they’re not “behaving”. Doesn’t really own items to hit with. His hands, a belt, or a wooden spoon do the trick there.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease but isn’t good at being teased. He’ll make you crawl around and beg for release while he finishes time and time again all over you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moaner, groaner, grunter, screamer. All of the fucking above. He will lose his goddamn shit if the sex is good enough. Very much a talker in bed. “Oh fuck yeah baby y’like that doncha?!”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes sloppy kissing and bjs. The more saliva the better. Basically tongues down your throat whenever he can, and face fucks you when you suck him off. Anything messy. He doesn’t care b about the mess after.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sexy muthafuckaaa… very muscular body, kind of stocky and thick. Broad shoulders with hair on his chest, legs, arms, and balls. Very kissable lips and a nice tight ass.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jesus fucking Christ he’s a fucking nympho. He’s always at least a little in the mood. You never have to work hard to convince him to fuck you raw.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Goes to sleep fairly quick and snores very loud, but he suction cups himself to your body after the act, doesn’t even let you go and take a shower before he presses your hot and sweaty bodies together, kissing your neck and hands, letting his full weight fall against you.

[pilot-nobody]

NSFW Alphabet with Peter Schibetta

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

A little forgetful but not neglectful. Gets a little in his head after the post nut clarity, sort of staring off into nothingness, but he won’t entirely ignore you. If you go to live away, he’ll just put a hand on you and guide you back, not saying anything but the silence speaking for itself.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Lips on himself. He thinks, and is correct based off his partners’ experiences, he’s a great kisser. Just really superb. 😘🤌 Can make even the stoniest of people blushy in his kisses.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Will not come in hair, less out of decency and more out of ‘ew ew you’ll never be clean to me again’.😂 Prefers cumming in places he doesn’t have to clean afterwards. If you can swallow, great, if you can’t, he’ll find someplace else, he ain’t picky.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Oh definitely asked his wife to peg him at least once. Like I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. Deadpool international women’s day type shit.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Eh. He’s not a super sexual beast or anything but he has human needs like anyone else, and has always been handsome enough to get it where he can.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Slope, Skewer, Snack. Loves the half body contact half balancing act of them all. It makes him feel like he’s fucking on the edge of the world, somewhere lost in time and space. He’s very much a sucker for these balancing acts.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

NOPE. Not funny during, or at least, he doesn’t try to be. If you seem distracted during sex, he’ll say something to the effect of; “no that’s fine, you pick out wallpaper and I’ll fucking finish up here”. He’s more funny when he’s trying to be a dick.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Exceptionally well groomed. Always cut and washed and trimmed and combed and tidy. You could eat off his balls at any given moment and they’d be almost sterile lol.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Pre-abuse Peter wouldn’t care much for intimacy, post-abuse Peter would care very much. He’d lean into you, kissing down your chest and collarbones, sucking gently on your nipples until they’re erect, mumbling something about “Tu sì accussì cazzu bedda ca mi rumpi lu cori…” (You’re so fucking beautiful it breaks my heart…) He’s also romantic without trying.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jacks off into socks he never wants to wear again. Just hates cleaning up his own spunk. Works the tip extra hard when he jacks it, thinking about those 60’s Italian actors and actresses he loves so much. Marcelo Mastroianni, Sofia Loren…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Accidental stimulation arouses him, as well as actirasty (fucking in the warm sunlight)/aquaphilia (fucking in the water) and degradation (receiving). The last one thought takes him a while to tell people. He likes it when he’s called dirty or shameful during sex. As long as it stops when it’s over.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Prefers a bed, but has also used a kitchen cabinet, a washer, and a church pew if you can believe it. Fucks in public rarely but ya gotta do what you gotta do.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Degradation really gets him going. Throw a “what the fuck is wrong with you?” His way and he’s already semi hard. Necking also does it for him, as well as not-so-accidental stimulation, ie, brushing up against him in public or handing in front of him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

NO CONSENSUAL NON-CON. Toss up a ‘no’ in his general direction and his hands are off you. He also isn’t a fan of bodily fluids in the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Actually prefers giving. Cunnilingus/fellatio gets him hard. Something about playing his partner like some obscene marionette drives him to distraction.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Tries to be fast and rough but really only has the natural desire for slow and sensual. He’ll try to go fast if you want it but it’ll be a struggle for him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Eh, he’ll take a quickie over no sex any day of the week, but he prefers to take his time when he has it. He also thinks quickies are mostly uncomfortable fucks in storage closets so they don’t naturally appeal to him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ehhhhhhhhhhh will take a risk if you want to but won’t really offer it up himself. The most he likes experimenting with is fucking in high places. Has kind of a fear of heights and deep water so he likes to fuck in those for the rush. Anything else and you’ll have to initiate.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Y’know, I’m gonna say he’s surprisingly able to keep his stamina. Two long rounds or four short ones. Has the element of surprise when it comes to how long he can actually go.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Owns a dildo and a fleshlight but is so goddamn embarrassed of both that he never tells anyone. His mom found them in his nightstand one time and he wasn’t able to look at her for a week. Luckily she never told his dad.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Is better at being teased than he is at teasing. Can hold his load for a while if that the will of his partner, but he likes to be stimulated throughout the day. It’s like a challenge. Seeing how long he can hold it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Fairly quiet, but will make soft grunts and moans during, mostly held in his throat and vibrating around in his chest. You know when he makes a sound, he feels it wholly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves fucking in the ocean. Did that on the Amalfi coast in Italy. He has a small fear of deep water so the sex gets his heart racing. He’s also very fond of fucking in the ocean in the moonlight. Being naked under the stars is a big turn on.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Um… yum? Like big yum. Kind of a pudgy tummy with thin thighs and a taught ass. Solid chest and a fairly hairy dude. Coarse, dark brown, curly hair all over his body.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Lower than a typical man’s but still existent, if that makes sense. Has urges just like anyone else, but part of the fun for him is denying release so he’ll do that to himself more often than not.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Stays up very late after sex. It’s partially the post-nut clarity of it all, partially he likes to watch his partner go to sleep first, either your head on him or his head on you, feeling the rise and falls of your breathing and feeling safe in your arms.

[pilot-nobody]

Chico Guerra & Miguel Alvarez in…

Cleanup on Aisle 6

“No, Chico.” Miguel said with an ache in his forehead. Chico pouted but put down the five pound bag of Warhead candies.

“And might I ask why not?” Chico used his foot to lean on the card handles and pop a wheelie in the middle of the aisle. He then put one foot up on the bar and used the other to kick at the ground and propel himself forward. The card veered left as something was stuck in its wheel. Chico almost crashed into the wall of sour candies before Miguel’s sure arm stopped him.

“Because when you eat forty of those and your tongue is fuckin’ raw and you can’t eat anything else for the next day and a half, I’m the one who’s gonna be hearing about it.” He checked his list for another whatever the next aisle would be.

“You got to get your salted caramel chocolates.” Chico still used the cart as a scooter, going faster and faster every time.

“My candy doesn’t disfigure my mouth.” He pointed out, making a left hand turn signal with his arm.

“That’s because you’re no fun.” Chico popped another wheelie and sent the card smacking down on the ground. Miguel sent him an annoyed glare, putting his hand on the cart to thwart any future attempts at off roading. Chico rolled his eyes. Sometimes Miguel was a real stick in the mud.

“Why couldn’t we have just gotten Walmart delivery?” Chico asked like a child. Miguel huffed.

“Because you can do things in the store that you can’t do on the app.”

“I’m pretty sure you can be killjoy using the app too.”

“We need more adobo seasoning.” Miguel continued, purposefully ignoring Chico’s whining. “And tortillas, cornstarch, limes, and-“

“A partridge in a pear tree.” Chico finished, smirking to himself at his own wit, not really caring if Miguel found it funny or not. Good for him because Miguel didn’t.

“Why do I bring you anywhere?” Miguel postulated at the sky.

“Because I’m so ultra super sexy and you wanna show off that you have the world’s most attractive boyfriend.” He kicked his foot and propelled forward on the cart until he hit the back of Miguel’s feet. Miguel sucked his teeth.

“Keep telling yourself that, pendejo.” He grabbed some vegetable oil off the shelf when they rounded the corner, checking the back. He put it back and grabbed the olive oil. Chico had high-ish cholesterol so he was comparing oils. He decided on the olive oil. Chico didn’t even clock what Miguel was doing. He was checking out some hot chick down the aisle with fishnets and a short skirt.

“Pssst, Miguel, check her.” He gestured over to her non-subtly. She turned her head and saw them, giving a little half wave. Chico winked and turned back to Miguel, who was looking more confused than anything.

“You realize you’re standing next to your current boyfriend, right?”

“Standing next to my current bi-boyfriend.” He corrected, before adding; “unless you went full fag on me.”

“Chico, I don’t have the time or the patience to do a case study on your fucked up brain. We’re dating, dipshit. We already went full fag.” He grabbed the cart from Chico to stop him popping another wheelie.

“You can be gay without going full fag.” Chico defended.

“What the fuck does ‘full fag’ even mean in this context?” Miguel pushed the cart, completely unaware that people were staring at them for their odd as fuck conversation.

“Y’know. Homo shit.”

“Homo shit? Chico, we have sex. That’s definitionally homo shit.”

“Nah ‘cause we do it all masculine.” Chico took a bag of jalapeño cheese sauce off the shelf and put it in the cart, only to have Miguel wordlessly take it out and put it back on the shelf. Now it was Chico’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yes, Mother Dear.”

“Stop it. You know I hate it when you call me that.” Miguel took flour tortillas off the next shelf and threw them in the cart.

“Get the-“

“I’m getting the corn ones too, I fucking know you like those, you don’t have to tell me every goddamn time.” Miguel was all pissy, slamming the tortillas in the cart and starting to walk away with it, ignoring Chico behind him. Chico was staring at him for a second, before walking to catch up. He couldn’t lie, it was kinda cute that Miguel knew his preferences without him having to say it. He had a plan. He walked up behind Miguel, putting a hand on his lower abdomen.

“Oje, Miguelito, you’re so fucking beautiful when you’re angry.” He kissed the back of Miguel’s ear when he stopped. Miguel sighed but tried not to let Chico know how much that worked on him every single time.

“Not gonna work, Chico.” Miguel said, lying through his teeth, as if as already started crumbling his stony facade.

“No, I’m serious. Besides that I should make you storm off more often. You’re awfully fucking sexy as you walk away.” He ran a hand under the hem of Miguel’s shirt. Miguel pushed his hand away and nodded at a mother taking her children out of the aisle and looking at them disgustedly.

“Chico, please, stop, I’ll fuck you blue when we get home but you gotta stop doing this in public spaces.” He hissed at Chico, who chuckled and ran his teeth over the back of Miguel’s neck and nipping a little. Miguel had to hold in a moan as he started to pop a semi.

“Or… we could go to the front and christen the Walmart bathroom stalls.” He suggested, head resting on Miguel’s shoulder. “We can even go full fag if you want.”

Miguel found himself giggling under his breath. Alright so Chico was funny sometimes.

“It’s busy in here, baby.” He gestured vaguely to the crowds of people all around them. Chico shrugged.

“So?” Chico literally could not give less of a shit if they got banned from their supermarket that day. Miguel laughed again and turned around, facing Chico and pressing his boner into his boyfriend’s leg, arms around his waist.

“So… maybe you use something to gag me with? So I don’t make too much noise?” He raised a brow at Chico, who growled and pressed his hands to the sides of Miguel’s face to kiss him, deeply. Made Miguel sigh into him.

“So is that a yes?” Chico husked, nipping a little at Miguel’s lower lip.

“What was the question?” Miguel asked, a little dazed, and Chico laughed and pulled Miguel by the arm to the front of the store, where they did, in fact, bone mercilessly in the Walmart bathroom, their mouths locked on the other to avoid from letting any patrons know what they were getting up to. As they exited, they held hands, dabbing sweat off their foreheads with those thin paper towels. Chico looked over at Miguel, who he’d done a number on, and Miguel gazed back and winked.

“And you wanted to get Walmart delivery.”

[pilot-nobody]

Chums! Postcard from my collection, no documented date/info.

[pilot-nobody]

Very intrigued

[pilot-nobody]

canada lynx voted the animal of all time. Boy why are you so paws

[pilot-nobody]

hello again!, i love what you did with my theatrical hot take, now i really am gonna request something (lets push some creative boundries for the giggles and funsies why not)

Id love the idea that the reader (im female and from the south) is the new fileholder/book keeper for the EM city ward, and who also happens to be an actual witch (think stevie nicks, practical magic) and she keeps a low profile until chucky and miguel catch her doing something witchy (levetating, casting fireballs, etc), and after figuring out how much of an upper hand it would be to have, it becomes a rediculous competition between the latinos and the italians to "schmooze the witch" and have her work for their gangs (probably would be set in the first/second seasons)

as i said, its weird, its out there, but its funny and its fanfiction, we can do whatever we want in this rhealm, thanks if you can make this hilarious oddness come to life

Oh I absolutely love this one! I’m pagan irl and am into Stregheria, or Italian-American magick. It’s an interesting history and one I’d love to get into on here. I’m gonna set it in season 2 but most of the season 1 characters are still alive. That way we get the characters we love mixed in. It’s gonna be very much out there and a little zanier than my regular fics but this could be funnnnnn…

Witch!Reader x Oz Guys

Wonderful Witch of Oz (1/?)

You’d just started as the librarian’s assistant at the Oswald State Correctional Facility.

It felt like a lifetime and two minutes all rolled into one.

The Oz guys seemed to like your presence enough, even if they were lewd about showing how.

One that jumps out at you was Poet, making rhymes about how he’d ‘like to see you moan and grunt and let a brotha paint the inside of your…’ you get the picture.

That wangler kid wasn’t any better, seeming to talk a bigger game than he could offer.

You shook your head. Kid was a Virgo Venus if you’d ever met one.

You didn’t mention that in your interview. That you could basically read people’s star charts just by their actions. You had an idea of what Rising Capricorn Tim McManus would think about that.

You also didn’t mention that you had more spices in your cabinet than actual food, and made yourself elixirs depending on what you needed for the day. Didn’t mention the black mallow tea that started your day.

You didn’t mention that you collect rocks and crystals and shells like a magpie hoarding some imagined wealth. Didn’t mention the aegirine pendant on your neck was to clear uncertainty from your path, nor that the abalone shell in your pocket was for tranquility.

You didn’t mention the tarot cards in your jacket that you checked before you entered that was immediately flipped to the Hierophant. Didn’t mention the black and white feather you found on the way in signifying change. Didn’t mention the angel number you’d seen before you entered, 444, the protector.

Okay so there was a lot you didn’t mention in your interview.

What you did say was the truth; you were happy to be there, and to be of any help you could be.

You were hired as the librarian, which you were happy enough to get, the vellichor alone being enough to satiate you.

You had some immediate regulars, like a quiet and pensive Bob Rebadow, or a blunt Augustus Hill.

You’re nice enough to any of them, not acknowledging any of the trinkets in your pockets meant to guide you through these strange halls of Oz.

Wizard of Oz, it made you laugh a little.

The most you had alluded to it came with Adebisi, who had come strutting through the door like he owned the place, smiling and making suggestive gestures at you. Saying something in Yoruba;

“Mo dupe lowo Egungun-Oya fun o loni, bẹẹni?” (I better thank Egungun-Oya for you today, yeah?)

Egungun-Oya is a Yoruba Goddess of Fate

You reply back, without thinking;

“O yoo ṣe daradara lati dupẹ lọwọ rẹ lojoojumọ.” (You would do well to thank her every day.)

His eyes go big and he stares at you like he’s seen some sort of ghost, walking away from you with wary expressions.

It made you go red. You weren’t supposed to understand Yoruba or the Orishas. You kept your head down for the rest of the morning.

You’d seen Peter Schibetta and Chucky Pancamo talking to the side in rapid Sicilian.

“Chi diavulu è stu novu bibbliotecariu?” (Who the hell is this new librarian?)

“Sugnu Y/N. Piaciri di canuscìriti.” (I’m Y/N, pleasure to meet you.)

Again, you weren’t meant to understand, but the Italians reacted a little better.

“Eyyy, you’re a paisan?”

“Not exactly, no.” You give them a couple of book recommendations, handing Peter a copy of Omertà by Mario Puzo, leaving them both confused.

You meet Cyril, a sweet soul with a glowing aura. He compliments your ‘rock necklace’ and you smile and thank him, pulling a piece of citrine out of your pocket and handing it to him.

“Oh… thank you.” He turns the stone over and over in his hand, smiling at it like a little secret you shared.

“It’s to bring light and joy into your life, Cyril. Remember to thank Demeter when you carry it.”

“Ok…” he looks up at the sky. “Thank you Demeter.”

It makes you giggle.

Miguel Alvarez and Chico Guerra also came in, to “Mira qué bombón” (check out the hottie)

You smirk and decide to freak them out as you had everyone else;

“Gracias cariños…” (thanks sweethearts…)

Miguel immediately got suspicious whereas Chico makes some goofy grin and comes up to you, gesturing at his crotch. The CO shuts it down before it can get too interesting.

When the end of the day came, you started to put things back where they belonged. The CO usually standing guard had long left, most of the prisoners being locked in their cells at this point. You relax a little, taking off your jacket and sifting through the pockets, reaching for your hag stone. You don’t expect to see much from the library, maybe a few auras or spooks, but as you look through, you see a man standing before you. A tall black man. You look without the stone and see nothing. You put it back up to your eye and see the man still.

“Hello. Who might you be?” You ask, eye still to the stone.

“You can see me?” The man asked, touching his body like he had not been of this world in some time.

“With my hag stone, sure. It shows me the spirit world. You used to live here, right?”

“My name’s Jefferson Keane. I was executed here last year.”

“Oh goodness, Jefferson Keane, it is you. I saw you on the news. I’m sorry they put you to death.” You comfort, still peering through the hole in your hag stone. “I don’t know if this is too personal, but do you know what kind of a spirit you are?”

“I’m a personification of Azrael.”

“An Angel of Death, huh? Fascinating. You don’t mind my asking some questions, do you? I’ve only ever happened upon Shinigami and Anubis personifications before. You were Muslim, yes?” You try not to come off too excited given the circumstances of his being there but you couldn’t help the wonder in your eyes.

“When I was reborn, yes. In the before life, no.” He spoke like some old poetry book you’d read in school. “Now, I do have some questions for you.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“Can you take a message to Kareem Said for me?”

“I could but I’m afraid they’d come off as insane ramblings. What kind of message did you have in mind?” You ask, being very patient. You’d learned not to rush the Angels of Death. They could get a little moody.

“Allah says to remember Ihsan, and when the ways torrential, use it for cover.”

“Ihsan… that means ‘to do good’ right? ‘Live by excellence’? I remember because its secondary meaning is ‘to create beauty’. I think that’s lovely; that doing good and creating beauty are in the same word.” You put your hand out to take his, and he shakes it, tenderly.

“I’ll be seeing you again?” You ask the air around you, and he smiles.

“I’ll be here.”

“Thank you for all you do. Guiding souls. It can’t be easy, but we appreciate you.”

“Thank you. Truly.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Keane!” You take the stone down, and turn back into your work, knowing the Angel of Death would be watching over you as you did so.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a presence in the doorway, watching you. It was Peter, watching with a quiet gasp at the realization of what you were doing.

His mother in law had been La Strega; the witch of the neighborhood. He knew about those that cavorted with the spirits beyond.

You could just he crazy, he repeated to himself. But then how had you known to talk to Jefferson Keane? It puzzled him, and his father had taught him better than to show all his cards before he knew what to do with the hand. He slunk away on the back wall, trying not to alert you that he was there.

You showed up the next day, ready for the hours to come. You still had to figure out how to give Kareem Said the message without seeming like a crazy person. Fuck, if Glynn knew half of the things you did or believed then you’d be locked up right alongside these men for insanity.

Cyril came bounding up to you the next day. Ryan wasn’t far behind, eying you with a little suspicion.

“Thank you for the pretty rock.”

“Of course, Cyril.

“Yeah, thanks for giving that to my brother. I got a question though.”

“Okay?”

“Why the fuck did you give that to my brother?”

“It’s a talisman-“

“A what?”

You take a deep breath.

“A good luck charm. You’re Irish, you get it.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He threw his hands up and shook his head. “But Cyril doesn’t get too many presents in here, y’know so I just gotta be cautious.”

“Understandable. Would you like me to help Cyril find a book?”

He tells you sure and you go off with Cyril, catching two pairs of eyes as you went. One was Peter Schibetta’s, and you honestly couldn’t have known what he knew about you. The second was Miguel Alvarez, talking judiciously to Chico in the corner, both with books open pretending to read.

“Look, something’s up with this librarian.”

“Sure it’s not ‘something’s up with Miguel about the librarian’,” Chico snorted, before clarifying; “like a boner, man.”

Miguel rubbed his temples.

“Look, just keep an eye on ‘em today, would ya?”

Chico nodded, and Miguel went back to eying you suspiciously. He watched as you got something out of the inner pocket of your jacket. Something fell out. It was a card. At first he thought it was a playing card but only upon further inspection did he see that the card had a tower on it with flames coming off. A single, ominous name headlined it; “The Tower”. It fell so it was reversed to you, and you pick it up quickly and put it back with its family.

A sudden thud of a chair leg against the floor alerted you to Miguel’s wandering eyes. You smile innocently enough, but he doesn’t buy it for a second. You go over to him.

“Jesus, Miguel, you’re looking at me like I’m La ciguapa or something.”

(Dominican folk story about a woman with backwards feet who lure men into the woods.)

“That’s another thing, how the fuck do you know la ciguapa?”

You’re taken a little off guard.

“I like reading, that’s all.”

“And that’s how you learned Spanish?”

“Yea-“

“And Italian and whatever the fuck Adebisi speaks.”

“…Yoruba.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Miguel raised his voice a little and lowered it when it looked like a CO was coming over. “It’s fuckin’ weird.”

“Sorry,” you answer a little dejectedly, shifting from foot to foot. “I don’t mean to come off some type of way. I just… I do a lot of cultural reading. Cheaper than a vacation, I guess.”

Miguel suddenly feels like a dick for snapping at you and settles down, his hackles still somewhat raised.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my intelligence. What’re the odds you just happen to know fuckin’ Yoruba of all things? That you carry around crystals and those weird cards in your pocket-“

“You saw that? Which way was it facing towards you?” You ask quickly, realizing your deck may not have been trying to tell you something, but rather, tell him something.

“What do you mean, it was right side up to me-“

You pull Miguel by his arm and guide him more off to the side.

“You’re sure of that? Did anyone else see the card that you know of or just you?”

“I think I was the only one looking, what the fuck-“

“Miguel, please, I’ll explain everything to you later today. Not here but someplace more secluded. In the meantime,” you reached into your other deep pocket and pulled out a small jar, about as big as two thimbles. It had a small black feather, a small piece of obsidian and amethyst, black salt, and cinnamon in it. You hand it to him. “Please keep this on you. It should do the trick.”

“You can’t be-“

“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you keep this on you until I can explain.” You look over your shoulder to see if anyone is staring at you. So far, it’s still just Peter Schibetta, eyeing the transaction carefully.

“You serious?”

“As the plague, Miguel. I’ll explain everything to you when we can get a little privacy, but in the meantime just keep this jar on you.”

He assures you that he will and walks away with an uneasy stomach, wondering what on earth you were talking about.

You turn your back to him and go back to your books when you run straight into Peter Schibetta, his cold brown eyes raking you over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, Peter-“

Your heart freezes in your chest when you see his hand. With both the pinky and the index finger straightened, he made a fist with the other three, pointing his fingers at the ground. That’s the Italian Mano cornuto, or horned hand, to protect against the malocchio, or the evil eye.

“Peter… what…?”

“Just a little protection.” He’d finally figured out what to do with his cards.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Tu sì na strega, veru?” (You’re a witch, aren’t you?)

“…why don’t we talk in private today after hours. You can request to see me and I’ll get Glynn to approve it.”

“Oh, he’ll approve it, I’ve got him by the balls.” He leaned into you, making sure not to raise his voice. “You were talking to Keane last night, right? The guy they executed?”

You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him any more ammunition than he already had. He nodded, having gotten what he needed anyway.

“Make the time to see each other later. I’m not gonna rat on you. I just wanna talk. Maybe reach an understanding between us. Capisce?”

“Capisciu.” (I understand.)

Holly hell were things spiraling out of control quickly.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and begin to walk towards it, the flip flopping of your shoes matching the speeding race of your heart. You see a familiar face, but only distantly, as you know you’ve seen him on TV.

“Minister Said!” You exclaim, and he nods at you. You give him a small, panicked smile. “Remind me, I have something to tell you later.”

“Why not right now?” He smiles at you and waits for you to speak. Fuck. You hadn’t quite figured out how to say it yet.

“I was going through the Qur’an and saw a word highlighted in our library’s copy. I was meaning to ask you what it meant, in terms of spiritual meaning, of course.”

He gestured broadly to say, go ahead.

“Ihsan?”

His brows furrow and his face pales. You repeat yourself.

“It meant to do good, but a secondary meaning is to create beauty. Funny. I hadn’t thought about that in some time now.”

“I wonder what the implications of doing good and creating beauty being equated could mean?” You were trying to lead him down the path Jefferson Keane had asked of you. He paused, a slight quiver to his lip, and a profound silence filling the space between you.

“Perhaps you give me a day to reflect on that.”

“Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

You bob your head at him and turn to go to the bathroom.

Ah well. 1/3 ain’t bad.

[pilot-nobody]

[pilot-nobody]

lol making Oz Keychains(VERY LIMITED QUANTITY), but I have a quick question. I think it’d be funny if I drew the characters as catboys, but I also know that is a crazy thing to do. Here are sketches of Beecher, Keller and Alvarez both as cat/not cat. Please vote.

[pilot-nobody]

Chico Guerra & Miguel Alvarez in…

Oh Shit, It’s Mine, Isn’t It?

Holly Beecher needed volunteer hours, so she decided to work at the theatre where Fiona starred in many, many shows. This one was Footloose, appropriate enough for a kid, so Beecher and Keller drove her there every day after school, and she’d spend a few hours organizing props and helping with blocking, before hanging out with Fiona a bit. Today was different. Fiona’s apartment flooded so she needed to rush out of rehearsal before it was over and deal with all that. Holly instantly felt out of place without her role model there. Miguel Alvarez, the stage manager, notice how she wilted when the star left, so he tried to be as kind to her as he was able.

“Hey, Holly.” He poked his head into the prop room that she was organizing. She flinched a little and Miguel tried not to take it personally. He tugged at the hem of his boyfriend’s hoodie. “You want a Gatorade or something?”

“What colors do you have?” She asked, playing with the end of a wand with flowers sticking out of the end. He told her Yellow, Orange, and Light Blue. She asked for a yellow one, so that’s what he brought her.

He waited with her for her Dads after rehearsal, and after ten minutes, Holly got a call on her phone. She nodded and uh huhed the person on the other end before tugging on Miguel’s sleeve and handing the phone to him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Miguel,” Toby was on the other line, sounding a little freaked out Miguel asked what was up. “We got into a little fender bender. Everything’s fine, it’s really just the car, but we can’t get over to Holly right now. Is the theatre still open?”

“Nah, we’re waiting outside right now.”

“Fuck…” Beecher tried to think of a solution, when one came to him; “I’m so sorry, Miguel, can you keep an eye on her until we get there?”

“How long will you be. ‘Cause Chico’s coming to pick me up in like five minutes.”

There was a pause.

“You’re still together?” He asked after a minute. Miguel sighed.

“Why does everybody ask it like that? Yes, we’re still together.”

“You’re right, sorry, it’s just… you both were kinda hostile in Oz and I don’t want to send Holly into that.” Toby reasoned, and Miguel realized that he was gonna ask if Holly could go with them for a bit.

“Nah, man, we’re all domestic now.” He laughed to himself, giving Holly the universal sign for ‘one minute’. Beecher chuckled on the other line.

“I wouldn’t ask unless it was an emergency.”

“It’s fine, Beech. We’ll watch her for a bit. I’ll have Holly share our address.”

“Thanks, Miguel. I really appreciate it.” He heard Beecher sigh and he knew that after all Holly had been through, it couldn’t have been easy to send her out with someone else.

“It’s gonna be fine. We got her.” Miguel assured, tousling Holly’s hair a little. He handed the phone back to Holly and went to text Chico, when a beat up ‘85 Chevy Camaro in light blue pulled up. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Chico sucked when it came to dealing with surprises. He opened the car and helped Holly into the backseat, sitting down right after. Chico was looking at him like he was an alien.

“So, this is Holly Beecher. Her Dads are… preoccupied. She’s gonna hang out with us for a bit.” He buckled himself in and got ready for the car to pull away. When it didn’t, he looked back at Chico, who was staring at him incredulously. “What, Chico?”

Chico tried to find the right words with the kid in the car.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

“It’s been the plan for all of five minutes now.” Miguel explained, looking between his boyfriend and Holly.

“The place isn’t exactly kid-friendly.” Chico was searching for any way out of this. It’s not that he hated kids, it’s that he had no goddamn instincts with them. He barely hung out with Carlo’s nieces and nephews because he got so awkward around them.

“Chico, honey, this is happening. Come to terms with it any way you gotta.” He informed his huffy boyfriend. Chico rolled his eyes.

“Yes, your majesty.” He set his eyes to the road, only looking back when he heard Holly giggle.

“He’s funny.” She said to Miguel, and he eyes his ma up and down.

“Sometimes.” Was all he said, touching Chico on the hand as he shifted gears. The car flared to life and the engine roared down the street. Miguel leaned over.

“Stop driving like a maniac. We got a kid in the car.”

“I know how to drive, Mi-chael.” Chico snipped, but he did actually slow down. He darn near forgot there was a child in the backseat.

“It’s okay,” Holly said, picking at her orange nail polish and intermittently looking out the window. “Pop drives crazy too. Like Thunder Mountain at Disney World. Drives Dad nuts.”

“I don’t drive crazy.” Chico miffed, defensively. Holly shook her head, sagely.

“That’s what Pop always says.”

Miguel chuckled a little bit. He liked it when other people broke Chico’s balls for a change. Chico grimaced but said nothing. They got to the apartment and Miguel threw his keys in the bowl by the door. Chico rushed past them and grabbed his weed off the coffee table and took it to their room. Miguel gestured for Holly to sit on the couch, and blushed as he grabbed a pair of boxers from the night before and tossed them to Chico as he exited the bedroom, only to turn around and throw them back in. Holly giggled. Their apartment couldn’t have looked more different than Fiona’s, everything a shade of brown in some sort of way. Miguel turned to Holly.

“You hungry, kid?”

Holly nodded her head, bouncing a little on the suede couch. Miguel went to the kitchen to look for something to feed her. He pushed past all their spicy snacks to see if he had something more ‘white kid friendly’.

“I could make you a grilled cheese… quesadilla… bowl of cereal…?” He called out like the world’s lamest menu.

“Can you make me a cheese quesadilla?” She asked, looking through their movie collections. Miguel fought the urge to tell her ‘cheese quesadilla’ was redundant, but he opted against it and got out a pan to make it in. Holly heard.

“You’re making it in a pan?” She called out, thumbing through a pile of horror movies she wasn’t allowed to see. Saw VI and Scream II and something called Would You Rather. She began to open the case when a tan hand reached past her head and snatched it from her. It was Miguel, who put that and the other horror movies back in the TV stand.

“Yeah, where else?” He spoke, gravelly, not acknowledging the pile of inappropriate movies before her.

“Dad makes it in the microwave.” She stated, and Miguel rolled his eyes.

“That’s one way.” He said, as if his Latino heart wasn’t breaking. “This is how I do it. Gets the tortilla crunchy.”

“That’s so cool!” She said, and Miguel thought she was mocking him for a second, so he turned back, but her face was just completely lit up. He smiled.

“Thanks.” He went to get the ingredients and called over his shoulder, without looking; “Chico!”

Chico, however, was not across the room, and was, in fact, just entering the kitchen where his boyfriend yelled at top volume. When Miguel didn’t look over his shoulder, Chico just walked up behind him as if he’d done this a million times and yelled in the same volume two inches away;

“What?!”

Miguel started and looked over his shoulder angrily at his boyfriend, who was looking all too pleased with himself. He reached past Miguel in the fridge and started towards a beer, when Miguel took it out of his hand and placed it back.

“No drinking in front of the kid.” He said, sternly, and turned his back again to get the tortillas from the pantry. Chico raised a brow and as soon as Miguel turned his back, stuck his tongue out. He heard giggling from across the room, and saw Holly was looking at him and laughing. He got self conscious. Miguel turned back around.

“Turn on the TV for her.”

“Didn’t hear a ‘please’ in there.”

“No, you didn’t. Go turn it on for her.”

“As you wish, princess.” Chico said with an exaggerated bow. Holly laughed again and Chico barely regarded her. He couldn’t have been more pissed. He had a whole night in with Miguel planned; a little beer and tequila, a little action or horror movies, and a whole lot of fucking, and now his boyfriend was playing house with someone else’s kid. He shuddered. He hoped Miguel wasn’t getting any ideas about getting a permanent arrangement child.

Chico turned on the TV and opened HBO, flipping through movies and TVs shows to find something for her.

“What’s Would You Rather?” She asked, plopping herself on the sofa. Chico gritted his teeth.

“It’s a horror movie. You like those?” He asked, not really caring, only to hear Miguel say;

“Chico, man, she’s ten.”

“Well, I don’t know!” He said exasperated, sitting down on the couch right next to Holly.

“I like playing would you rather. Do you wanna play?”

“No.” Chico said before he could think of a lie, right as Miguel said;

“Sure.”

Holly bounced in place.

“Ok, so first off; Would you rather go on an adventure with Indiana Jones or Hans Solo?” She sat back to hear their answers.

“Han Solo,” Miguel called from the kitchen after a moment of thinking.

“Why?” Holly asked. “You hafta say why afterwards or it doesn’t count.”

Miguel chuckled as Chico rubbed his temples.

“I like cocky rebels, what can I say.” Miguel explained, sending Chico a knowing glance. It softened him a little bit, he couldn’t lie. Just sucked he couldn’t do anything about it. After a few revealing rounds of Would You Rather later, and the quesadilla was ready. He cut it up for her and asked if she’d like anything to drink or something to dip it in.

“Chocolate milk please and ranch.”

Chico visibly bristled at a quesadilla being dipped in Ranch but he knew his Italian colleagues also hated that he added hot sauce to his pizza so he didn’t say anything. Miguel brought it over on a paper plate and chastised Chico for not putting on anything to watch yet.

“You haven’t exactly given me a direction here.”

“Put on Malcolm in the Middle. There. You got a direction.” Miguel said, deadpanned. Chico glared at him but went to put it on, as Miguel explained to her what it was; a show about a dysfunctional family of brothers.

“I used to have brothers too.” Holly said, absentmindedly, not intending to drag down the conversation. Chico and Miguel made eye contact, both sharing a sort of sympathy between them.

“We just got regular milk, Holly, do you want that?” Miguel asked and Chico stood up.

“We have that chocolate topping for ice cream, I’ll use some of that to make chocolate milk.” He brushed past Miguel, who was standing there in awe. It was kinda nice seeing his boyfriend go out of his way for a kid. Chico brought the milk over to Holly, who drank from it happily. She watched the show with a big smile, Miguel sitting next to her and Chico sitting next to him. Chico put an arm around Miguel when he sat down, pulling Miguel into his chest. Miguel cozied up next to him.

“This quesadilla is so so good, Mr. Miguel.”

“Thanks, Holly.”

“If you were one of the brothers on the show, which one would you be?” Holly postulated to the group, and Miguel through for a second whereas Chico answered immediately.

“Dewey.”

“You’re Dewey?” Miguel asked with a raise brow. Chico shook his head.

“I was talking about you, dipshit.”

“Language, Chico.” He said, but leaned in to peck Chico on the cheek.

“Who would I be?”

“Reese.”

Chico scoffed.

“Thanks a lot.”

“No,” Holly shook her head, still watching. “He’d be Francis, ‘cause like, he’s really fun but also a good person.”

She took another bite of her quesadilla. Miguel smiled and looked at Chico, who was staring, surprised. He looked at Miguel, who stroked the side of his face, lovingly, and nuzzling his neck. Alright, Chico couldn’t lie, that comment felt good. Nice. Warm, even. He puffed out his chest a little.

“You’d be Malcolm,” he said to Holly after a minute and when she said ‘really’ he added hastily, “ya freaky little genius.”

Holly giggled and finished off her food. Miguel cleaned up after her. Chico surprised them both by saying;

“Wanna play Monopoly?”

Holly vehemently agreed and they got their old board out and set everything up. About a half hour in, Holly was rolling to get out of jail, having both Chico and Miguel in a proverbial headlock. Miguel had just landed on St. James with four houses and Chico had cleared out his bank account buying up the greens, only for Holly to own an entire corner of the board that he got stuck on. He had his head in his hands.

“Oops, no doubles, guess I’ll stay in jail one more round.” Holly said, not even pretending to be upset by this turn of events. Chico made a sarcastic mimicking face, and Miguel laughed, kicking him under the table. He got so competitive sometimes… well, all the time.

“If you land on Penn Avenue with the houses, you’re cooked.” Chico grimaced, trying not to take it too personally that he was losing his favorite board game in front of his boyfriend. Holly shrugged.

“And if your Aunt had balls she’d be your Uncle.” She quoted something she heard her Pop say a million times, and Miguel lost his shit, cackling and having to put his head down on the table to catch his breath.

When Beecher and Keller had finally come over, Keller being the most apprehensive one about letting Holly stay with two guys from Oz, especially with the history that they had, Miguel went to answer the door. He put his finger over his lips to say shhh and gestured towards the couch. Chico was fast asleep, Malcolm In the Middle still on the TV, and Holly asleep right next to him, head on his shoulder. Toby chuckled under his breath and went to go wake his daughter. Keller stayed by Alvarez.

“Thanks, Alvarez.” Was all he could say, compliments very much not being in his vocabulary.

“Don’t mention it. She’s a good kid. Welcome here anytime.”

Holly woke with a start, walking Chico in the process. She saw her Dad and immediately hugged him, still sleepily resting her head on his shoulder. Chico blinked the sleep out of his eyes and half heartedly waved at Beecher, who smiled and waved back. Beecher started to carry Holly out, when she started again on his shoulder and so he went back and put her down next to Chico. He raised a brow at the kid.

“Thanks for playing with me, Mr. Chico. I had fun. You too, Mr. Miguel.”

Hearing himself called Mr. turned Chico’s bones to dust but he still smiled, and waved at Holly, goodbye.

“Next time, I won’t take it easy on you in Monopoly.” He joked, winking at her. She smiled big and told her Dad that she’d won, resting her head sleepily on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Miguel. I mean it.”

“‘Course, Beecher.” He waved bye at Holly who was already nodding off and closed the door, turning to Chico who was starting to snore again himself. Miguel sat next to him on the couch, pushing coarse strains of black hair out of his eyes. Chico’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled a little at his boyfriend. “You were good with the kid.”

Chico snorted.

“Really? I swore and got angry over Monopoly.”

“Holly seemed to have fun. She liked you.” He stroked the side of Chico’s face again and Chico signed into Miguel’s hand, kissing the palm on its way down his face.

“Yeah well, I’m a renaissance man, what can I say?” He mumbled, eyes still closed and breaths long and deep. Miguel leaned in and pecked his man on the lips, and Chico pressed back into him, a small grin on his face. “She liked you too, Mr. Miguel.”

Miguel grinned and sat back on the couch, head on Chico’s shoulder, closing his eyes as well.

“You ever think about us having kids one day?” He asked suddenly, and Chico chuckled.

“This your way of telling me you’re knocked up? Oh shit, it’s mine, isn’t it?” He said with a deadpan that made Miguel laugh against his better judgement. After he recovered, Chico answered honestly. “Not before tonight but now a little bit, yeah.”

“You’d be a good Dad.” Miguel sighed, starting to drift off to sleep, the kid having tuckered him out.

“You too, Miguelito.” Chico kissed the air in Miguel’s general direction, already being half asleep.

That night, they both had dreams of their hypothetical kid together. In Chico’s, there was a little boy with Miguel’s nose, standing on a chair and helping him make cookies, both of them sneaking in extra chocolate chips behind Miguel’s back. In Miguel’s, the kid was a little brown haired girl with Chico’s eyes, toying and laughing around the room maniacally, giggling like a gremlin as Chico chased after her. They awoke and didn’t even have to speak about it; they could just see on the other’s face what their dreams had been.

They called Beecher that day and asked if they could babysit for Holly in the future.

[pilot-nobody]

Favourite Ramse moments requested by Anonymous.

[pilot-nobody]

contrary to popular belief not everyone has an innate sense of internal gender or care to have one or seek a name for it, some people go their whole lives without questioning their occupation in one of two gender roles, but for some people, if pressed, they don’t feel that internal sense of ‘i am a woman’ or ‘i am a man’, and in that case i feel the switch over to transgender vs cisgender relies on active identification of a gender other than the one they were assigned. if someone’s like ‘idk dude I just work here’ then that’s valid

[pilot-nobody]

[shuffles out of the wee hours of night and surreptitiously pushes fic out of the dark] I'm so unsure about this one. I don't think it came out like I wanted it to. But I've been working on it forever, and it was time to let it be done. Even if it's not what I imagined, at least I made a Thing out of nothing, right? Maybe next time it'll go better!

Title: Giving Jewelry & Taking Dick (18889 words)

Fandom: Oz

Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Carmen "Chico" Guerra

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Anal Sex

Summary: A while after their return to Em City, Miguel and Chico have grown close. Close enough for Miguel to want to replace something of Chico's he's broken, even when Chico's being kind of a dick about it.

[pilot-nobody]

Pals! Page from a National Geographic in my collection, 1925. The article is “Collarin' Cape Cod. Experiences on Board a U.S. Navy Destroyer in a Wild Winter Storm” by Lt. H.R. Thurber.

[pilot-nobody]

Then reblog to make sure everyone gets a cupcake. 🩷