#and to Morose I hope this story was to your liking: I thought it was very sweet

[barbaracleboy]

@amorosebeing​

Yin was walking around the Ant Kingdom Plaza, her expression almost blank but her gaze drifting all around Residential Area. She looked at the many Bugs there, and their houses, but her sight was never on any of them for very long...

Meanwhile, Kina was running all around the plaza herself, swearing up a storm as she failed to find Yin anywhere. 

Kina: YIN! YIN! Gods fucking damn it, where the hell did that little shit go!? If Maki finds out I lost her after he specifically...huh?

Kina found the little Moth: she was conversing with another (and even smaller) Moth, Tod, right outside his house.

Yin:...What’s your name?

Tod: I’m Tod! What’s yours?

Yin: Yin.

Tod: Nice name!

Yin: Thank you. Are you my brother?

Tod just looked at her silently for a moment and lightly chuckled when he finally did answer.

Tod: What?

Yin was going to continue asking questions but Kina quickly grabbed her arm and started pulling her away.

Kina: Dammit, Yin, I thought you fell in a ditch or something! Get over here...

Yin: Okie-dokie! 

Yin looked back and waved to Tod as Kina dragged her off.

Yin: Bye, Tod!

Tod waved back with a smile

Tod: See ya!

Kina dragged Yin back to the home that they and Maki shared, fully intent on chewing the adopted Moth out.

Kina: What the hell were you thinking!? What if you got kidnapped!?

Yin: I-I’m sorry...

Kina: That doesn’t answer my question, Yin, why were you walking around the Plaza???

Yin rubbed her arm and looked away, taking her time before answering.

Yin:..I wanna find someone like me.

Kina looked at her blankly now, the anger in her face and voice replaced with a much calmer sense of confusion.

Kina: Huh?

Yin: I dunno, I...wanna see a Bug that’s like me.

Kina: Is...that why you talked to that Moth?

Yin: Maybe.

Kina groaned in frustration and shook her head.

Kina:...Do you think that kid’s your brother?

Yin: Not really. He’s a Moth and I’m a Moth but...he’s not really like me?

Kina: What do you think it takes to be “like you”, then? You’re a Moth, aren’t you?

Yin: Yeah, but...I’m a weird Moth.

Kina sighed again and began reciting something Maki told her to say when Yin was feeling self-conscious.

Kina: “Yin, you’re not dumb or weird or stupid or ugly, you’re a perfect, special Bug and you-”

Yin: But other Moths aren’t like me.

Kina: So? Other Mantises aren’t like me but I don’t whine about it.

Yin: Other mantises are kinda like you

Kina: What, are you saying I’m not special?

Yin: No, no, you are! It’s just...I mean, you and Maki are like each other.

Kina: Yeah, we’re family. What, is family not good enough for you?

Yin: I...I...uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Yin held her arms to her head and just sat whining like that for a couple minutes. Kina stared at her in annoyance at first...before she took a few minutes to really think about what Yin was saying. Kina felt she should say or do something to help Yin (though if you ask her she’ll say it was just to shut the little Moth up), so she gave it some thought before placing a hand on Yin’s back.

Kina: You want...other Bugs, that are more like you, right?

Yin just looked at Kina and slowly nodded.

Kina: You’d like Bugs that are like family to you, right?

Yin nodded again, her face drooping a little.

Kina: You...you would rather have a family that you came from, rather than one that picked you up, right?

Yin: No, I...just...I’m sorry...

Yin was surprised when Kina pulled her into a hug, patting her on the head with one hand and tussling her fluff with the other.

Kina: Hey, hey, quit apologizing: everyone sticks out somewhere, it’s fine.

Kina leaned a little closer to Yin but couldn’t help giggling just a little.

Kina: [Don’t tell Maki I said this but he’s sorta lousy. Sorry for-]

Yin: No, you and Maki are super good!

...Yin just called Kina “super good”...

Kina:...Are you happy with us as your family?

Yin: Yeah!

Kina:...Would you be happier if-

Yin: I want you to be Maki and Kina, nothing else!

Kina couldn’t help but feel guilty then, and tried her best not to start tearing up.

Kina:...You still upset, though?

Yin’s smile faded and she looked away again.

Yin:...Maybe a little...

Kina: Nah, it’s okay, I’ll help you out...

Suddenly, Yin hugged Kina with the biggest, sweetest smile on her face, and Kina couldn’t help but smile also.

Kina:...Hey, Yin...You know Leif, from Team Snakemouth?

Yin: Hm?

Kina: He could probably help you a bit.

Yin: Ooh, maybe!

Kina: Yeah, he’s a cool dude! He’s a fun guy! C’mon, let’s head over!

Kina and Yin started walking to Team Snakemouth’s house, a content look on both of them as they strolled happily together.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 2,8k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest.

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[steddieas-shegoes]

There’s too much pressure on him.

He can’t fuck this up.

Eddie keeps looking at him, suspicious but not saying anything. Thank god.

Robin keeps giving him tiny pep talks when they manage to find a few seconds alone: “you got this” and “I promise he feels the same way” and “if you don’t do it now you’ll regret it forever.”

The last one isn’t so much a pep talk as a threat, but it still does the job.

He shakes his hands out, like he’s about to jump in the pool for a swim meet.

He bounces on his feet, slaps his arms like he’s warming up before taking the court for a must-win basketball game.

He looks and feels incredibly stupid and he’s certain that someone will see him acting like this and have questions. He just hopes it’s not Dustin. Or Max. Or Mike, Jesus Christ.

He sneaks away when the announcers give a five minute warning to the countdown. He needs a minute alone before he potentially ruins one of the best friendships he’s ever had besides Robin.

He hides in the bathroom, looks at his reflection in the mirror and tries to smile. He used to be so confident, used to be able to tell himself to make a move and make it successfully. But it used to not matter, not like this does.

No one has ever mattered the way Eddie does.

And fucking this up will ruin a lot more than just his friendship with Eddie; it’ll ruin the entire group’s dynamics.

No more hanging out at the arcade while the kids play, no more bringing snacks to game nights, no more adults only movie nights to make up for the shitty movies the kids make them watch during family movie nights.

No more getting high in Eddie’s bedroom while he plays his guitar, only trusting Steve to see how he still struggles with some chords because his fingers have more nerve damage than even the doctors know.

No more falling asleep on the couch while Eddie reads to him or tells him made up stories that turn into campaigns for the kids.

No more swimming in Steve’s pool after midnight, when Steve is scared, but wants to face his fears with Eddie by his side.

The bathroom door opening startles him from his morose thoughts, and he rushes to try to close it.

“Chill, man. Just me.”

Eddie.

“Sorry, must’ve zoned out.” Steve pretends to wipe his hands on the towel hanging by the sink. “All yours, man.”

Steve starts to leave when Eddie’s hand curls around his shoulder, tugs him back.

“You’ve been weird all night, Stevie. What’s goin’ on? Worried about having to see Nancy and Jonathan kiss?” Something’s off with Eddie’s voice towards the end, like he was going for teasing, but lost the effort halfway through the question.

Steve could hear a one minute warning from the other room.

His heart rate quickened.

“No. That’s not it.” Steve gulped. “I’m fine. Just worried.”

“I don’t think you need to worry.”

As if Eddie would know.

“I’ll just head out there-“

Eddie pushes him against the back of the bathroom door, hands on his chest and eyes boring into his.

“You were worried about kissing me, right? I didn’t imagine the way you avoided me all night and the way Robin kept poking me and looking at you anytime someone brought up kissing at midnight?” Eddie looks like he’s back in the boathouse, looks wild in a way Steve kind of loves, but probably needs to settle. “I haven’t imagined the way you look at me, have I? Like, the crush on you is probably out of hand, but I couldn’t have made up the way you always fall asleep on my shoulder when we try to stay up too late and your hand always finds mine and-“

Steve couldn’t take it. He could listen to Eddie spiral all night or he could just do what he was pretty sure they both wanted and just kiss him.

So he does.

He leans forward and kisses his lips, hopes that the way Eddie’s fingers curl against his chest doesn’t mean he’s about to push him away.

It’s short, and Steve’s hands are stuck at his side while he waits for a proper reaction from Eddie, who is frozen other than the fingers digging into Steve’s chest hairs somewhat painfully.

“Eddie?” He asks after a long silence.

“Steve, shut up. I might be in a coma still. Or those stupid bats got me and I’ve spent the last few months dreaming up a somewhat regular life.”

Steve smirked and placed his hands on top of Eddie’s, slowly unfurling the fingers and holding them in his.

“Eddie.”

This time, Eddie managed to look at him, and his shoulders fell as he seemed to catch on that he wasn’t dreaming or dead.

“Can I kiss you again or are you gonna panic?”

Eddie let out a strangled noise and nodded.

“I need a yes or a no, Eds,” Steve laughed.

“Yes. Please. Always yes. Kiss me for every single minute of 1987 if you want. Start and end the year kissing me. Kiss me until I-“

Steve shook his head, so stupidly fond of this man, and leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, Eddie managed to kiss him back, lips not as firm as they parted beneath Steve’s.

And this time when he pulled away, Eddie’s eyes slowly blinked open, and he was smiling.

“Can’t believe you did this on New Year’s Eve. How stereotypical. You’ve turned me into a stereotype. How could you do this? Stevie, I’m so ridiculously in love with you, but you really should’ve done this yesterday or something.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie snapped his mouth shut, eyes going wide as his cheeks turned a bright red.

“I have really gotta learn to shut up. I blame Robin for the rambling.”

Steve’s hands wrapped around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer as he kissed his forehead with a laugh.

“I think you had this problem way before you hung out with Robin.”

“How would you know, sunshine?” Eddie faked annoyance, but the term of endearment gave him away completely.

“I just know you pretty well. And I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You have too.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

They both stared at each other in silence for a full minute before bursting into laughter.

Someone banged on the door as they rested their forehead against each other, laughing through another kiss.

“If you’re all done making out in there, some of us have been holding it since last year!” Max’s voice rang out.

“That joke doesn’t really mean anything when last year was two minutes ago, Maxine!” Eddie yelled back, not pulling away from Steve.

“I will use Steve’s bathroom if you don’t come out in five seconds!”

“God, please no.” Steve said as he pulled away and opened the door. “You suck so much.”

“Not as much as you apparently,” Max said back as she pushed past them and slammed the door.

“I didn’t even get to the sucking yet,” Eddie whined. “Why is she so mean?”

“She’s a teenage girl. They’re all like that.”

“Thank god I never liked them.”

“Never?”

“Steve, I was so busy trying to hide how hot I thought you were, I didn’t even notice girls.”

“Seriously?!” Steve laughed. “That must’ve been terrible for your image.”

“Yeah, well, now I think I’m the one terrible for your image, so I guess it worked out for me,” Eddie smirked, kissing Steve’s cheek.

“Very funny. Now back to the sucking thing…”

“Oh my god, I can hear you!” Max yelled from in the bathroom, causing Steve and Eddie to roll their eyes and laugh.

“That’s okay, we’ll just go upstairs, won’t we?” Eddie said loudly.

“Yep, I think that’s where we’ll be for the rest of the night!” Steve said back.

“Just go away!” Max yelled as the toilet flushed.

Steve did lead Eddie upstairs, and they definitely did intend on using a few minutes of privacy to their advantage, but were interrupted the moment Steve’s pants were unbuttoned.

Mike Wheeler would probably never recover from seeing Eddie’s lips on Steve’s neck, but maybe he’d at least learn to knock on doors before opening them.

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 22

wc: 2556, Masterpost

Danny was flying to Chicago.

It wasn’t exactly his choice to be flying to Chicago. He’d much rather be in Gotham getting some homework done at Jason’s while stealing kisses and food. That was his idea of a good weekend right there and with the end of the semester swiftly approaching he had plenty to do. But no, Sam had told him he better get his undead ass to Chicago that weekend or she’d come to Gotham and drag him out by his hair. Danny had long ago drank his respect women juice (and knew Sam would follow through), so he was flying to Chicago.

Tucker, equally as whipped by Sam, was driving into the city that same day.

Apparently they had to talk about Jason.

In person.

Danny thought it was overkill, but no one wanted to listen to the dead guy about what counted for that, he guessed, so Danny was flying to Chicago.

At least the skyline was pretty to look at as he approached.

Staying invisible, Danny flew into Sam and Val’s apartment from the outside wall. They were six floors up and in a nicer place than two college students should be able to afford. Living somewhere with the security of a front desk was one of the conditions Sam’s parents had for her going to Chicago for college. Sam had complained, but Danny didn’t think she minded as much as she claimed after hearing horror stories from friends about the state of some of the places they had lived.

Danny didn’t see Sam in the living room, but Val was in the kitchen. He floated silently up behind her.

“Boo.”

“I still can and will end you, ghost boy,” she said.

Danny sighed and shimmered into existence. “You’re no fun, Val.”

“You used to think I was plenty fun.”

“Ah to be young and stupid,” Danny said, then had to dodge a punch with a laugh. He floated up to sit cross legged on the ceiling. “Hey! I’m just saying we are both better off not dating each other.”

“I’ll wait until after the interrogation to decide on how good your current situation is or not.”

Danny groaned. “Ancients, how bad is Sam planning to be?”

Val just gave him a look and popped a piece of the bell pepper she had been cutting up into her mouth.

“Okay, yeah. I sorta expected that,” Danny said in defeat and drifted morosely down from the ceiling.

“She’s buying ice cream though,” Val said after Danny had settled into a ghostly puddle. “So if you behave it might just turn into girl talk.”

Danny squinted up at the ceiling. “Real ice cream or vegan ice cream?”

“Both.”

So there was hope then.

Sam arrived with a bang of the door about fifteen minutes later. “Val! I found something scrungly on the street.”

“Hey!” Tucker protested as he followed her inside carrying most of the groceries.

“I found something scrunglier,” Val said, pointing to where Danny was lounging on one of the couches, back to his human form.

“I’ll own that.”

“You!”

“Me,” Danny confirmed with a sigh.

“You owe us so many explanations, Danny,” Sam said, setting bags down in the kitchen.

“Like how did you meet him?”

“So—”

“And when did you know he was a halfa?”

“I mean—”

“And how long have you been dating?”

“Our first—”

“And—”

“Sam! Ancients! You have to let me actually answer if you want answers!” Danny explained.

She stepped out of the kitchen to glare at him, arms crossed. “Fine, come help get snacks and then you are talking.”

“Sure sure sure.”

-

Talking took all night. The only thing, really, that Danny managed to keep from them were Jason’s last name, that he was a vigilante, and how he died (and was revived). The last one was easy, they knew better than to ask, and the first Danny was able to convince Sam it would just distract Tucker. He promised he’d let them have a video call with Jason tomorrow and they could learn his full name then.

But the chase with Johnny, the presents, Jason’s confusion; Danny went into it all. He explained helping Jason through the ectoshots and Jason genuinely becoming his friend. He admitted how early he was crushing on the other, but thought he had no chance because Jason was handsome and smart and so kind. He talked about how warm he felt having that kindness directed at him. And then the date! And the date that he planned… he sounded completely gone, he knew that, but he was.

Luckily how gone he was seemed to sooth a lot of Sam’s anger at not being told for so long. It all went better than Danny expected, and it was good to have his best friends finally know.

None of that made him any less nervous for the video call. He set up his laptop, ignored Tucker’s ‘dude, you still have that thing?’, and pressed call. He had sent Jason a warning text before calling, so it wasn’t long before Jason picked up. He must be on his tablet. It looked liked Jason had actually taken some time to figure out where to sit that would have decent lighting and frame his apartment well. The effort was actually really sweet.

“Jason, everyone. Everyone, Jason,” Danny said, motioning at the screen.

There was a pause and then Sam grabbed a throw pillow and just started wailing on Danny with it.

“Danny!”

“Ow!”

“A Wayne?!”

“Wait, what?” Tucker asked, pulling out his phone. “Wayne as in Wayne Enterprises Wayne?”

“A Wayne, Danny!” Sam landed a particularly vicious hit.

“Sam!”

“You could stop this, you know,” Val said to the screen.

“You know, I don’t really know if I could,” Jason, the not so little shit that he was, said with a grin.

Tucker looked from his phone to the screen and back down again. “Ancients, he’s a Wayne.”

Sam landed one last hit before she took a breath, pushed back her now wild hair, and looked to the screen. “Hi, I like your father’s move to zero impact manufacturing, even if tree credits are mostly a scam and he could do more.”

“Thanks?” Jason said with a bemused sort of smile. “That’s really Tim’s area, I work with the Foundation, not Enterprises.”

Tucker sighed, “You couldn’t be dating Tim instead?”

“He just wants to cuddle the new Wayne phone,” Danny explained after spitting out a feather.

“Got it. What’s your critique?” Jason asked Val.

“Oh, I’m his ex, I just enjoy watching the chaos,” she said, hooking a thumb at Danny.

Jason nodded sagely. “Valid.”

“So,” Danny said, drawing the word out. “As you have guessed, Jason Todd Wayne. Jason, this is Sam, Val, and Tucker.”

“Wait!” Sam interrupted. “If you’re, and you’re, that means then— shit, you really died, huh?”

“Yeah, well,” Jason said with a little shrug and a crooked, slightly somber smile. “The real surprise is actually that I’m less re-alive than I thought.”

“Yeah… Danny told us that you didn’t know you were a halfa. Sorry dude, that sucks,” Tucker said seriously before he brightened and flung an arm around Danny’s shoulder. “But like, the best guy I know is a halfa so you’re in good company! Mostly. The fruit loop is the worst but Dani is great! So you know, three for four is pretty good.”

“I’ve had much worse odds before,” Jason said honestly. “Besides, Danny has been helping me figure it all out. I’d be doing a lot worse without his help. Hell, I was doing a lot worse.”

“Danny said something about corrupted ecto? Sounds nasty dude. Glad that’s clearing up for you.”

“Thanks to Danny and Frostbite,” Jason said, he didn’t exactly shift in his seat, but Danny could tell the question made him a little tense. “It’s not all settled yet, but it’s a lot better and we’ll keep working on it.”

“And what do you do for work?” Sam asked.

“Wow, Sam, could you be any more obvious with that segway?” Danny asked, twisting to look at her incredulously.

“I work for the Martha Wayne Foundation. I do a lot with low income housing in Crime Alley, but also addiction rehabilitation. Literacy is a new project I’m pushing on,” Jason said like the question didn’t bother him. “I might go back to school so that I can do more for it.”

“That’s what you want to do or just what you’re doing?”

“You knew who I was on sight, so I figure you know my story,” Jason said, his tone finally hardening some. “I got lucky, not everyone has that chance. This is a way I can give help back. I still live in Crime Alley and I’m going to make sure that when I die, for good, that it’s a better place than it was when I was born.”

“See? He want’s to do good Sam, just like you, despite having money,” Danny said pointedly.

She looked like she might argue for a moment before she just huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Look, I bet you think I can’t say anything that would actually threaten you—”

Jason raised his hands. “I always respect the capabilities of a determined woman.”

Sam actually paused at that before she gathered up her scowl again. “But I have befriended something as close to a god as you will ever meet, and if you hurt Danny in any malicious way, I will sic Undergrowth on you and no one will ever find your body because it will be decomposing into fertilizer in the Infinite Realms.”

“Got it,” Jason said. “Do you want to meet Pamela Isley sometime? I think the two of you would get along.”

“Pamela Isley as in…”

“Yep. Her wife is my therapist.”

Sam turned to Danny. “Danny, I approve of your boyfriend, even if he’s a Wayne. Val, we’re going to Gotham for spring break.”

Danny covered his laugh at how quickly Jason figured a way into Sam’s good graces, not that Danny minded in the least. He’d take this weekend going well.

-

“Danny?

“Hum? Sorry?” Danny made himself drag his attention away from his phone and up to his friends. It seemed like Jason had missed Danny as much as Danny missed him by all the messages he’d gotten the last few days. There hadn’t even been time to see each other before the week started and now it was already Thursday.

By the expressions the others had, he figured he looked absolutely besotted. Well, damn.

“Do you want to head over to It’s a Grind with us to study for the test?” Cloe asked.

“Oh, I would, but my boyfriend got done with his stuff early, so he’s here to pick me up,” Danny explained with a little wave of his phone.

“That does explain the look on your face,” Fara said with a laugh before she sang, “Danny and what’s his name sitting in a tree.”

José rolled his eyes. “Dios mío, Fara, how are you so bad with names? It’s Jason. Danny only mentions him all the time.”

“Hey!” Danny and Fara said at the same time.

“A, Fara, you are, you still don’t know our econ prof’s name and we started our final project today.”

“I do too!” Fara protested with a pout. “It’s… ah… Barry!”

“Baramore, Fara, it’s Baramore.”

“I was close,” she said, tossing a fold of her hijab like it was her hair and she was a cliché valley girl.

José rounded on Danny. “And two—”

“Shouldn’t it be B?”

“And two!” José repeated more firmly, “Danny, you really do mention Jason a lot. Not in a bad way, but you were so gone for the guy even before you started dating that we had bets.”

“We did,” Cloe confirmed. “I won, of course.”

“Of course you did. Why do I always make friends like this?” Danny asked with a sigh.

“Because you only attract the best,” Fara said with a wink and finger guns.

Danny barked a laugh at that. “Sure. But anyways, I have to go, but I will totally catch you another day to study, it sounds like this test will be a beast.”

“Sure, I’ll message you about some time, but start studying before it since you’re missing today,” Cloe ordered.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll study,” Danny said, walking backwards away from the group.

As he turned and slid through a gap of the throng of people gathered outside of the science building, he caught the end of Fara exclaiming, “who I think it is?”

He supposed the cat was out of the bag here too, and for a lot more people. Everyone was staring (and trying really hard to make it seem like they weren’t staring) at the motorcycle parked by the curb. Or, more likely, they were staring at the man leaning against it.

Danny had no qualms taking a moment to stare himself. Jason looked great in tight, black wash jeans and a black and red leather jacket over a grey button up. Ancients it was good to see him again, text and calls just weren’t the same.

“Hey dead boy!” Danny called out. Heads swiveled to him with shocked gasps, but Danny only had eyes for Jason and the smile that lit up his face.

“Hey, fish.” Jason tucked his phone in his back pocked and leaned back in a way that let his legs fall a little more open.

Danny didn’t hesitate to slip in between them and tug Jason into a kiss by his jacket. He gave a pleased hum as Jason’s large hands settled on his hips, rubbing little circles there.

“Good surprise?” Jason asked. He exuded swagger and confidence, but Danny knew Jason well enough now to see the nerves behind the smirk.

Hoping to soothe the worry, Danny kissed Jason again. “Great surprise.”

Some of the well hidden tension bled out of Jason’s shoulders. Still, he apologized, “I think people might have recognized me.”

“Ya think?” Danny asked with a laugh. “As cool as your bike is, I’m pretty sure it’s you that drew this crowd. I don’t mind though.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now stop worrying, dead boy, I’m starving and your text promised food.”

“Oh, I see how it is, you’re just using me for food,” Jason grumbled and shoved Danny playfully away.

Danny let himself stumble back with a laugh and caught the helmet that was tossed his way. “Come on, Jason, feed your starving college boy.”

“And what does my starving college boy want?” Jason asked before he tugged on his own helmet and swung one leg over his bike.

“Hum, other than you?” Danny teased once his helmet was on, knowing only Jason could hear him now. His words were rewarded with a snort of amusement. “Let’s go to that great Greek place.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Now if I had known that,” Danny said with a laugh. He settled behind Jason, pressing close and resting a hand on Jason’s hip. As they pulled away he gave a cheeky little wave to his friends who had come to gawk with the rest of the students.

Looked like he’d have more yelling over text messages to answer. Oh well, the reward of speeding down the streets of Gotham with Jason was worth it.

-----

AN: Well, more and more people learn about Danny and Jason Wayne. I wounder who else needs to learn about them? Huuuummmmmm.....

As always, stay delightful my darlings and maybe make sure to hydrate too!

I no longer tag people! You can instead subscribe to the masterpost to be notified.

[lamemaster]

Loving the Maelstrom

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Perks of marrying a writer. Nelyafinwe pov.

AN: Istg I get the most random ideas while working out.

Curvo bounced the fussing Tyelpe in his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Maitimo sighed for the what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He glanced across the room at you, your face lit by the flickering firelight. A vicious smirk was etched upon your lips, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as you stared into some unseen distance. "She's writing a villainess," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The murmur seemed to quench everyone's curiosity, at least momentarily. Except for Tyelkormo, who perked up at the revelation. "A villainess?" he echoed, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is that why Kano's been playing such… ominous tunes lately?" he asked, directing his question towards a very tired-looking Nelyafinwe.

Before Nelyafinwe could muster a reply, Moryo, ever the impatient one, interjected. "Makalaure, for the love of Illuvatar, can we please have a normal tune?" he pleaded, his voice laced with exasperation

Both you and Kano paused for a fleeting second. Your minds snapped into the present world before grinning widely and Kano launched into another melancholy somber tune. This time, accompanied by your booming evil laughter. 

Such perhaps was the fate of loving a writer. He had known it well as Kano’s brother. A songwriter and musician's angst was familiar to Maitimo. And yours was similar yet, so achingly different.

Where Kano’s music seldom bled into his life, your words lingered in a pervasive presence. The angst of separated lovers, fervor of a brewing war, or the grit of a dwindling hero, you were lost in your worlds even before Maitimo met you. 

And when he did meet you, he also met your worlds. Gay, morose, bleak, grand, your worlds were his now. Your character settled into his thoughts. And sometimes, they carried a part of him or his family. Small fragments of your life that bled into your worlds. 

He liked your never-ending ramblings about a crooked character or exceptionally hard-to-write down plot. And he witnessed your fall into the world who possessed your mind and heart. 

Despite the differences in art, you and Kano were inseparable in the creation of art. His tunes often rang out from your and Maitimo’s home as you scribbled away another tale. While Kano’s music was given a direction of melodies from the stories you wove into the tunes he tinkered around with. 

And this was the rare occasion where both you and his brother were taken by a story so bewitching that from the strums of Kano’s harp to the rouge of your lips- all was tainted with a lingering shade of sinister. 

It had been a week since your robes had been swapped for uncanny dark silken gowns, very much not your usual choice of color, your nails were painted a hue darker almost bloodlike. Even the decor of your study had shifted ambiance similar to that of the Maiar of Namo.

On several occasions, Maitimo had seen you stir your dinner with a smile so venomous that he sniffed his food twice before eating it. 

You donned a gait so seductive that he, almost was tempted to discard the weekly family dinner with his parents. Yet, despite the unease that gnawed at him, Maitimo couldn't deny the jolt of excitement that shot through him when your newly painted nails, tipped with a crimson that seemed to mock innocence, brushed against his arm.

“I just hope sister-in-law and Kano are not going down the Mairon route of life.” Curufin’s words brought Maitimo back to the present. 

The dinner had ended surprisingly well. Kano’s company had perhaps allowed you to shed the world that captivated you these days for a few moments. You were back to your normal self smiling by his side. Helping his mother and brothers set up the dinner table as twins climbed all over Maitimo.

It was only later in the night when his breath shuddered. He gasped as your lips ghosted over his ears. Filthy words spoken without a care of the oddly lonely alley on the way back to your home. Words so daringly sacrilegious that they would have sent a Vanya to the halls of Irmo. 

Maitimo however, was nothing if not immune to the intricacies of your play and definitely not a faint-hearted Vanya. Pulling you closer in his arms, he indulged your little world. Tracing the shape of your lips with his fingers, he kissed you with a wicked smile. 

Nelyafinwe loved every part of you. Even the fucking crazy ones. 

(This one definitely more than the angsty lovers)

[liaromancewriter]

Beautiful Day

Premise: When Kyra feels sorry for herself, a friend changes her perspective.

Book: Open Heart Characters: Kyra Santana & F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 940 TW: Mentions of cancer and chemotherapy

A/N: I've wanted to write this story for a while now, but waited until I could do it justice. It's set during the latter half of intern year/book 1. Submission for @julychallenge prompt "friendship"

She did not want to be the Cancer Girl. As she entered the last few months of her twenties, she was determined her thirties would be about Kyra Santana. Maybe she didn’t know yet who that woman was, but she was excited to learn more about her.

A wave of sickness rose from her stomach to her throat, but she stubbornly tamped it down. For now, though, Kyra mused, that journey to self-exploration would have to wait.

Her hands gripped the edge of the treatment chair’s armrest, fingers clenching and unclenching around the padded material. Tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling, she counted backward from fifty and felt the nausea recede by the time she hit ten.

This wasn’t her first rodeo with chemo. She barely even felt the port under her collarbone, pumping drugs directly into her veins. But it was a reminder that she wasn’t whole. This device that sat just below her skin, a disc-like bump visible above the neckline of her loose-necked top.

Her mood turned morose, leaving behind the hopeful optimism of a few minutes ago. The disease had defined her twenties, and with six months of treatments in this round, it would define her thirties, too.

Who was Kyra Santana, if not Cancer Girl?

“Uh-oh. I know that look. Do we need to jump out of a plane again?”

Startled from the stormy thoughts clouding her brain, Kyra looked up into the teasing green eyes of Cassie Valentine, a half-grin lifting the corner of her lips.

“I’m game if you are,” Kyra chuckled, noting the expensive-looking gift basket she was carrying.

Her heart sank at the idea of having to throw out what would no doubt be fancy chocolates, gourmet cookies and other goodies. She didn’t know how to tell Cassie that her stomach was not up to such snacks.

When she finished a session, it took all her energy to get home before she crashed, let alone eat anything rich. Most days, she barely managed to keep anything down.

“Once was enough, Wonder Woman,” Cassie rolled her eyes, pulled up a visitor’s chair and plopped herself down.

“Here, this is for you,” she handed over the gift basket wrapped in cellophane with a red bow on top.

Kyra stared at the unusual basket in bemusement. Instead of snacks, there was a stack of multi-colored plastic cards fanned across wrinkled tissue paper.

“I figured you wouldn’t have the energy to cook after your sessions,” Cassie explained when Kyra arched one brow in question. “So, I got you gift cards for food delivery apps, restaurants in your neighborhood, ride-share apps and the like.”

Cassie leaned in and pointed to a brightly colored envelope tucked under the cards. “There are also a couple of gift certificates for nail salons and day spas for when you want to shake off the Chemo Blues.”

“Marry me,” Kyra blurted out, overwhelmed by the gesture more than the basket. An indescribable feeling of gratitude filled her chest.

Cassie gasped and pressed a hand dramatically to the base of her throat. But a small giggle escaped her lips. “Wow, you’re easy to please. Of course, you did flirt with me the first time we met.”

“You flirted back,” Kyra reminded her, grinning, unoffended.

“I can’t help myself,” Cassie shrugged, mirth swimming in her eyes. “It’s in the genes.”

“Well, if you ever want to experiment or play for the other side, I’m your girl,” Kyra teased, knowing her friend was only into guys.

“Deal!” Cassie winked and threw her head back in laughter.

The nurse entered the infusion room then. She checked Kyra’s vitals, asked about any adverse reactions to the drug protocol and made notations on the chart before leaving them alone.

Kyra adjusted the blanket across her lap, tucking her forearms under the fleece. Although she’d been hot earlier, the cold from the air conditioner now raised goosebumps on her skin.

“You don’t look as harried as the last few days,” Kyra commented, scrutinizing the lack of dark circles under Cassie’s eyes and the neatly tied blonde hair, not a strand out of place.

“The ethics hearing is over. I get to practice medicine again, doing what I love,” Cassie said, stretching her legs and crossing sneaker-shod feet at the ankles. “I didn’t realize how much I loved being a doctor until I thought it might be taken away forever.”

She paused and smiled softly. “Plus, it’s a beautiful Spring day, and I get to spend my break with my friend. Life is good, and I’m blessed.”

“It’s that easy, huh?” Kyra mused, disbelief coloring her voice. “Even with the long hours y’all work, grumpy attendings and PITAs?”

“Even then,” Cassie said, waving away the objection. “My father always tells my brother and me to be thankful for the small stuff and not sweat the big stuff. I’d forgotten that lesson this year but won’t again. I have two more years of residency left. I’m going to practice medicine my way and not worry how someone else would do it or what they’d say.”

Kyra nibbled her lips as she reflected on Cassie’s words. “Before you came, I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”

“And now?”

“And now,” Kyra sighed softly and blinked. “And now I’m grateful I have someone who’d give me a basket filled with gift cards instead of useless stuff.” She glanced at the window. “I can see the sun shining outside and smell spring in the air.”

She reached for Cassie’s hand, squeezing it in gratitude and friendship. “It’s a good day to be alive, and I’m blessed.”

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[mimilind]

A Magical Classmate - Part 8

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 3500

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

Draco and you start dating for real. When he meets an old friend, part of his burdens may be lifted from his shoulders.

8. A Wizard and a Muggle

After Draco made up his mind, it was like turning a switch. He changed from morose to cheerful, and after many more sweet kisses he asked you to follow him home. 

Unlike the last time you were in his apartment, now there was no need for him to hide anything from you. He showed you how he used spells for everything from cooking to cleaning his teeth, and some of his wizard equipment too. He had a clock with strange numbers and symbols, and several sets of black robes which you recognized from the Halloween party.

“No wonder you didn’t know how to use electrical stuff when there are so many spells. And how sly to dress like your real self for Halloween!”

He smirked. “I thought it was a brilliant idea.”

Next he pulled out a photo album where each image moved. Most of them pictured a chubby toddler smiling toothlessly into the camera.

“You were such a cute baby.”

“Really? I think I was ugly. Look, I had no hair at all.” He traced an image with his finger, where baby-Draco was riding a broomstick across a neat lawn. “Flying is what I miss most from my old world; there is this sport we have, where we use broomsticks and different balls and I was rather good at it.” He absent-mindedly rubbed the callouses in his palm. Perhaps he had gotten them from gripping the broom handle.

In the next picture a handsome man with long, platinum hair was posing in a chair, his lips curled in a contemptuous smile. The likeness with Draco was striking, apart from the arrogant expression. It could only be his deceased father. 

Draco frowned and turned the page.

Another photo showed a beautiful woman at a concert piano, her fingers dancing soundlessly over the keys. 

Draco’s frown disappeared and instead he looked sad. “That’s my mum. She taught me how to play.” He nodded at his own piano.

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes.” He shut the album closed and put it back. “Want to see my potions? I made most of them myself.”

He had rows of bottles with labels in his neat handwriting. You examined one marked ‘dreamless sleep’. “I can see now why you like chemistry.” 

“The subject has many similarities, yes.” He took the bottle from you and put it back. “I don’t think I will need this tonight.” He gave you a small kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you came. I always hated sleeping alone.”

“Same.”

His words reminded you of how late it had become. With everything that had happened you weren’t sleepy at all.

“Shall I put out an extra mattress or will we share my bed?” Then he quickly added: “I meant for sleeping, not…” His voice trailed off and his cheeks colored rather cutely.

“We can share.” You were secretly relieved he had no other expectations; you didn’t think it a good idea to rush it and sleep with a guy on the first real date.

Preparing for the night together with Draco was very different this time. Now you were sober, and had all the things he told you still fresh in your mind. When he undressed and exposed his tattoo you now knew the meaning of it, and though the sight of him in a tank top still gave you butterflies, it also reminded you of his dark past.

It felt a bit awkward and embarrassing to take off your pants and socks in front of him, but that disappeared when you slid under the comforter and was met by Draco’s warmth and now familiar scent. You edged close and pressed your nose against the crook of his neck, and he put his arm around you, softly stroking your back over your t-shirt.

Despite the late hour, neither of you were tired. Protected by darkness you talked, sharing more about yourselves; childhood memories; hopes and fears; personal things you had never told anyone before. 

When you could think of nothing more to say, you started kissing again. Lengthy, intimate kisses, so gentle and soft your heart swelled with fondness. 

After a while the kisses changed, becoming more intense. Draco raised himself on his elbow, leaning over you to deepen the kiss, slipping a hand under your t-shirt to caress your bare skin. 

You responded with the same eagerness, mimicking his movements. When you explored his broad shoulders and hard, flat chest, and felt his heated skin against your fingertips, new emotions stirred in you.

Draco drew back first. “Maybe we should sleep,” he mumbled breathlessly. “It’s already past sunrise.”

You willed your heart to slow its pace, glancing at the windows where a faint light spilled in. Seagulls squeaked outside, a common sound around dawn in this city. You estimated it was three or four in the morning. 

“Sure. But this time of year it’s always past sunrise.” You gave him a last, sweet kiss. “Good morning then, and sleep well!”

“Good morning,” he replied with laughter in his voice, looking adorable with mussed hair and chapped lips from all the kissing. 

Not long afterwards you fell asleep in his arms with a smile lingering on your face.

You were surprised with how easy it was to get used to dating Draco. How his magic became part of your everyday life in the same way as his company grew familiar and comfortable. It soon felt completely natural to let him warm and dry you with charms after a cold swim, or eat a meal he used spells to cook. When you had a headache you swallowed a potion rather than medicine, and if you wanted to get somewhere it was very practical to ask Draco to apparate you instead of taking the bus, even with the nausea you got from the teleportation.

Draco adapted to you in a similar way. Under your influence, he learned to dress like a muggle and how to use all the electrical appliances in a normal home. He bought a TV, a mobile phone and a Playstation, and no longer had to be bored when alone in his home. Not that he was alone much; the two of you alternated between staying at your apartment and his, and you rarely spent a night on your own.

This day was warm and sunny; Sweden was showing its best side. You were at a beach not far from the city with Catrine, Andreas, Martin, and Martin’s boyfriend.

Draco lay stretched out on his back on a patch of grass between the bare, smooth cliffs, closing his eyes against the sun. He wore only swimming trunks and had used a spell to hide the Dark Mark; it was apparently a bit of a hassle to keep up which was why he normally preferred long sleeves.

You took the opportunity to admire his body, rare as it was to see him shirtless outdoors. You found him especially attractive now, in an adorably scruffy way; his hair disarrayed and damp from bathing and his jaw covered in stubble, and a healthy tan contrasting with a scatter of fair hairs on his chest and stomach that continued in a thin line down to his trunks. The sunshine painted his ripped torso golden and the mesmerizing sight gave you flutters. 

Suddenly you wished you were alone at the beach.

He opened his eyes. “I’ve been counting back. We’ve dated for two months today.”

Catrine made two thumbs up. “Yay! This calls for a party.”

“Why not? You’re all welcome to my place tonight, then.”

It became a wild, but fun party. The morning after you were tidying away empty bottles and scores of burst, heart-shaped balloons (a gift from Martin), feeling perfectly well thanks to a dose of one of Draco’s amazing potions, when he came out of his lab looking slightly concerned. “This was the last batch; from now on we’ll have to resort to muggle medicine.”

“Can’t you buy more?”

“No, I can only get the ingredients from a wizard apothecary and if I show up in the magical community my cover will be blown.” He sighed. “I wish I had polyjuice potion; then I could have gone there looking like someone else. As of now, I’ll just have to make do without potions.”

You didn’t like the sound of that at all; you had gotten too used to his potions to give them up. 

You pondered over it for a few moments. “What if you use that concealing spell? You could go to the apothecary and take it off long enough to buy what you need.”

“Hmm. I doubt any shop owners in this country know me by sight… it might just work.” A pleased smile broke out on his lips. “I could buy more glassware as well, and a new cauldron.”

“Can I come too? I’d love to see a part of your world.”

He firmly shook his head. “No. Too risky.”

By now, however, you had become an expert persuader, and Draco clearly had a weak spot when it came to obliging you. It didn’t take long for him to budge.

“Alright then,” he acceded in mock exasperation. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

Draco chose an early Saturday morning for your visit since he figured the place would be basically empty at that hour. He apparated you to the entrance, which was located downtown in an underground garage. When you arrived, fighting your usual nausea from such transportation, a sickening smell of stale urine worsened your condition.

“I had imagined it to be a bit more stylish,” you said, covering your nose.

“Wait to judge until you see what’s on the other side.” He went over to one of the walls and stood in front of a spot that appeared no different from the rest of the whitish-gray surface. Using his wand, he tapped a pattern.

“There; it’s open.” He took your hand. “You need to trust me for the next part.”

“Always.”

“Then close your eyes.”

You closed them only partly; you didn’t want to miss what would happen, but when he commenced to lead you through the wall they squeezed shut by their own volition at the last moment.

You opened them again at the other side – widely. “Oh my God,” you breathed.

Entering the Swedish wizard shopping area felt like being transported back in time at least a century. The buildings were quaintly mismatched, with pillars, turrets, and decorative trim, and the street was paved with uneven cobblestones. 

“Welcome to Trollstavenyn. Pretty neat, eh?”

Under the disillusionment charm, and a silencing spell to hide your voices, Draco could show you around, explaining what was in the shops, and you gaped at everything with excited awe.

“Amazing. I wish we could go into them all and look more closely.” You pressed your nose against a window with an assortment of animals inside. 

“We’d better not.” He took your hand again. “Let’s shop for potion ingredients now. I’ll need to remove the muffliato charm so remember to keep very quiet.”

The apothecary was even more intriguing than the other shops you had passed. On the crowded shelves you saw jars and bottles of everything imaginable, from powdered spiderweb to unicorn lashes soaked in rum. 

Draco pointed his staff to himself, turning visible again, and walked up to the counter where an elderly witch was labeling glass bottles. “God morgon,” he greeted in Swedish. “I need some ingredients.” He handed her a list. 

He was waiting as she packed his purchases into a bag when the doorbell rang and a beautiful witch entered. Unruly curls cascaded down her back almost to her waist.

“Draco?”

You went cold. Oh no! This was exactly what he had feared. To be recognized. Would he have to move away now? You couldn’t stand the thought of losing him!

On hearing the witch’s voice, Draco’s frame grew rigid, his features undergoing a strange transformation from neutral to haughty. 

He slowly turned around with a contemptuous sneer on his lips. “Why, if it isn’t Granger,” he drawled.

She closed the distance in two long steps, looking genuinely delighted. “I can’t believe I found you of all people, here, in this small town! Where have you been these years? How have you been? You just disappeared. Everyone wonders what happened to you. And your mum… I used to work with her and even she doesn’t know where you are.”

His sneer immediately disappeared. “Mum… works?”

“Yes, can you believe it? But she’s changed. A lot.”

“Is she, uh… well?” His voice was neutral but his face betrayed his coiled tension.

“She’s worried about you. And misses you, of course.”

“Oh.”

The look on Draco’s face wrought your heart. You slipped your hand in his, squeezing it. 

The witch narrowed her eyes. “Is someone there?” She looked vaguely in your direction and you held your breath, keeping as still as you could.

Draco frowned. “I have to go.”

“Wait… It’s been so long. Can we talk over a butterbeer or something? I want to put your mum at ease. Please.”

You squeezed his hand again, looking at him encouragingly. His cover was already blown; he might as well talk to her and find out more about his mother. You knew he missed her too and regretted he had had to leave. Whenever the topic of parents came up, he would grow rigid with repressed emotions.

“Alright then,” he muttered.

As the witch led the way to a nearby inn, you were dying to ask Draco about her. Was she one of the kids he had mentioned who would pretend to be his friend because they envied him? Or was she one of those he had bullied? But if so, she wouldn’t have looked so glad to see him…

The inn was small and cozy, with wood paneling and a merry fire burning in the fireplace despite the warmth of summer. Draco and the witch received their drinks, and you eyed them curiously. They smelled sweet, like toffee. Maybe you could try one too after the witch had left. 

The witch sipped her butterbeer. “I still can’t believe I chanced to meet you. I’m only here for a brief visit to learn about the Swedish Short-Snout dragon’s healing properties. For my research.”

“You study healing, then?”

“Yes, and soon finished, too. This research is for my final thesis.” She continued talking, first about her studies, then mentioning several names, relating what they did now and who dated whom – small talk, that you had a hunch was mostly meant to make Draco at ease. 

When she was done, a silence ensued. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to take another sip but the bottle was empty. 

“Draco…” She leaned across the table, becoming serious. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, but you disappeared so soon after the war there was never an opportunity.”

He blinked. “Thank me?”

“For not turning us over to… him. That time in your manor. We were caught, and I know you recognized us, but you said you weren't sure who we were. You saved our lives.”

“Oh.” He shifted his stance again. “Well, then we’re even, I guess… You guys saved my life in the war too.”

“Have you been in Sweden all the time since it ended?”

He shook his head. “I went to South Africa first, to a sanctuary for magical creatures. I, uh… volunteered, actually. After Dad died, I just wanted to get away from everything. Get a fresh start.” He looked at his empty bottle, twirling it in his hands. “It didn’t work too well, as it were; as soon as people heard I was British I’d get questions about the war. All the questions I didn’t want to answer… Then I figured with my looks I might pass as a Swede and moved here instead. Unfortunately the language was complicated as hell so I thought ‘screw it, I can’t pretend to be from here’, and joined a muggle university as an exchange student.”

“A muggle university? You live among muggles?” The witch’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under her curly bangs.

“I know; ironic, isn’t it? I thought it would be the last place anyone would look… But, getting to know some muggles, I found that… It became more than just a hiding place.” He glanced at you. “I’ve made friends here.”

”There is someone there! I knew it.” Her piercing eyes brushed over you again. ”You can show yourself; I don’t bite.”

Draco and you exchanged gazes and you nodded your head. He could reveal you; the room was empty and your table wasn’t visible to the innkeeper. And you didn’t think this woman was a threat. 

He touched you with his staff.

The witch gaped at you. “You brought a muggle with you? You really have changed, Draco… I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” She stretched out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.”

You recognized the name; she was one of the three who had been Draco’s chief adversaries at school. He had recounted to you many of his past squabbles with the trio, sometimes with amusement when he described the more harmless pranks he had put them through, other times with obvious guilt over his behavior. 

That considered, you were surprised Hermione acted so friendly. You didn’t think the warmth was feigned.

“I suppose I have changed, yes,” he said. “It’s been liberating to be an unknown nobody. And to do some good.”

Hermione smiled. “You’re so much like your mum. She’s a volunteer at St Mungos Hospital and works with patients who were injured in the war. She feels guilty for being part of the side who did that to them.”

He looked thoughtful at that.

“Can I tell her about you? I don’t want to expose you if you don’t want to.”

Again you were baffled over the kindness and consideration of this woman. If she kept his secret Draco wouldn’t have to leave you after all. Relief filled you.

Draco seemed to have similar thoughts. He met Hermione’s eyes for the first time, replying with gratitude in his voice. “You can tell her I’m well and that I’m happy, but please don’t give away that you know where I live… you can say we met at Gringotts or something, and I didn’t give you the details.”

“Alright, I will.” She rose. “Can I send you an owl the next time I’m in the vicinity? I’d love to keep in touch. If it’s alright with you, of course.”

“Sure.” He suddenly blushed, dropping his gaze again. “Hermione… For what it’s worth. I’m sorry for everything… I was a jerk. I don’t deserve your kindness, really.”

”Think no more of it. And I’m sorry too; my friends and I could be a bit harsh at times. Everything was either black or white when we were kids. But we all grew up, thankfully.”

“Surprisingly, we did.” he smiled wryly. “If you see Potter, tell him I still think he’s a twat but that I’m sorry.”

She grinned. “I will. But you should tell him yourself or he won’t believe me.”

When she had gone, Draco renewed the charm that hid you, and bought another couple of drinks, handing one to you. It tasted like it smelled, sweet and syrupy.

“Well, that was awkward,” he said.

“She seems nice. And you did well; apologizing like that was brave. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m honestly a bit proud too.”

“Will you go see your mother?”

He looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he put his arms around you.

“I support whatever you decide.” 

Draco was silent and brooding the rest of that day. In the evening when you lay in his bed, he kissed you with unusual tenderness. Like the first time. 

“I’m so grateful for this. For you, for my friends… I’m a lucky bastard.”

“You deserve it.”

“I disagree.”

“No, you really do. You saw what kind of person you were and left him behind together with the rest of your old life. You became a new, better you. After giving so much up, you deserve everything good coming your way. You deserve friends. You deserve forgiveness.” You looked deep into his eyes. “You deserve love.”

He replied with a long kiss, overflowing with feelings.

You responded, and then gently pushed him onto his back. You kissed a trail down his neck, and each of his many tiny scars and nicks from hexes thrown on him in the war, and then the faded Dark Mark. Showing him how none of his past mattered. 

“I love you,” he mumbled thickly.

Your chest filled with warmth at hearing those words for the first time. “I love you too.”

When you started to doze off in his arms a long while later, you felt happier than you thought possible. Draco loved you. Even if he decided to return to his own world you were certain he would take you with him now. 

You also felt hope for him, for a happier future. Hermione’s visit had shown him he wasn’t as hated as he had thought. He would get closure eventually. A chance to make everything right again. 

He deserved that.

A/N:

I'm leaving it open whether Draco returns to live in the wizarding world or stays in the muggle one. But you, Reader, will be at his side, no matter what. :)

Thanks for reading, and don't hesitate to comment! I always love to hear from you and what you think about the story.

Note: The wizard town Trollstavenyn is a pun, “trollstaven” = the magic wand, and “Avenyn” is a famous Gothenburg street. :) My husband made up the name for me, so I assume it’s peak dad humor. XD

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU -> no choice but to love you pt. 4

FIRST | SECOND | THIRD | FOURTH | FIFTH | SIXTH | SEVENTH | EIGHTH | NINTH | TENTH | ELEVENTH | TWELFTH | THIRTEENTH

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

---

“This is outrageous.”

Bruce sighed, head propped up on a fist and still looking through the results of his last hour or so of intensive research. He felt more than he heard Talia move behind him and begin threading sharp nails through his hair soothingly. He might be tempting to take the comfort at face value, but knew she was likely only reading over his shoulder again.

Bruce hadn’t handed Janet’s little gifts off to any of his people. He could do it himself, after all, and something about her story had rang true enough that Bruce wanted to initially limit the number of people that knew. He couldn’t justify not telling Talia, however, and had called her on his way down to one of the labs on the lower floor.

Talia dealt with things best after she got her initial gut reaction out of the way and could be logical about the whole thing.

She strolled into WE even before the rapid DNA test was finished, not a hair out of place. She sat with him until the results came back confirming that the owner of the provided DNA sample was definitely the biological child of Bruce Wayne. And then she started pacing while Bruce got to work.

For her benefit, he clicked over to the basic background he’d run on Janet Drake. Talia sniffed derisively at the attached photo, the one she’d provided for her passport.

“You really laid with her, beloved?” she asked, voice appropriately morose.

Bruce didn’t believe it for a second. “What, like you wouldn’t have?”

“You are avoiding the question,” she said, similarly avoiding the question. “Why her?”

“We weren’t together at the time. I was traveling without Dick or Alfred and ended up in Cypress for a few days. I witnessed her get off the phone and throw her wedding band into the pool and offered to buy her a drink,” he explained and shrugged. “We were both from Gotham and homesick. I asked, but birth control can fail.”

“Or she lied.”

“She didn’t.” Bruce began pulling up medical files for Talia to peruse. Her hair dragged across his neck as she leaned in to see better and he couldn’t resist tilting his head to rest against her. “I pulled her medical files. She had an IUD at the time of conception and had to fly back to Gotham to have it removed. He ordered bed rest and even so the chance of a miscarriage was so high that she was warned not to name the- the fetus.”

“The baby,” Talia corrected for him. “Your baby.”

Wordlessly, Bruce straightened and pulled up a picture of little Timothy Jackson Drake. Unlike most heirs of Gotham’s elite, pictures of the boy were few and far between on social media or in the press. So, naturally, Bruce hacked into Janet’s cloud in hopes of finding more.

He did, but not by much. Travel logs put the Drakes out of the country for a good chunk of the year and only a very broken trail of nannies left to mind the little boy while his parents were off globetrotting. Only their housekeeper had been with the family for more than a year.

And they wanted another, Bruce thought despairingly.

“He looks like you,” Talia said, an almost sad twist to her mouth making Bruce want to lean in and kiss it away. “Exactly like you. Jack Drake must be a fool.”

“I was bigger at his age,” Bruce said carelessly, carefully spinning around to face her. She let him take her hands and look hard into her eyes. “Listen to me. This doesn’t change the love I have for you or Damian. This was an accident, yes, but there’s no reason being angry with Janet or Tim.”

Talia’s own piercing green eyes searched his face while he tried to work against his training and remain open and honest. He owed her transparency. He owed her the world for sacrificing her entire life when she abandoned her family and the League.

“What does this Janet want with us?” she asked after a long moment, taking her hands back from Bruce. She instead wrapped them comfortably around her baby bump.

“She said that Tim’s parentage came into question when she and Jack tried for another baby.” And because if he could be petty with anyone, he could be petty with Talia, he added, “Because I guess having a child fixed their marriage so well in the first place.”

Talia’s eyes strayed back to the screen where Tim’s picture was still prominently displayed. “He does not look like a miracle worker, but I suppose I will have to reserve my judgments until I meet the boy at least. I notice that he does not, in fact, have any siblings.”

“Jack’s infertile,” he said. “Or close enough. When he found out, he ordered a paternity test and filed for divorce the next day.”

“Quick. Efficient.”

“Janet tells me that he’s the one that wanted children and that she doubts her ability to care for Tim on her own.”

“He means to leave her destitute?” Talia asked, leaning over Bruce to click back to his profile on Janet. She scrolled through to look for other pictures, faculty IDs and visa photos and whatnot. “She’s attractive enough. She may join my harem if she so chooses.”

“But it was a problem when I slept with her,” Bruce complained. Talia flashed him a dangerous grin. “No, the divorce proceedings do seem fair to her. I think that it’s more that she doubts herself as a mother. I think she fears what damage she could do to him as a single mother that didn’t want a child in the first place.”

“She knows of your other rescues and seeks to leave him on your doorstep, then.”

“Talia,” he growled. She patted his cheek condescending.

“Relax, beloved. Jason was the one to label himself as such and Richard already loathes me,” she said. “I mean them no ill will.”

“He doesn’t loathe you.”

“He does and it works for us.” She gave an elegant shrug. “And what of Jason? You’ve only just acclimated him to our lifestyle and now you mean to add another right before Damian arrives.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight before patrol,” Bruce promised. “Jason likes other kids and it isn’t like Tim is moving in tomorrow. Janet and Tim are still living with Jack for now. With any luck, we can figure out a joint custody agreement that works for everyone. In the future Janet wants to give me primary custody, yes, but she wants to be a part of Tim’s life.”

“So we will be co-parenting with this woman,” Talia sighed dramatically and Bruce very lovingly didn’t point out that five minutes ago she had been inviting “this woman” into her harem. “While you no doubt ply her support at every opportunity. I implore you to wear a condom this time, beloved.”

Bruce straightened in his chair in indignation.

“You impregnated her through an IUD last time,” she continued. “Who knows what you could do with the woman if she’s not using birth control this time.”

Bruce, very lovingly, did point out her hypocrisy now. “Talia, you were just inviting her into your harem. I feel like you’re projecting.”

“I would never turn a straight women even if they were truly beautiful. If they are happy settling, who am I to take that from them?”

“I don’t know for sure how Janet identifies, but I can say for sure that she’s slept with at least one woman,” he said. Talia looked delighted. “Apparently she was out of the running for paternity pretty soon, though.”

“I can work with that,” she declared and gently lowered herself to his lap. He took her added weight effortlessly, wrapping his arms around her to secure their precious cargo. She kissed him, long and sweet. Against his lips, she whispered, “I am angry. I know you do not place much value on blood ties, but I…”

“I know,” he whispered back, pressing his forehead against hers. “But thank you for trying.”

“I am,” she said. She tried to breathe through the lump forming in her throat, but pressed together like they were, Bruce must have known. “I do try. It doesn’t come easy for me, but I try.”

“You make the choice to be here with me every day. You’re working so hard and I see it, Talia, I do.”

She had no words for that, so she just curled against him as best she could with little Damian between them. Not the first of Bruce’s blood sons anymore, but the first of hers and cherished all the more for it.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "While You Were Sleeping"

It seemed like the right time to dig out this older story of mine and revisit it. I even created some fic cover art for it at long last. I originally wrote this for @searchingwardrobes' Captain Swan is my Favorite Rom Com collection on AO3, and I had a lot of fun adapting one of my all-time favorite movies While Your Were Sleeping to include Killian, Emma, and many of our other favorite OuaT characters. I hope you will enjoy seeing it again, or seeing it for the first time, as this week's self promo re-run.

~*~ Complete in 8 Chapters ~*~

Also available on AO3 or ff.net if that is your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Part One: Prologue

“Next.”

The clink of the subway token in the steel drop slot made its familiar sound as Emma Swan almost robotically gestured the traveler through to make room for the next and fished the coin out to add to the growing pile on the counter at her elbow. At this point, the main part of her job at the Riverside subway terminal on Boston’s Green Line was so routine she barely paid attention or even looked at the equally harried and distracted commuters, but simply gathered their fares, waved them on, and kept the line moving. It certainly wasn’t exciting or life-changing, but it paid the bills, kept her and her cat fed, and if she daydreamed meanwhile about someday traveling beyond the bounds of the city’s subway network, and having someone to travel with – well, no one had to know that but her.

The jangle of another coin in the till jarred her from her morosely-veering thoughts and reminded Emma of her duty, “Ne-” she began to say, even looking up at this person as if to prove she wasn’t lazing on the job, but the words froze on her tongue at the sight before her.

It was him – the mystery man who traveled through her station every week. Like clockwork, he appeared each Saturday at nine, then reappeared on his return journey in the early evening. Only on Saturdays, but without fail; once a week some pilgrimage brought him to her like a shimmering mirage, leaving Emma shaken and breathless, thinking throughout the rest of her work week that she must have conjured him from her own imagination. Though she wanted to shake her head at the preposterous reaction, roll her eyes at the dramatic way her heart raced whenever this guy came into view, and write herself off as pathetic for behaving with such girlish enthusiasm, it never failed to strike her again on Mr. Handsome’s next arrival.

It wasn’t just the perfectly tailored slate gray suit and handsome overcoat the man wore, the fancy watch on his wrist, or the confident, decisive way he moved and carried himself; it was more in the twinkle of playful mischief she saw in his breathtaking blue eyes behind the proper veneer of his business-like appearance (even on a Saturday), the subtle quirk of his mouth as he never failed to thank her, in a heart-stopping British accent no less, before moving on to his destination, and the way that, though he without doubt had the best products and stylists at his fingertips, there was still an unruly, disheveled mess of curls atop his thick, sandy head of hair. The man was clearly a mover and shaker, powerful, well-to-do, and yet he carried himself as if it were an easy mantle, with the grace not to give his power too much credence or act better than anyone else.

As if to prove her point, the guy smiled at her kindly, even as she did little more than nod dumbly and reach out to take his subway token. His voice was warm, almost melodious with the lilt of that accent as he added, “Thank you, Lass. Have a lovely day.” Then, with a dip of his head and a wink, he was gone, moving off on his way again, leaving Emma looking after him and trying to shake herself back into coherence.

She watched his tall, broad-shouldered frame, now with his back to her, stop on the platform to check the time, and she sighed, dejectedly berating herself for being too dumbstruck to even answer the seeming man of her dreams. “You have a nice day too.” “That’s a great tie you’re wearing,” she snarked to herself quietly, reminding her stunted brain of the sensible replies she could have given Mr. Dreamy instead of merely gawping at him like a fish out of water. “‘You’re beautiful”, “Take me with you…” Letting out a growl of frustration at her own lunacy, Emma buried her head in her hand a moment before knocking her brow against the glass a couple times for good measure. “Stupid, stupid,” was really all she could find to mutter to herself.

However, though she admitted that she might be many things, a wallower was not one of them. After her short personal pity party, Emma drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked up, intending to get back to work – monotony and all. Unfortunately, that still wasn’t in the cards.

She looked up just in time to see her daydreams’ focus be joined on the platform by three other men, looking much less clean-cut and a lot shiftier in their bearings. Whatever the first one said to her suited regular, it clearly wasn’t friendly, as he stiffened rigidly, and Emma did too merely from watching at a distance. The first newcomer gave her commuter’s scarf a flip back over his shoulder, making the muffler fall from his shoulders to the ground, and she could almost read the words on those well-formed lips, imaginary or perhaps even distantly hearing his, “Watch it, you lot. Just back off. I’m not looking for any trouble.” He had turned partially to take in all three of the men who’d accosted him, clearly not wanting to put his back to any one of them, and she could see the storm cloud that had settled on his strong brow, that handsome face dark and warning where before she had only ever seen it show either mild happiness or amused curiosity.

One of the newcomers jeered loud enough for Emma to hear as she cracked open the door of her vestibule, ready to call out and intervene, asking loiters to move on before the next train’s arrival. “Well, you may not want any trouble, guv’nuh,” mocking his English speech obviously as he moved right into her guy’s space, “but what if we do?” And before Emma could call out or make any sort of sound at all, he shoved at her regular passenger, hard enough to send him stumbling back despite his height and the casual poise with which Emma normally saw him move. Though he might well have caught his balance just fine in usual circumstances, they were standing too near the edge of the platform. The next foot he put back to brace himself found only empty space.

One of the hoods bent quickly to swipe the dropped briefcase he had been carrying; while another gave her handsome stranger one last shove in the chest before the three attackers bolted, disappearing up the subway steps, even as Emma finally jolted from her wide-eyed shock, leapt from her stool, and ran toward the fray.

Unfortunately, even as she hurried, she knew it was too late. In nightmarish slow motion, her guy’s arms pin wheeled, still seeking balance. The desperate attempt failed, and Emma skidded to a stop where he had been, grasping for nothing but air as he fell and vanished over the side, plummeting to the tracks below.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @justanother-unluckysoul @mie779 @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @wefoundloveunderthelight

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (34)

part 34 of ?? | 534 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

(I'm tired of updating the link list on every post whenever I put up a new chapter. 🥲 Here's a link to my "Steddie Blackmail Fic" tag instead.)

Summary:

He doesn’t buy that Steve had ‘forgotten’ he was supposed to go over to Robin’s tonight, and it’s weird that he cooked a meal that he didn’t even stay for. The guy didn’t have to do that. They could’ve ordered a pizza or something.

They are going to kiss in part 42 or so help me.

Anyway, enjoy Wayne calling Eddie tf out and Eddie is just like,

34.

“Nice of Steve to make dinner even though he had other plans,” Wayne says. 

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, dragging a piece of garlic bread through some of the orange-y red sauce on his plate. He doesn’t buy that Steve had ‘forgotten’ he was supposed to go over to Robin’s tonight, and it’s weird that he cooked a meal that he didn’t even stay for.

The guy didn’t have to do that. They could’ve ordered a pizza or something.

His uncle sighs and spears another bite of pasta with his fork. “Ed, are you going to quit finger painting with your food, or are you gonna say what’s on your mind?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs. 

“Your sides hurting?”

“No.”

Wayne gives him a Look. “Is it about Steve?”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie drops the garlic bread and scrubs both hands across his face, getting his cheek greasy in the process. “Yeah, fine, I think he’s avoiding me.”

“This got anything to do with why you look like a puppy that tracked shit in the house around him?” Wayne frowns. “I thought you talked to him about that money.”

“I did,” Eddie grumbles. He’d also talked to himself about killing the crush before it got any worse, for all the good that had done him. “I told you, we agreed that he could move in and we’d call it even, it’s fine. He's . . . a busy guy.”

Translation: too good to spend one on one time with Eddie. Which, truce or no truce, Eddie morosely figures he deserves. 

Things like this have been happening ever since the Hellfire rising seniors and alumni came to the house a few days ago. Eddie hopes that he hadn’t overheard some of the guys’ King Steve comments. 

But . . . the only other explanation he can think of is that Steve is going on dates. And the way Eddie’s stomach twists whenever he contemplates that possibility tells him that he’s done a terrible job of weeding out that crush. 

Is it just a crush when it’s on someone who has literally saved your life?

Fuck. Oooooh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, it’s not a crush. It’s so much more than a crush, when the fuck did that happen? 

He’s falling in love with Steve Harrington. Not the one everyone in Hawkins knows from school, but the Steve who helps him hang band posters and bakes amazing chocolate chip cookies. Who painted his own bedroom a soft, buttery yellow after admitting that he’d always hated the wallpaper his mom picked out for him when he was little. Who gave away basically all his paycheck for months trying to give a sad story a happy ending, and keeps playing the tank for a bunch of kids who can’t seem to shake their dangerous adventuring habit even away from the D&D table.

Who will never like him back, because Steve is good and Eddie is a human cockroach. Even though sometimes, sometimes, Eddie almost thinks. . . . But that’s just from looking through hopeful, falling-in-love goggles. Jesus H. Christ, Eddie thinks as he feels Wayne’s questioning gaze still on him, he should have realized how utterly gone he is for Steve much, much earlier than this.

Fuck.

[rancidpancakebatter]

We Write the Story-[P.P.] | Chapter Two

Pairings: TASM!Peter Parker x (Black!)Hispanic!College!Female!Reader

Chapter Summary:  The battle at Liberty begins after a trail down memory lane

Takes place during No Way Home

Word Count: 5.5k words

Content: Some superhero fighting, angst, language, mentions of death,

( Previous | Chapter List | Next )

A/N: This is yet another thing I found in my drafts. Chapter three has one paragraph written but two is done, so yay! As I said in the first chapter, this is very self-indulgent. I tried to put more focus on the reader being Hispanic than black but both are pretty relevant to my experience so there are some minor details that allude to the reader being black. I'm too lazy to edit them out. I hope you can understand.

Your anxiety continued a slow accent as the Spider-Men discussed their game plan. You were put on “babysitting duty,” instructed to watch over Michelle and Ned as they climbed through the portal to fight interdimensional villains. 

You watched Peter’s live and felt a twinge of moroseness at his words. Even now, as he was trying to save New York, he accepted the cruelty it threw his way. The chemistry lab was quiet. You had all pulled up chairs at the entrance of the portal, silently watching- waiting. You had hugged Petey before he walked out, but it didn’t calm you as much as you had hoped. As you sat on this unstable wooden stool, your mind wandered to the past.

You remember when Petey first moved in. You were playing in the living room, your wooden puppet jumping as you jerked at the strings. Your father was in the kitchen, the smell of toasted tortillas and seasoned chicken wafting through the air. You liked flautas, but you preferred when your mom would make them. Your father was less familiar with the seasoning your mother would use; he stuck more to his Creole roots. 

There was a knock at the door, but you remained unbothered. You and Señor Payaso were on a fabulous adventure, that you didn’t want to interrupt. They knocked again, and this time your father called out to you.

“Can you see who’s at the door, baby?”

You begrudgingly got up and pulled a chair over to the door. As you peeked through the peephole, you saw a familiar face, the sweet woman from across the hall. You liked her a lot. She always complimented your hair and all of your drawings. She was friends with your mother; when she died, the woman came over and cooked a lot, bringing her husband along. Mr Ben was nice too. He would put you on his shoulders and twirl you around.

You moved the chair and called out to your father, “It’s Ms May!”

You opened the door and let her in. She complimented your dress and asked about your day. You told her all about your new colouring book and left to get it for her. When you returned, she was talking in hushed whispers with your dad. Their faces looked serious and sad, but when they saw you, they painted on a smile. 

Your father beckoned you, and you happily clambered into his open arms. As he rested you on his hip, he moved some hair out of your face.

“Hey, honey. So, Ms May came over to ask if you would want to play with her nephew. He just moved in and he doesn’t have any friends.”

You looked at May, not fully understanding. “Why does he live with you? Where are his parents?”

Your father said your name in a warning tone and you were confused, but Ms May cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay.”

Her smile was kind and you loved when she smiled at you.

“He lost both of his parents, like how you lost your mom." She explains. "So now he lives with me. He’s very scared, and I was hoping maybe you could hang out with him. You were so brave and it might be nice for Peter to have someone he can talk to about all of this.”

You thought about it for a moment. You couldn’t imagine what you would have done if you had lost both of your parents. You missed your mom a lot; Peter must be feeling that double. You liked Mr and Mrs Parker a lot, so you supposed you would like their nephew too.

“Okay." You agreed, "Does he have a favourite toy? Does he like to colour?”

May told you he would love to colour with you, so you rushed back to your room and grabbed all of your colouring books and three boxes of crayons, just in case. When you returned to the living room, you declared that you were ready to go. You walked across the hall with your father’s hand on your back instead of in your hand as they were very full.

As you walked in, you looked around but only saw Mr Ben. He spoke to the adults while you sat on the couch. You couldn’t hear everything they said, but you caught some of it. Their whispers swirled together and you couldn't tell who said what.

“-in his room”

“I don’t know”

“Thanks”

“He’s just so young”

Your stomach twisted. You remember hearing similar things said about you not so long ago. You hated when the adults around you tried to relate to what you were feeling. You didn’t even understand what you were feeling. You didn’t care what they had to say; you just wanted your mom. There was no one your age to talk to. No friends who got it. You didn’t want Ms May’s nephew to go through that.

You made your way up the stairs, deciding you would find him yourself. You saw an open door and peeked inside. There was a small bed and a lot of boxes in the room. It looked half-unpacked, not really a “room”. 

“Hello?” You tried.

There was a scuffling sound but no response. 

You walked in and looked around, “Are you Ms May’s nephew?”

You were looking at your feet, careful not to step on anything, when you noticed a pair of eyes under the bed. You set your colouring stuff down and lay on your stomach. He shimmied back some. 

“Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m your neighbour, do you want to play?” He didn't respond, just continued to stare at you. 

“Tu hablas español?” Still he said nothing. 

“Okay…I’ll just speak both.” You muttered, setting up the colouring supplies. 

“Tengo crayons y colouring books, pero si quieres jugar something else podemos.” You began to colour, leaving a stack for him to choose from and the other boxes of crayons at the entrance of the bed.

You silently coloured for a while before you saw a small hand reach forward. He remained under the bed as you heard him flipping through pages. Soon enough, the adults came through the door. They were each surprised by what they saw. 

“Where’s Peter?” Mr Ben asked. 

You pointed under the bed, continuing to draw. 

Ms May laid next to you, “Come on, Peter. Why don’t you come out and play? (Y/n)’s really nice, I promise.”

You shook your head, speaking to the shadows. “No tienes que salir if you don’t want to.” 

Ms May looked at you with a question on her brow, one you recognised on adults by now. The "Why are you speaking Spanish?" look. Sometimes it was because you didn't look like your mom, and sometimes it was because they didn't know what you were saying. But you knew her's wasn't mean; Ms May was just curious.  

“He hasn’t answered to Spanish or English. I don’t know what he speaks,” You replied with a shrug. 

Mr Ben chuckled, “He doesn’t speak Spanish. I think he’s just shy, but thank you for trying.”

They eventually left you be, and you continued to colour. Peter still hadn’t left his hiding spot, but you could hear him scribbling across the page. 

“I lost my mom,” You say in an effort to connect. “She got really sick, it happened a few months ago.”

He had stopped colouring, the only sound in the room coming from you and the switching of crayons.

“Grown-ups try to say stuff they think is nice. They tell you they’re sorry. Or they’ll say something like ‘you’re brave’. It’s annoying. I used to hide too.”

You heard him shuffle. He had crawled forward just enough that you could see his face emerging from the shadows, “Do you wanna come in?”

You wriggled in next to him, and he pushed the book he was working on between you. You coloured on opposite pages sharing a box of crayons between you. He used a lot of outlandish colours, his giraffe looking more like an alien than anything you’d seen at the zoo. You focused on your parrot. You passed a lot of time this way.

“How you say, ‘thank you’ in Spanish?”

You were excited to hear his voice again, “Gracias.”

“Gracias, (Y/n)”

He was so small and so scared. Everything he knew had been ripped away from him. You couldn’t help but think he was going through the same thing, only this time he couldn’t hide under his bed. He had to save the world.

You thought of all the times Petey had to be brave. You thought of all the times he didn’t. Like when you watched a horror movie for the first time, and he made you stay up with him all night because he was convinced that something was gonna come out of the closet as soon as he closed his eyes.

You thought of how nervous he was to ask Liz to the homecoming dance- how you had to coach him through it. You thought of how he would trip over himself anytime he talked to her. You thought of how he was just as nervous about asking out MJ. He would text you the whole trip about it (and also some of the Spider-Man stuff, but mostly MJ).

You thought about how kind and sweet he was. An absolute treasure. Petey would speak to you in Spanish if you were alone, knowing that it was a special thing to you, something that kept you connected to your mother. He had learned it through you, but also by studying on his own, surprising you every now and then with all he knew. 

You thought about how he had learned to do simple braids in your hair. You had complained about how long it would take to do, and Petey stayed up all night watching youtube tutorials and practising on May. The next day he showed up with a rat-tail comb and a bag of rubber bands, ready to help.

You thought about how he and May would practice making dishes that you grew up with to surprise you for “family” dinner.

Actually, no. Family dinner. No quotes necessary. They were your family. They were all you had, and they were wonderful.

They were your family. Now it’s just Petey. Petey who is currently broadcasting his location so that he can fight a bunch of psychos who would not hesitate to kill him. 

You stand abruptly, surprising the not-so-much kids beside you. You rush through the portal and ignore their calls for you to return. You can’t, not now. The Spider-Men hear the commotion and quickly group together. As you turn the corner, Petey’s face is wild with concern.

“(Y/n), You can’t be here-” 

You cut him off with a hug. You pull him as close as you can, and don’t hesitate you crush him with all of your strength. He lets out a small “oof” as you accidentally push all the air out of his body. Tears silently fall from your eyes, and Petey finally reciprocates. 

“(Y/n), You have to go back. It’s not safe.”

You make no effort to distance yourself, instead mumbling into his chest. “Don’t die.”

Petey pulls you away enough to see your face, “I’m not gonna die.”

Your face twists in anger but he knows it’s not for him. “You will come back to me. In one piece. Or so help me god, these a-holes are gonna wish you had kicked their ass instead.”

A small smile spreads on his face, “I know. I will. No voy a ir a ninguna parte, lo prometo.”

You wipe at your face and Petey chuckles. He’s trying to cheer you up. Even now, Petey is trying to keep you happy, like always.

“Besides, todo el mundo sabe que tengo la hermana más aterradora que hay. Cualquiera que se cruce contigo sería un pinche supido hijo de puta.” It wasn’t perfect but you grasped the message.

You gasped in faux horror, “Aye Petey, Quién te enseñó eso?”

Peter only laughed, “You did. You curse more in Spanish than in English. Which is crazy 'cause you have the foulest language I’ve ever heard.”

You slap his arm, and he pretends it hurt. You glance around and lose your breath. You could see all of New York from here. The city glistened against the deep ocean, the lights dancing across the rolling waves. It was breathtaking. Movement over to your left catches your attention and your eyes landed on Peter. He was leaning against the railing with his arms stretched out while talking to Pete. When you looked, he quickly turned his head, but he was looking at you. Petey chuckled, breaking you from your trance. Man, maybe your attraction was obvious. 

“I’ll send him over,” Petey says with a smirk.

You scold, telling him not to, but he was already shouting for Peter.

As he sauntered up, Petey sent you a wink, patting his multiversal counterpart on the shoulder as he passed. Peter looked at you with a playfully confused look. His brows were slightly furrowed but his grin was unmistakable.

“So, what’s up?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He was so flippant about this whole multiversal mayhem. But also he made you a little nervous, and you were laughing through your flustering. 

“Oh, I was just uh- you know...givin’ the whole ‘Don’t Die’ speech before battle. You know how it is.” Peter’s face fell a little sombre, giving you the impression he knew all too well.

He played along, not wanting to address the severity of the situation. You both knew; there was no reason to loll in it. He nodded his head a few times before his arms folded crossed his chest and his head tilted to the side, a soft smile taking over his face.

“So, do I get one?”

You smiled, “Peter Parker. I will be very upset if you die. Don’t do it or I’ll come kill you myself.”

He chuckled, the sound of a sweet song. “Sounds like a lose-lose, I don’t think I’m getting a fair deal.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah? Well, how about this: If you die, no date.”

It was risky, but what did you have to lose? Pete’s words had been on your mind more than you would care to admit. Everything you once knew had been flipped on its head. Maybe there was a chance, maybe he was the right one. But did it matter? It’s completely possible that this man will evaporate from this world in an hour. What harm was there in flirting with him? He was nice with a kind smile, and it felt good to be looked at like that. Like you were something to behold.

Your words seem to surprise him. A deep, thunderous laugh ripped from his chest. It was a delightful sound. One you wanted to hear more often. His hand flew to his heart as he took a step back as if blown away. He looked at you with an amused glimmer in his eye and a grin that split his face. He was the perfect embodiment of "boyish charm."

“Now, the stakes are high,” He teased.

It’s safe to say you were freaking out. You stood at the mouth of the portal, its fizzling crackle a static that you had become accustomed to. MJ held the magic-cube-thing as you tried to keep the both of them calm, coaching Ned to breathe deep and focus. You could hear the zaps of electricity flying through the air, bright flashes of light shocking out the shadows in the dark room. Everything got cloudy for a moment, and you recognised this dust storm as Flint’s arrival. Everyone was showing up fast, and you should have been miles away, but with the portal open, you were nowhere close to safe. 

A loud crash echos out and startles a scream out of the kids. You gently shush them, not wanting any unwanted attention. You were working through a plan, an escape route. You loved Petey, but he wasn’t very good with backup plans, and this was a perfect example.

You heard heavy steps and spun to look through the Portal. The talking lizard was stalking towards you.

“Hey! Hey! We gotta go!”

The kids follow your gaze and their eyes widen in fear. You grab the box from MJ and start pushing them in front of you. The Lizard has landed in the room and is throwing tables and chairs.

You make it to the doors and point down the hall, “You guys run to the cafeteria, watch each other’s backs and hide!”

They hesitantly run, glancing at you periodically over their shoulders. You look behind you, and the lizard is trained on your hand. You wave the box, “Come on, big boy, this way!”

He rears his head back and lets out a gut-wrenching roar. You push through the door and into the hall. Your footsteps echo in the dark, empty corridors. You hadn’t necessarily liked high school, but the dreadful memories did nothing to relieve the creepy atmosphere. You could hear his talons cut into the metal lockers around you as he got closer. You whipped your head around to confirm your suspicions. You felt nauseous as you saw his yellowed teeth bared at you.

You swung a sharp left into the library. You ducked under a table and crawled quietly in the dark. As the creature broke through the doors you heard him stop. You could hear a subtle growl leave his throat, sharp breaths as he sniffs around the room. You reach the wall and grab a book off the shelf. You can see his feet as he walks across the floor. Your heart is beating in your chest as he gets closer. His tail swings in front of you, working side to side. You take a steady breath and throw the book into the corner behind you.

He roars and charges at the sound. You make a break towards the lined shelves while he’s distracted. You silently hoped the books you heard being decimated would accept your apology, that they would understand. There’s a door on the other side, it will put you in the hallway right across from the gym. You didn’t like the idea of a big open space, but maybe you could hide if you could make it to the bleachers. It’s the best idea you have right now.

The Lizard had begun throwing the tables you were hiding under before. It wouldn’t be long until he started destroying the shelves too. You crouched down and made your way to the door, pushing it open with shaky hands and closing it as softly as you could. You entered the gym and looked around. You spotted the supply room and tried the handle.

It was locked, “shit!”

You could still hear the library being ransacked. Your only way in was to break the window. You knew it would make a lot of noise, but you had to arm yourself with something. You raise the box and bring it down as hard as you can. The glass shatters and you hear a roar erupt in the building. You ball your hand up in your sleeve and push through the glass wiggling the handle. You grab a bat by the door and a football flag that was hanging on the wall. You hear stomping in the hallway and panic. Well- more so than you were before.

The bleachers were pulled out and you thanked whatever deity might have been watching over you. You find a gap in the bars and squeeze your way through. Just then The lizard kicks in the heavy metal doors. You fall back into the shadows and watch through the space between the seats as he makes his way to the middle of the floor. You try to tame your shaking hands, knowing there was nothing you could do with the adrenaline coursing through your body.

You place the bat between your legs and tie the box to a belt loop on the back of your jeans, that way you can have two hands to swing. You tried to remember everything you knew about the creature in front of you, anything that may give you an upper hand. You remembered him talking about “healing the world.” Apparently, this “enhancement” mutated his genes and he had faster healing and was super strong. He was also a man-eating lizard. And you were just a poor college student from Queens.

Suddenly he stopped, his head turned towards you as he continued to sniff the air around him. A sneer besmeared his face, his eyes opened and it seemed he was looking right at you.

“There you are...” his nauseating voice drew out.

He charged forward and you screamed. His claws reached through the slits and pried at them. He got his arm through and swiped; you fell back as you narrowly dodged them. He continued with that for a while before he abandoned the approach. His yellow eyes glared at you through the gap he had created before growling. He must have grown up watching Dora too. If you can’t go through, you can't go above it, if you can’t go under it, you have to go around it. He backed away and bounded towards the bars you had slipped through. You ran to meet him there, to hopefully hold him off.

He reached his hand through and you swung at it. It didn’t seem to deter him. The response was more like someone playfully pushing your hand away from their plate, as opposed to a twenty-something swinging a metal bat at full force. He reached for you again but this time he caught your bat in his claws. It shredded the barrel, the metal blossoming out at jagged angles. You could work with that.

You brought it over your head and aimed at his arm. He reared back as the metal cut through his scales. You could hear the fury in his scream, your blood ran cold at the sound. You watched as the flesh slowly melded back together, soon the damage was erased. It hit you then, you were truly no match. He brought his hand back up and sliced through the barrier of bars, bending them with little effort to push through. You took steps back as he got closer. He was hunched down, unable to stand in this space. You were trapped if you couldn’t find a way out.

At the other entrance, you saw a fire extinguisher. You rushed to grab it, pulling the pin and aiming it directly at him. You felt the metal bars against your back. He let out another roar and you pulled on the trigger. Foam flew through the air and the smell of compressed CO2 made you dizzy. You threw it and he caught it in his mouth, as his teeth punctured it white plumes billowed from the canister. While he was blinded you tried to squeeze through the bars. In his thrashing, he caught you on the arm. His claws felt like a blade, cutting through you easily.

You cried out as you collapsed on the floor. Rolling over, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain in your bicep. Your bat was long gone and you were on your own. You made your way to the middle of the gym, trying to plan your next escape. You heard the grating noise you hate to say you knew, he had slashed through the other set of bars. You sympathised with the groan the metal released as it was bent and twisted against its will.

His horrid eyes fell on you again and you turned to run. He gets down on all fours and breaks into a sprint, he's gaining on you (Shia Leboeuf). Your body hurts and all this running is pumping blood, you’re getting woozy from the loss. You trip and hit the ground hard; you feel disoriented. You start crawling forward, hoping to put enough distance between you.

Just then a loud crash rings through the gymnasium. You turn your head to see The Lizard slammed into the bleachers, the seats folding around him under the weight. Something flew across the room and soon a cloud of green smoke enveloped the space. You heard footfall quickly approaching you and curled in on yourself; your brain unable to catch up with the chaos of the situation.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. It’s just me.” His gloves caught on the cotton of your ribbed top.

You slowly opened your eyes and they fell upon shining stars; chocolate and autumn leaves and everything sweet in the world. His jaw was set, strong enough to cut diamonds. His lips looked velvety and decadent; though they sagged heavily at the end, his distress evident in his frown.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? I smell blood.” He quickly questioned.

You motioned that you wanted help up, but instead of offering you his hand, he scooped you up in his arms. Your stomach fluttered at the act, the gentleness he was showing you. You were pressed tightly against him, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

You took a shaky, flustered breath. “I’m fine. El cabrón caught me in the arm, but I’ll be okay.”

He took notice of the way you were holding your arm and shifted you to take a better look. He curled you like he was using you to train his biceps, pushing your chest into his. His eyes grew as he looked over your wound. 

“It’s okay. You’re- you’re gonna be okay.” He reassured.

He was breathing heavily. You thought before that it was from exertion, but the panic in his eyes was one you recognised.

“Yeah, I know.”

Your words fell on deaf ears as he continued to mumble; repeating that you would be fine like he was trying to manifest it in truth.

"Peter, Hey. Listen to me, I’m okay.”

He shook his head, breaking his trance, and then finally looked back at you. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You met everyone out on the scaffolding; Lady Liberty had seen better days. Peter had finally set you down, and he had used your mangled sleeve to wrap around your cut. As you stepped through the portal it closed behind you. You glared at the spot it used to occupy.

“Por qué no hiciste eso antes, huh?”

You heard your name called out from behind you and as you tuned you were knocked back by the strength of your two-out-of-three of your favourite teens. You held them close, happy to be in their embrace- relieved that they were safe. They talked over each other, spewing their concern and everything that had happened while you were separated. As Ned spoke he flailed his hands, sparks flew from his fingers and with a flourish of his wrist he accidentally opened a portal.

You threw the kids behind you, waiting for whatever may emerge. To your surprise, Dr Strange stepped forward. He whipped his hand and the box flew from your waist. You all protested: a series of ‘wait’s and ‘no’s leaving your mouths.

“Where is he?”

“Before you do anything Mister- Dr Strange, sir,” Ned pleads. “Peter’s plan is working!”

You all nod adamantly as he eyes your group sceptically, “What plan?”

“He’s curing them!” Ned explains, pride dripping from his words.

You pointed to the corner. There sat an older man who looked a little ridiculous dressed in some gym shorts and a mesh, orange jersey for flag football. Strange stepped forward to get a better look.

“Who’s that?” He asks, his tone losing its previous hostility.

“That’s Dr Connors, the giant lizard,” MJ supplies as the man in question gives a tentative wave.

The wizard looks between the reformed man and your odd group a few times before he slowly nods his head, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He walks off and you grow nervous. You hope he can see the vision, that he lets Petey do this. He’s sacrificed so much, It would be a shame to see his victory ripped away from him. You watch as the three of them swing around, their synchronization mesmerizing to you. It was almost beautiful. If not also death-defying and frightening.

But the little fear you felt grew tenfold, at an exponential rate. Over the horizon, you saw a flying figure approaching. Your blood ran cold and you can’t help the way your body starts to tremble.

You quickly turn to Ned, “Can you open a portal?”

He looks at you confused, his anxiety rising as he tries to understand why you’re upset. “No, Dr Strange took the ring back.”

You silently curse the old man and spin around, trying to find somewhere to run, when his nauseating voice rings through the sky, “Can the Spider-Man come out to play?!”

You freeze. His haunting cadence fills your ears, and you don’t know what to do. You think of his freakish, twisted smile as he gave his “We are gods” monologue. You could hear his sickening cackle as Peter beat in his face. You heard his taunting drawl as he choked Peter. You thought of how he had killed Ms May. The only mother you truly knew. You wondered if she was as scared as you were in her final moments. You couldn’t breathe; you couldn’t move. Completely frozen in fear.

You could vaguely hear Ned and MJ calling out to you, but the world was too far away from you now. It felt like your skin was melting off of you and your brain was spinning in your skull. He couldn’t be here. Petey couldn’t be here. He was dangerous. He wasn’t like the others, his only objective was wreaking havoc, and he had no remorse for the pain and suffering he dealt.

A loud boom erupts through the night air, a crescendo of collapsing metal and golden rings. You feel the scaffolding shake and see it falling apart around you. It gives way. Michelle panics as she starts to tip back and without thinking you pull her towards you. You watch as she grows smaller and smaller in your view, as everything gets further and further away. You hear a scream but don’t realise it’s yours, the sound leaving your lungs as the wind whips around you. Ned hangs from debris and you scold yourself for not protecting him better.

Your arms wave helplessly around you as your brain looks for something to grab onto. Suddenly Petey appears in your view. His face is battered and bruised, his eyes are trained on you. He looks aged, as if the last twelve hours have stolen what was left of his innocence. It was hard to watch him grow up, he was no longer your Little Petey. But this hurt more. Because this wasn’t him growing up, this was him falling apart.

He extends his hand to you and you reach for it. Your fingers brush against the cool metal of his nanotech before he’s ripped away, pinned to the front of the Goblin’s glider.

You hear a gut-wrenching cry from Peter as he was toted away, saw the defeat and rage in his eyes. You close your eyes and swallow back tears. You had never given much thought to how you would die. You were always so busy worrying about everything else. You worried about your father, you worried about May, you worried about Peter. You worried about your grades, you worried about your job, you worried about keeping your place clean. There was always so much to do, so much going on.

But as the end drew near, you still couldn’t think of you. Petey had lost so much and you hated to think you would be another boulder to carry. Another reason to grieve. You thought of all the milestones you would miss. He had always joked that you would one day be his best man, and he would be your maid of honour.

But you wouldn't be there for his wedding. You wouldn’t be there when he graduated from high school. You wouldn’t be there for his first hangover. You wouldn’t be there for his child’s first steps. You wouldn’t be there. You sent out an unguided wish, a silent prayer to anyone who might hear.

Please, let him be okay. Tell him that I love him, that he was the best friend, the best family, the best brother anyone could wish for. Tell him it’s gonna be okay.

You closed your eyes and let the tears slip. It was odd. They didn’t drip down your face, but floated up, as if not to stain you. You hoped the ground would be merciful, that your death would come swiftly. You imagined you were on the high dive at the pool you and Peter used to frequent in the summers. You were sailing into the deep waters, soon to be comforted by the chlorine and Petey’s cheers. You smiled.

Let me tell you, this depressive episode is going CRAZY, so again, I'm sorry for not posting as much and thank you for your patience. And I would like to reiterate, I am getting through it with the love and support of friends and medical professionals. I will eventually be okay, but I'm not now, and that's okay too. I hate to ask, but if you guys could leave some comments or nice words it would really mean a lot to me :))

Taglist: @actuallypeterparker, @alexa4040, @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

[bacchanal-if]

Going around asking all my favourite IFs this-

My friend (who has written one and a half IFs so far) told me that she balances all the routes very carefully. If one choice reduces one stat and increases two others, then the other choice also does the same, though it might not be the same stats. She does this for most choices. She believes it's the only way to not have a route that's perfect or seems like the canon path.

I'm just starting writing an IF, but this does not seem to be working for me. Maybe I just need to add more stats?

Either way, do you agree with this? How do you balance your routes within the game?

How kind of you to include me!

YMMV, as everyone has their own preferences and story structures, but I will say what has been working for me.

I do keep close track of how the stat modifications are done in each branching path, namely because I don't want any one choice to have an advantage in sculpting the MC.

Let's say I have branching options at the end of the passage, and I've included ones for two different stats: meek/assertive and melancholic/joyful (as I have in the MC's reaction to being woken up.) Within the meek/assertive options you are also given the opportunity to affect the melancholic/joyful stats, and vice versa.

To make it easier for me to see all the stat change options within branching paths, instead of making a new passage for each option I make one general one for which point in the story it moves on to and use <<switch>> to display the different results of a choice. Then I am able to see all the stat changes within a single window. Here is a screenshot of the structure in twine (with spoilers removed for Chp 2)

This has worked for me so far because until you start dating the ROs, the story follows a linear path despite what you have the MC do within its confines.

Now that I'm working on Chp 2, tracking the RO's stats is a little trickier, because for the most part you will only be affecting one RO's stat in a single passage.

Slight Spoilers below for how I'm keeping track of the ROs

To easily keep up with the passages where you affect your relationship stat with the ROs, I am color-coding them with tags. The reason I mark this as spoilers is you can clearly see from my screenshot that I already have a few tagged in gold (though I am a bit behind on tagging posts so don't read too much into their placement or lack thereof.) With this method I can keep track of relationship stat changes throughout the story at a glance and even be able to tally their numbers for each RO. Just for clarity, because Tamsin/Thomas and Edith/Edward are interacted with before the masked ROs, there is a chance that though I will perfectly balance it out between them at this stage, they might end up having the advantage over the masked ROs simply because they come earlier in the story. But this is something I will take into account when I start writing that part, and a thought process not entirely relevant to the question.

If it isn't working for you, maybe you just don't need to worry about it yet. Perhaps focus on writing your story, then go back over it. When I did this, it turned out I needed to add a melancholic/joyful stat because in the text, I was defaulting to a cheery naïve MC and a morose world-wise one! I hope this all helps, and the very best to you as you venture forth!

[coffeeandjournaling]

Mini Reviews II

I don’t know what it is about space, but it makes me feel things. Have a handful of small and short games in space with a dash of emotional investment.

Low Battery by Batts

emotionally devastating :)

who doesn’t wanna be a little robot

play if you admire the attempt to create even under dire circumstances

One thing I love about solo experiences is that they really manage to get you into the head of other characters without any meddling from outside. This is especially true when mechanics and story/premise work together to get you there. Low Battery balances your character’s energy (Battery) and feelings (Melancholy, both signified by a D20 respectively) against the time that passes. With what little time you have left, can you find inspiration to create something? I was struggling with the D20s and watching the time and trying to decide on a move and – well, the robot is struggling, isn’t it? Struggling to stay conscious, to take in as much as it can for the time it has left in this universe and maybe, just maybe leaving something behind, something that proves it was here and tried to make a connection to the world around it. For me, time ran out too soon – but I still wrote a little poem about it:

Every time We create something It’s as if we chip off a tiny piece Of the universe As we see it To carry around in our pocket.

You, an Astronaut by Hannah Shaffer and Evan Rowland

short, no prep required

an interactive narrative

more reflective than focused on a goal

This is a very short, narrative experience that I recommend reading with some suitable background music. Personally, this is right up my alley: you get a few choices to “sway” the narrative to your liking, which usually tells you something about yourself in the end. You are put into the shoes of an astronaut waking from their cryo-stasis due to their ship having veered off course and sending out a distress call. While you wait for an answer, you ruminate on your dreams and the memories connected to them. Similar to Low Battery, it sports a gorgeous layout that combines NASA images with the narrative, all put into a simple, retro-style mock-up of a spaceship UI. I don’t want to give away too much – it really is short. But I do feel that the themes of queerness and belonging come through strongly. Games like these either fit you like a glove or fall flat for you. For some reason, I was reminded of the Lifeline games, which I love dearly.

Letters to Europa by Lola Johnson

an exercise in self-reflection

a hopeful look into the future

relaxing and motivating

Epistolary games have their own special charm, perhaps because keeping in contact even when we’re far apart is something we’ve done forever as humans – this need to stay connected to someone we care about, no matter the odds.  In the case of Letters to Europa, you write a message to a loved one on Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons. Messages take about a year to arrive, and thus are sent in packages all at once. After you’ve finished your package, you switch over to the other character, writing back to the person on Earth. This, to me, felt like a conversation with myself, first putting down my thoughts about the given prompt, then trying to get some distance and reflect on it through a positive lens. I took the prompts quite literally and went with how my last year has gone – kind of a mixed bag. The prompts for the Earthling seem a little more sombre, more morose. Just as the other character has left Earth, though, embodying them makes you leave that behind (and that’s what the game says, too, ‘give yourself permission to let […] go’). It settles you in a more optimistic mood, no matter how depressing your Earthling’s messages might have been. This is a tiny game that relies heavily on how willing you are to engage with it – but if you can, in whatever medium you choose, I think it’s quite effective.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 38: Enough

We’ve officially made it to the conclusion of season 3 events from the series! After this chapter, it’s going to be a whole new Heat world 🥴 Thank you to everyone who has kept up with the series for this long! I hope to see you on the other side in the continuation of Heat as a unique story with no Narcos series timeline or events to fall back on 😅 Wish me luck!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 18,000+

Summary: As the fallout of everything finally settles, decisions are made that will reset the course of everything you'd once been striving towards. Will you and Javi be able to forgive enough to emerge from the ruins of what was left in the wake of everything?

Warnings: Mentions of unrequited feelings, angst, allusions to past trauma, heartbreak, revenge, unhealthy copy mechanisms, anxiety, and grief. Remorseful!Javi, Sad!Javi, and Hopeful!Javi. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 37: Everything

Chapter 38: Enough

Javier had woken up hung over, still in his clothes, and feeling sick to his stomach while the sun beamed down into the bedroom through the unobstructed windows the morning after he'd gone to your place to argue with you – to plead with you to give him a chance.

It didn't hit him until he'd laboriously pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed and the wave of nausea had dissipated enough for him to think a clear thought.

It's over.

His heart sank as everything came back to him in waves, and before he could help it, he was burying his face in his hands and fighting his acrimony and disgust, self-loathing taking over now, as he warred with catching his ragged breath and staving off the anxiety that was roiling through his guts.

That sick, miserable feeling clung to him throughout the process of packing his things in the reassembled boxes he'd mechanically taped back up after retrieving them from the storage closet, and it sat like a heavy weight in his chest when he booked his flight to Miami. But it really sank deep into his marrow when he packed his bags for the airport, and found your robe hung up on the back of the bathroom door, along with your slippers misplaced underneath the bed. The knot in his throat only got tighter as he placed each into a suitcase, unable to consider discarding them. And when he retrieved all his important documents from the shoebox, he saw the photos.

The two he'd taken in Cartagena, and the one of he and his father from back on the ranch.

He felt dread in having to call him. So…he didn't.

At least not until he was out of Colombia, and not until after several days of being back stateside. Really, the only reason he was sitting on the bed of his hotel room now and dialing the house number was because he realized he'd need to explain why a delivery with a bunch of his shit was getting dropped off without prior notice.

"Peña Residence," his father greets after a few rings.

"Hey, Pop. It's me," Javi edgily greets.

"Mijo, hey! It's great to hear from you. It's been a while, sabes? Wish you'd check in a little more frequently, you know," Chucho exclaims warmly, and Javier slumps, feeling even guiltier now. "How're things?! Your cousins mentioned something they heard on the news about a big bust down there. Was that you?"

"Uh…yeah. It was," he hedges, then sighs forlornly before just blurting, "Pop, I, uh…I'm in Miami right now. I have a few loose ends to tie up on that case, and then I'm heading home. To Laredo, I mean."

"Javier…what's the matter?"

Rubbing his forehead morosely at the sound of worry tinging his father's bass-filled rasp, Javi clears his throat from the lump of emotion threatening to choke him up. "Listen, so…I called just to let you know a few boxes should be getting to the house in a week or so. I'll hopefully be there by then so you don't have to deal with it—"

"Son," Chucho intones assertively, cutting Javi off. "What's happened?"

Exhaling harshly, Javi reaches for his almost empty cigarette pack, and is busying himself with lighting one up as he rumbles, "Things are over in Colombia. I'm done. And…and once I testify on behalf of an informant this week, I'll be done at the DEA."

There's a sobering silence from his father over the line, before he exhales deeply, and asks, "What about her?"

"Pop…I can't," Javi responds dejectedly as he vacantly stares down at the cigarette pinched between the fore and middle fingers of his right hand propped on his knee, watching the ember-like heat burn out from not being puffed on since his initial drag. "I can't get into that. Not right now…"

Chucho hums, tone gravelly and concerned, but he relents, instead muttering, "Alright, mijo. Just…take care of yourself."

Javier squeezes his eyes shut and nods before answer tightly, "I will. Thanks, Pops."

"I love you, son. Be safe."

A week of debriefs, meetings with prosecutors, and many on-the-record statements later, and Javier has managed to shut off his feelings. Compartmentalized them for later self-flagellation once he's away from all the accusations glared like daggers his way from all kinds of jaded officials. But just when he thinks he'll be able to abscond from the soul-crushing need to take public accountability for his actions, a mandatory exit interview appointment that will require him to head up to Virginia in a week is drilled in by the powers that be at the DEA headquarters there. Resignation aside, he doesn't want his actions to detract from the work Feistl and Van Ness did, or taint the agents and the rest of his staff back in Bogotá, so he begins to steel himself for that bureaucratic formality and hopes he can make it a day trip.

Today, though, he's in a federal courthouse, testifying on behalf of Salcedo.

"The danger that he put himself in to ensure the success of our operation is something that cannot be downplayed. Jorge Salcedo put his life, and the safety of his family, in peril in order to do the right thing. He was instrumental to our efforts to capture and prosecute the Cali godfathers, and I believe he's deserving of this plea deal," Javi tells the closed court, making sure to be purposeful in his tone so the stenographer captures it accurately and the prosecutor knows not to fuck Salcedo any more than they have to. It was bad enough he needed to plead guilty to felony conspiracy charges, after all.

Once Javier has left the stand and exited the room's gallery, he's assertively striding out into the expansive halls of the federal courthouse, in a rush to leave and be a couple meetings closer to not having to think any more about Cali.

"Hey, Peña!"

Javi skids in step, just several paces shy of the large staircase, and turns to see Steve sauntering over to him. The wry grin and irreverent quirk of his brows is enough to make the brooding hostility dissipate from his demeanor and for his shoulders not to feel as weighed down as they'd just been by his self-loathing.

"Well, shit. You keeping tabs on me?" Javi quips as he strides over to meet his old partner halfway.

He doesn't expect Steve to pull him into a big hug. "You wish! Nah, I was meeting with a prosecutor on an interagency task force, when I heard through the grapevine that you were pissing off the feds up here," Steve jokes after stepping back from the hug to roughly clap Javi on both shoulders. "You look like shit."

"Hmph, just following your lead, you fuckin' hillbilly," Javi drawls acerbically, earning a scoffed laugh from the other man, so he gives a glib, two-finger shove into Steve's tan-suit-clad shoulder before asking, "How're Connie and Olivia?"

"Doing great! Although, they're both trying to wear me down on getting a dog. Olivia's already cajoling, 'Maybe Santa will bring a puppy,' so yeah, I'm screwed," the blond agent huffs amusedly before checking his watch. "Hey, you free now? Wanna grab a drink?"

Stiffly, Javi puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his gray slacks before muttering, "I got one more stop to make."

"Alright, what about tonight? Come over for dinner?" Steve proposes, brows raising in query when Javi starts shaking his head. "C'mon, Connie'll get a kick out of seeing you—"

"Thanks for the offer. I just…" Javi interjects a little sharper than he'd intended, so he clears his throat and scratches absently along his jaw as he diverts his gaze mildly, before musing, "Raincheck?"

Steve can see pushing him won't do any good. "Sure, Jav. Stay in touch, ok?" he remarks coolly before patting Javi on the shoulder.

With a curt nod, Javier gives him a firm handshake and pat on the back before he makes his exit, descending the staircase in a rushed clip while Steve sighs and heads the opposite way.

By the time Javi traverses the corridor towards the deposition rooms, he feels a little less like a shit heel for rebuffing Steve, but not any better about the last meeting he wants to check off his list for the day.

When he's escorted into the meeting space and finishes exchanging introductions, he's then led into the room occupied by an IRS official, a lawyer, and Christina Jurado.

He hasn't seen the woman since she balefully yelled at him after he'd informed her of Franklin's death, and by the stunned look in her eyes, he knows she never thought she'd see him again.

As Javier sits on the opposite side of the deposition table with the DOJ lawyer next to him, and the IRS official adjacent, he listens as the lawyers dispense with the pleasantries, giving quick greetings before detailing the purpose for Javier's involvement.

"—He's willing to go on-the-record that you weren't party to your husband, Franklin Jurado's, money laundering activities, which, I will say truthfully, Mrs. Jurado, would be a lucky break for you. Especially since my office is not inclined to dull out any arrangements with someone who cannot help corroborate our case docket against the Cali cartel. However, this matter with the IRS uncovering some discrepancies on the property attestations under your name, coupled with the joint account they'd frozen since your husband went on the lam, is something that puts you at a level of complicity we're not so sure we can ignore. However, Agent Peña has produced a report detailing your abduction by the cartel and captivity under FARC, and has asked for leniency on your behalf."

The entire time the DOJ lawyer is speaking, Christina stares wide-eyed at Javier. He, however, keeps his gaze fixed to the glass of water sat in front of him. When the lawyer asks Javier if there was anything he wanted to add before signing his statement, he declined, accepted the pen offered to him by the IRS official, and signed, initialed, and dated all the appropriate documents before standing to shake everyone's hands. Still shocked, Christina remained seated while they shook hands, but when Javier made for the exit, he could feel her staring at his back, so he hustled his pace to traverse the long corridor out and practically zoom for the exit.

He came out to the crowded sidewalk of the balmy day and was eager to find a taxi to head to his hotel and decompress, mind already swirling with uncertainty, when he heard the quick clicks of advancing heels behind him.

"Wait!"

Javi felt the cold dread needle in his gut as he got to the curb and was just short of flagging a cab.

His shoulders squared up, but he turns to look at Christina Jurado as she catches her breath after seemingly having sprinted after him.

"Those lawyers didn't tell me you would be doing that," she begins, shifting her purse strap higher on her shoulder as she frets with the cuff of her pale blouse's sleeve while the bustle of the crowded sidewalk and avenue beyond continues as an absent din around them both.

"They rarely do. I'm sure yours didn't either in order to make it clear to the official that there was no improper appeal on your behalf for my help," Javi remarks, and glances down at his shoes as he adds, "Anyway, it should all be resolved soon now—"

"Did you interfere because you thought that would make up for everything?"

Derailed by the icy accusation, Javier looks up at her, perplexed. "No…no that's not it at all—"

"Good, because there's nothing, absolutely nothing you could do to make up for it," the blonde woman levels crisply at him, cheeks flushed and eyes clear with her vindictiveness. "I didn't ask for your help, nor did I want it, so whatever 'good deed' you thought you were going to achieve here? I want you to know it doesn't absolve you of anything—"

The entire time she spoke, Javier felt something loathsome simmer in his gut and radiate mortified, scalding outrage to flare up to the back of his neck, before something sharp pulled at his recollections.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you told everyone in that room after I left to disregard my request for leniency, right? Told them to forget about accepting any help, and that you'd take the original plea they'd offered for your crafty tax evading?" Javier snaps in a low tone, eyes intensely staring at her now as she wavers in shock, mouth bobbing for something to say. When she finds nothing, he deadpans, "I thought so. Because let's be clear: You were not some naïve, oblivious little wife in this. You knew what kind of man Franklin was, who he was beholden to, and were content to let him charm his way into banks with your U.S. Passport in hand while you hung off his arm and kept your nose powdered in between your extravagant getaways and shopping sprees."

She is incredulous. Javier firmly saying what she knew to be true all along has her floundering for a retort.

When all she can do is fluster a befuddled scoff, Javier levels her with, "You can blame me all you want for what happened, but that doesn't change the fact you were complicit in it, and just as responsible for what transpired."

With that, he turns and heads for the curb, hailing a cab while she's left reeling in the truth that no one had ever hit her so scathingly with before.

Javier gets in the cab, and doesn't spare a backwards glance as the driver nods after being given his destination and heads into the flow of traffic with the rest of rush hour.

As he sits in the air-conditioned backseat, an intrepid part of him reminisces about the time you'd blown your stack at hearing what Jurado's wife had said to him, and that part wonders if you'd be proud of him for how he'd set her straight this time.

As soon as the thought strikes him, though, the miserably loathsome part of him roils. As if she would care jack-shit about anything you've done now, after what you did…

It isn't until several days later, when he's coming out of his exit interview, that the longing pulls at his seams.

He'd gone in and told the exit interview committee made up of a member of each high-ranking bureaucratical department within the agency exactly why he'd resigned, and did not mince words about what he'd intended by giving the interview, on the record. They'd made note, asked a few follow up questions, and then concluded with a canned statement about how his assignment had made a difference.

In an ambivalent fugue state, he'd wandered over to a memorial wall just off from the main lobby. It was an inset wall, flanked on one side by the American flag, and the Department of Justice flag on the other. The words 'These are the men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for a drug-free society' was engraved above three rows of over a dozen small frame photos of agents who'd died on assignment. Each had a placard beneath, detailing the agent's title, name, and date of death. As he stares at the photo of a Special Agent at the center, Javier can't help think that if things had gone differently, his photo could've been on this wall.

It gives him little solace to know that he'd been 'one of the lucky ones' to make it home.

Stewing deep in thought, Javier doesn't immediately sense the arrival of Mike Spencer, the head of Operations at the DEA.

"You knew him, right?" the man asks. "Agent Camarena?"

"Of him. My first assignment out of the academy was a task force that searched for him in Guadalajara," Javi answers evenly.

"It all started there. Before him, we didn't even know we were in a war," Spencer remarks. When Javier doesn't say anything or glance over in acknowledgement, he looks sidelong at him and muses, "Another hot one down there for you, huh? You took down the big players in Colombia."

Fighting the impulse to glower at that, Javier drawls, "Yeah, well…we'll make new ones."

Unfazed, Spencer retorts, "Don't turn a victory into a defeat, Javier. The Colombian super-cartels are gone. And whoever comes next are going to be fighting amongst themselves for years. They're still only going to be a shadow of what Medellín and Cali were. And now it's time to take the fight to the real enemy in the war of drugs. Mexico."

That's when Javi spares a glance his way. "'The real enemy'?" he quotes in a dubious monotone, eyeing the man reservedly.

"Let me put in a few calls. I'll make this bullshit resignation go away," Spencer assures confidently, and when Javi stares at him cynically – a hint of equivocation in his dark eyes, he adds flippantly, "What else is a guy like you gonna do?"

When Javier has no rebuttal, Spencer gives him an assured smirk and lopes away.

The question keeps echoing in his mind. It peels away at his dejection, and by the time he's back in his hotel room, pacing the length of the space and smoking a cigarette, he's at a loss for what to do with himself. Frustrated, he pours himself a whiskey from the minibar, and sits moodily at the desk, rubbing tensely at spot between his brows before grinding the heel of his palm into the center of his forehead.

Stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he reaches for the phone and dials his father.

He tells him everything. What happened with Cali, how everything was rigged against him, the fallout of his decision to expose the corruption, how he'd resigned from the DEA before he'd gone on the record for the reporter, and that once everything was put in motion, he'd left you in the dark. That you'd found out what happened after it was all done, just like everyone else.

That you'd felt betrayed and hurt by his decision, and that you'd lost trust in him.

"…She doesn't want to see me anymore," he croaks now, eyes watering as he pictures how dismayed and distraught you had been while fighting back tears while you stood incredulously in front of him at his apartment.

Chucho is silent for a beat, before he clears his throat to rasp, "Did she say she didn't want to see you anymore?"

Scoffing, Javier scrubs his hand angrily over his eyes before dragging it down his face in exasperation. "She didn't have to, Pop—"

"You love her, dontcha?" Chucho presses.

Exhaling tersely, Javi shakes his head stubbornly, as if his father could see him telepathically.

Grunting when Javi doesn't retort, Chucho insists, "Unless she told you she doesn't want to see you anymore. That she is through and moving on, and has no interest in continuing your relationship, then it's your responsibility to go back there and work it out. At the very least, you owe her a definitive conclusion, so that neither of you walk away with regrets."

Javier listens to his father, and his mind wracks with recollections of everything said that day, and then a fuzzy recall of standing at your door and pleading with you to give him another chance eclipses the rest. He can picture your angry expression, and his mind strings together the sequence from the drunken daze of that night.

"Just pretend I'm a loose end you can skip trying to resolve."

Your cutting sneer reverberates across his thoughts, and just as the melancholy begins to wrap densely around him, he presses his forehead into his propped palm and leans into the desk.

It triggers a sense-memory.

The cool feel of your door resting against his feverish forehead, and suddenly, the words return to him.

"She matters to me. I love her," he murmurs unguardedly, confiding, "I told her I would keep trying to fix things…to win her back. She'd already closed the door on me because I'd upset her. But I think she heard me."

He can recall the muffled sound of your retreating footfalls, and what he thinks was the sound of you sobbing, and it makes his chest tighten.

"Javier," his father rumbles, pulling him from the mire of his thoughts. In a determined baritone, he asserts, "Go to her. Keep your promise, and see if you can win her back."

"Pop…what if she doesn't want to forgive me. What if…what if she can't, and doesn't want to ever see me again?" Javi mumbles distraughtly as he grips his hand to squeeze at his temples, palm over his eyes dejectedly while his breath catches in his throat.

"Then, you'll know. And you'll come home, take time to regroup, and move on," his father tells him sincerely, without a hint of coddling in his tone. "Now, sleep on it, and let me know, alright?"

His father's sage advice is something he's received often, but hasn't always followed. However, this is one of the few times Javi is intent on following it, so the next morning, he grabs his bags and heads to the airport. He flies out of D.C. in order to go nonstop to Bogotá. Surprisingly, his visa is still active, so he's able to breeze fairly quickly through customs and hails a taxi to a hotel. It's a blustery late afternoon, so he opts to skip lighting up a smoke and pockets his hands into his dark leather jacket while he waits for a cab, and then crosses his arms tightly to stop his hands from fidgeting while he's driven through the bustling traffic.

While he arrived fairly late in the day, it's not near the time you'd typically arrive home from work, so he opts to get a room; not wanting to show up at your door with his suitcase and duffle as if he'd presumed arrogantly that you'd just let him stay without first talking things through.

As soon as he's checked in and has left the bags, he glances at his watch and heads down to grab a cab to ferry him to your side of town, unable to wait any longer. While en route, Javier thinks about how much time has lapsed since that night he'd drunkenly beseeched you to give him another chance. It upsets him to realize how much trauma you've experienced in such a short time, and now he judges himself harshly for having caused any more heartache and hurt for you.

"… I'd never felt so safe – never trusted anyone else so much in my life…"

The words you'd spoken echo in the recesses of his recollections, and now Javi yearns to repair and recover what you had entrusted him with, so the moment the taxi pulls up to the curb, the driver hasn't even come to a complete stop before Javi shoves the fare amount into his hand before he's jumping out of the car and rushing up the walkway to cross through the courtyard. He bounds up the steps two at a time, heels of his boots clanging loudly as he goes and the railing he grips as he ascends reverberates from how forcefully he's hustling to your door.

The sun hasn't set yet, and in his haste, he hadn't noticed if your car was parked out on the street, so he knocks on the door and waits with bated breath.

There's no answer after a few quiet seconds, so he knocks again and leans his hand into the doorframe as he strains his hearing to try and pick up any sounds from within the apartment. Grunting, he knocks again and listens more intently, picking up the way the knocking echoes with more resonance in the interior than he remembers it doing so prior.

Perplexed, he checks his watch before raising his right hand to knock again, when a voice from down in the courtyard shouts over, "Hello up there! Can I help you?"

Confused, Javi turns and peers over the banister of the staircase to the patio of the apartment adjacent the courtyard. He sees your neighbor – the one he's met before, looking up concernedly at him as he clears his throat and greets, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to be loud, ma'am. Do you happen to know if she's come home yet? If not, I'll just wait—"

As he spoke, her eyes softened with recognition, but her expression only deepened into a frown. "Doncito… she doesn't live there anymore," the older woman tells him woefully, adding, "She moved out last week, and put up the apartment for rent."

Javier is gripping the banister and staring agape, completely incredulous. "What?! Why? Did something happen?! What about her job—?"

Dismayed that he doesn't know, which makes her worry she shouldn't be telling him any of this at all, the woman absently cups her cheek and assuages, "Nothing bad has happened, no, but she no longer works at the embassy. I'm sorry…"

He balks at this new information and whirls around the balustrade to sprint down the stairs and bound towards her. "Please, if you know where she is, or how I can get in contact with her, I would be so grateful—" he pauses when she looks at him like he's raving desperately, so he collects his composure and plaintively stares at the woman, explaining, "I made a mistake, and I've been regretting how things were left the last time we spoke. I came back to make things right…to try and win her back. So, please, if you can tell me where she is? I just want to fix it."

The woman is touched, but exhales a weary sigh. "The last I spoke with her, she was leaving Medellín, and asked me to forward any mail to her prima's house…" she goes on to tell Javi that movers had come and taken everything out of the apartment, and that you'd gifted all of your potted plants to her, as well as passed over all the canned tuna and the dishes you'd use to feed the little black cat. "…She didn't tell me a phone number I could reach her at besides the house's in Medellín. I'm sorry, but that's all I know for now."

Heartbroken, Javier dimly nods, eyes downcast as he thanks her and apologizes for disturbing her. She watches as he wanders back towards the steps and sits on the fourth one from the bottom before propping his elbows onto his knees and burying his face in his hands. It's such a sad sight, that she leaves her little patio and goes back into her apartment, feeling like a busy-body; like she was witnessing something she wasn't really privy to.

All alone now, Javi reels in the silence of the breezy courtyard, overcome with a tumult of emotions and unsure what to think, let alone how to feel. He sits there and collects his ragged breath, trying to recover from the vertigo of having everything go upside down on him in a matter of a conversation.

The sound of a curious mewl breaks him out of his internal spiraling to look up from where his head was bowed to blink over at the little black cat that had seemingly loped from a hiding spot to come investigate what he was doing sat in her territory. She scampers up two steps and greets him with an affectionate head-butt to the side of his left leg, meowing for him to pet her.

The ache in his chest deepens as he stares into those imploring green eyes, and before he's even registered it, he's picking up the cat and cuddling her into his chest, allowing her to perch on his lap as he pets her gently. She purrs contently and rubs her ears against his midriff, squirming bossily in order to perch up on her hind quarters and knead her front paws into the soft material of his blue button-down beyond the supple leather of his favorite jacket.

"I know, girl. I know," he mumbles to the cat, petting her head with sincere affection.

Apparently appeased, the spritely feline trills a content sound before bopping her head against his chin and vaulting out of his embrace to lope down the steps and hop the patio gate to take a new perch on the neighbor's cushioned chair. He watches her curl up for a nap, and he suddenly feels like he's overstayed his welcome.

With the sun setting, he walks pensively to a more bustling avenue, and decides to make one more stop before returning to the hotel.

It's the end of the shift, and all the custodians who're done for the day shift are filing out the side gate to head towards varying bus stops that will ferry them home throughout the metropolitan city. Javier spots Marisol from where he's been sitting and waiting across the street, and when she looks his way after saying goodnight to one of the other girls, he stands from the bench and waves at her. She looks startled to see him, but quickly shakes the surprise off, looks both ways, and hurries across the street towards him.

"Santo Cristo, Javier, when did you come back?! Where have you been?" she's asking, gripping her tote to her side and haranguing, "You pick a fine time to pop back up here. What on Earth were you thinking to leave without saying a word to her?!"

"I just got back," he assures and escorts her to sit on the bench before he joins her, inquiring, "I told her I would come back once I tied up loose ends on the Cali case. What happened? I went to her apartment, and her downstairs neighbor said she moved out. That she'd quit her job?"

She sighs shakes her head contritely. "After you left, and she found out all the truth, she couldn't tolerate how things were – felt like she'd lost trust and confidence in her work here. Once Mister Ellis left, she made arrangements to strengthen her department, and gave her notice of resignation to the ambassador. Then, she went to Medellín to finish dealing with her grandmother's estate. I called the house there to check in on her, but she'd already left Colombia, so her prima promised to pass along my message to her," Marisol details, and watches as Javi's dark eyes become creased at the edges with his profound sadness.

Right hand fidgeting the anxious energy teeming in him, Javier squeezes it into a fist he presses into his thigh as he bows his head before rumbling, "I'm sorry for showing up like this…for having repeatedly cajoled you into helping me time and time again. I—I'm very grateful for all you've done for us…for me."

She frowns and puts her hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Javier. It's high time you realize that yourself," the convivial woman tuts, patting his arm when he exhales a meek huff and nods his thanks to her. "Take care of yourself, would you?"

He ruefully smiles and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "You too."

Marisol stands, and ambles a few feet in direction of her normal commute, when she pauses, turns, and marches back up to him. "Aren't you going to ask me what my message was?" she inquires bossily, hand on her hip as she gazes down at Javi's surprised look.

"…I figured that was private?" he retorts, but at the wily gleam in the woman's eyes, he sits up straight and focuses more intently on her expression as he asks, "What was the message?"

Triumphant, she smiles at Javi.

"That her plan worked," she retorts, winking as she drawls, "I'm sure you'll find out the details once you get back home, guapo valiente."

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves Javi bemused, albeit flummoxed. What the hell does that mean?

Needless to say, he'd been left with nothing else but to return the hotel, get his things, and head back to the airport.

The trip back to Laredo was a long one.

It's late in the evening when his father pulls up and picks him up at the airport.

The older man had gotten out of the cab of the truck and given his son a fortifying hug, one returned in kind.

However, the drive home was a quiet one, teeming with all the unspoken things the pair knew not to say. Really, it isn't until the following morning, when Javi descends the stairs and finds his father at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper, that the first word passes between them.

"I'm glad you're home."

Right hand ticking anxiously at his side, Javi scoffs deprecatingly and bows his head as he crosses his arms and struggles to find what to say to that.

Lowering his newspaper to peer over at his only son, Chucho sighs and crosses his own arms to lean back into the sturdy chair. When it doesn't look like Javi will decide between coming or going from him, he grumbles and puts his large, calloused hands on the table, drumming his fingers over the folded newspaper as he decides to level with him.

"Look, Javier – everything happens for a reason. I know this is not where you expected to be, but for the time being, it's where you're meant to be until you find your way," he tells him sagely, tone softening when those sad eyes flick momentarily up at him before deflecting to stare unseeingly out the window over the kitchen sink. In that moment, with that simmering frown, he can't help be reminded of how much he looks like his mother, and his heart aches a little. He wishes she was there to say all the things she was better at conveying than him. Instead, he relents, "I know you don't want to hear what I have to say—"

"That's not it, Pop," Javi interjects and snaps out of his faraway stare to look over at his father.

When he sees him frown, Javi huffs and goes to sit at the table with him. The kitchen still smells of the fresh pot of coffee, with a hint of lemon from the lemonade his aunt had made and left for them in the fridge. It also stirs up memories of his mother when she'd make agua fresca, and before he can get towed under by the reveries of a childhood long gone, he clears his throat and looks his father in the eye now.

He proceeds to tell his father what happened. Even goes into the conversation with Mike Spencer, and how he'd been offered to run the DEA's entire Mexico operation against the cartels there.

Chucho listens, but his expression hardens the more Javier tells him, and by the end of it, when his son just moodily props his face in his hands and huffs raggedly, there's only one thing he knows to say that will redirect his course.

"Like I said, mijo. You'll find where you're meant to be. But, for now, I'm hoping you can spare some time with your ol' man, help me with a few things during the week while your cousins finish things on their side?" Chucho remarks as he stands from his seat and pats Javi on the shoulder before grabbing his empty mug and heading to the counter to refill it with more coffee from the pot.

Scrubbing his palms over his clean-shaven cheeks, Javi grunts before retorting, "Sure. Whatever you need."

It's a few days of toiling on the ranch later that Javier finds himself bone-tired and dazedly staring off from the battered fence along the muddy embankment of the shore bordering the waterway that the failures of Cali crest right back up to swallow him under.

Seeing the lanchas ferrying with carefree impunity up the murky water towards points unknown to drop off cargo – to flood more cocaine into the U.S. – right in his literal backyard? It makes something sour become a bitter malaise in his gut. The breeze from the water under the heat of the late afternoon sun only makes him sweat and feel withered.

He's glowering against the blazing glare out at the boat in the distance, simmering with the acrimony of his failures, when his father's voice shouts over the sportscaster on the radio's play-by-play.

"You helping me with this or not?"

Javi snaps from his loathing haze and sees Chucho at the truck, winded but pluckily grabbing from the dense wood piled in the pickup.

"I thought I was getting a partner," is his father's huff just as Javi goes over to help him with the large fence post.

"Come on, Pop. Give me that," Javi grunts as he takes the post up with his bare hands and hefts it from his father's grip. "Porfiado," he mutters as he carries it over to the hole and places it in laboriously.

Chucho lets him when his attention is pulled to the river now as the next smuggler's boat jets on by in the distance.

"You can stand here for an hour and you'll count 20 of 'em goin' by," Chucho comments, none the wiser of how such a fact grinds something lowly into Javi's already battered ego.

"¿Y que? ¿Tienes que arreglar la cerca cada vez que hay tormenta?" Javi asks whether his father needs to fix the fence every time there's a storm rhetorically, pointedly changing the topic.

"Alguien lo tiene que hacer," Chucho retorts, offering Javi a can of beer before remarking aloofly, "Así es la vida."

Someone has to do it. Such is life. The rationale gives him little solace.

When Javi takes the offering but doesn't immediately drink from the can, Chucho pops the tab on his own can and drinks from the cerveza, quenching his thirst before mustering the courage to prod, "You thinking of taking them up on it? Mejico."

Javi doesn't respond or look his way, gaze having wandered back over to the water.

"It's different there," Chucho remarks, getting faraway himself now as he reminisces about life as a young man there, as he muses, "Son, let me tell you—"

"Dad."

They both turn to each other then, and his father gives him his clear-eyed attention at being called 'Dad,' not 'Pop.' Javier only ever called him that when he was being plaintive, or assertive about what he needed to tell him – what he needed him to hear him on.

Javier knows the precipice they're both at. He's been here before with him, and he decides he can't leave things unspoken this time.

So, with a forlorn scowl and unwavering stare, Javi holds his father's gaze as he declares it out loud.

"I've done enough…I'm through."

Looking away from his father, Javi cheerlessly takes a sip from the cold beer, content to wallow in his rumination.

But then, his father rasps, "Hand me that cutter," so, disheveled and worn stiff, Javi puts the beer can down, retrieves the bolt cutters, and hands the heavy tool over before pulling on his work gloves, intending to get back to it himself, but his gaze wanders back to the waterway beyond.

At seeing yet another boat going up stream, he removes his aviators and squints at it in the distance, feeling that demoralizing resentment boil up in him now as a recollection echoes back to him.

"…I've had enough with not being enough…"

Your voice is a thread that weaves around in his head, tethering a haul of memories now strung together to remind him of all the times you'd tactically warned him about the reality of his position within the tumultuous, corrupt, and unavoidable adaptability of this seedy world. How taking out one cartel would only lead to someone else filling the vacuum – to the void being exploited by someone crueler, more savvy, and organized.

That no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

***

It took a lot for you to get to this point.

However, the unspooling of your life was all of your own doing.

After you recovered from the shock and dismay of hearing Javier had moved out, you'd gone home and cried for a long while, until that intrepid little voice had tugged at your recall from the last conversation with him. At first, you're fraught as you force yourself to not compartmentalize. To instead sit in the sorrow and focus on the things unsaid and the things declared with vehemence.

He'd promised to try again…that he'd keep trying to make it work.

You hold onto that for days, but Javier never calls.

Really, you're so overwrought with your heartache, that it makes you sick. And the more time that goes by, the more your feelings wither up, and you endeavor to not keep the torch of hope lit for him. But when the time comes for Ellis and Anita to leave for Puerto Rico, you cave to the weakness of your emotions.

It also helps that Ellis hugs you tight at the airport, and whispers, "As much as I want to kick his ass for you, I think you should call Murphy and demand he track Jav's ass down for you."

You snickered dryly, but on the drive home, the seed he'd planted took soil in your longing heart.

You call early the next day, pulse racing and nerves making you fidget in your desk chair as the line rings.

"DEA office, how may I direct your call?"

Confused, you lean worriedly forward. "Oh, I thought this was Agent Steve Murphy's direct line. Could you forward me to him, please?"

"Agent Murphy is on assignment. Would you like to leave a message?"

Crestfallen, you wilt back into your seat. "No…no message. Thank you," is your response, and once you've hung up, your eyes welled over.

Looking over despondently at the corner of your desk, the article sits tucked tightly into the fold you put it in, having reread it numerous times.

On this next reading, something in you snaps.

It's afterhours days later when Stechner is exiting the elevator on the floor his office is tucked away in. He passes the janitor currently mopping the opposite hall and smugly whistles all the way to the door of his office. When he enters, he notices too late that the desk lamp is the only light on in the ample space.

"Good evening, Bill."

Turning, he seems taken aback to see you sitting casually in the swivel chair behind his desk as you turn to give him a pleasant smile head on.

"…How did…" he begins before clearing his throat and glancing back down the hall, as if something dawns on him. Grunting musingly, he closes his office door and lopes towards the desk, smarmy expression seemingly intrigued. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so late, director? Or, can I call you—"

You seamlessly pull a thick manila folder from where you'd had it sat on your lap out of sight and slap it down on the top of his desk.

He eyes it, before flicking his blue steely eyes to you, and shoves his hands into his corduroy trouser pockets.

Standing, you flip the folder open onto the first page of a stack of documents. "You've been quite busy," is your remark as you fan out the stack, revealing logs, photos, depositions – a veritable array of documentation sourced from means you certainly shouldn't have access to.

"Now, I'll speak plain: These are not the originals. I've sent those stateside, to a contact at DOD. By now, they've, in turn, sent it along to heads of DOS and DOJ, as well as one of the Senators on the Oversight committee," you state as you walk around the desk to instead lean into the side of it when Stechner's eyes rove over a certain pile.

"Ah, yes. Afghanistan. That took some digging. Most of those Mujahideen warlords became the Taliban, right?" you remark conversationally as you give him a cunning smile, eyes narrowing as he eyes you with the proper level of unease. "That mass grave? It definitely looked like work of the Soviets, sure, but you and your buddies probably should've stacked more bodies over those Marines' corpses. Or, hell, maybe not have buried them in uniform?"

His expression becomes icy as he stands straight and lets his hands fall to his sides. "Where did you get this," is his flat inquiry, and when you cross your arms and snicker, as if it should be obvious, he drones, "…Your father."

Humming, you lean over to glide your fingers over another series of documents to sift them from the pile. "Now, if a bunch of dead Marines doesn't do it for most, this?" You point to photos of a landing strip in the middle of a dense, Central American jungle. "Well, selling arms to the Contras? Using Panama as a backdrop to distribute weapons with drug traffickers so you can have them take the fall?"

Glaring at the not-so-blurry black and white image of himself standing at the top of a plane's entry, with Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo ascending the stairs to meet him, Stechner scathes, "You have no idea what you're playing with here—"

"Didn't that guy go to prison for abducting and murdering a U.S. federal agent?" you cut in in a lilting chime before smiling and plucking another photo up and tossing it towards the front of the desk. "Ah, sure, he doesn't run the Mexican cartel anymore, but this guy? He's basically running all the plazas, right?"

A photo of Stechner standing in front of the gangway of one of Amado Carrillo Fuentes' cargo planes looks like it was taken from the top of the tree line, but it was close enough to get both he and the would-be 'boss of all bosses' of the Mexican drug trade faces clearly.

"Oh, and then there's the police report. I assure you, a lot of this didn't really surprise anyone I recruited to help gather this all, but that police report? And knowing the CIA's station chief sold his daughter out to be abducted, just to send some sort of petty message to her boyfriend?" you remark with irreverence, adding musingly, "Well, my father just couldn't abide that. He was more than happy to reach out to his sources, your superiors – think he even mentioned something about telling the POTUS Chief of Staff? Ah, who knows…"

Looking up at you now, you see it.

Utter disdain and resignation.

You smile.

"You should've stayed in your lane, Bill."

Vacillating to try and recover his arrogant posturing, the balding man sneers, "Conjecture and photos won't be enough—"

"I thought so too! That's why I sent a copy of this little dossier to a reporter for El Tiempo, as well as a copy to the editor of The Washington Post," you retort glibly, patting your hands on the tops of your pencil-skirt-clad thighs as you move from leaning on the side of the desk to standing straight, with a prim look. "I mean, I could've shopped it to The Miami Herald, but I figured this was more fitting for the D.C. crowd anyway."

The look in his eyes is priceless.

With a glance at your watch, you remark, "And if everything went accordingly, you should be hearing all about it, real soon."

As if on cue, his desk phone and satellite phone start ringing. You smile sublimely.

"Well, then. I'm sure you have some explaining to do," you chime affably as you strut past him to head for the door. "You can keep those for your records in case you need to spruce up on what falls under treason versus capital crimes—"

"You think this won't blow back on you and your department? That there won't be repercussions?!" he suddenly snaps and whirls haughtily at you as you are mid-exit. "You were so worried about keeping up appearances? What's to stop your reputation from going up in flames just as spectacularly as your Javier's did?!"

His scathing sneer of a smile dissolves when you turn from the open door and grin.

"The fact I gave a copy to the ambassador a few hours ago, oh, right before I resigned my position at the embassy," you drawl with lancing mirth, enjoying how his jaw drops as the phones ring incessantly. "It was great working with you, Bill."

With that, you strut out of his office and down the hall towards the elevator, triumphant when you hear the sound of him throwing his satellite phone against the wall of his office and swearing a litany over the continued ringing and the drone of the vacuum cleaner down the opposite wing.

Everything had been put into motion before this coup de grâce.

Days before, you'd assembled your staff and told them your plans to resign, effective immediately several days from that point. Aghast, they'd asked why, and you'd assured them it was best they not know, but you wanted to prep them for the transition of things without you.

You made Jackie head of the department and Devon her deputy, then proceeded to caution them on the security breach you'd monitored and isolated. Explaining that the CIA was using the pilot program to syphon data from other agencies and to clandestinely transmit top-secret intel to and from sources stateside, you showed them the credential trail and disclosed how it led back to the CIA station chief.

Before you'd assembled your team for this announcement, you'd made several calls in preparation.

The first was to your contact in Panama.

That first conversation months back with Luke had been awkward. However, he'd promised to look into your suspicions, and when you'd called him in preparation days before, you'd gotten everything you needed. Along with the stacks of documents in the dossier, you had the handwriting analysis of the notes Stechner had left, as well as fingerprint testing that matched with his prints on file with the state department that Luke had sent you prior.

The second call was to Trujillo.

He'd done what you'd asked – logged the police report from your abduction – after you'd called him once you'd found the glass of Colombian soda with the note on your desk. And now, with the documents you had from Luke, you asked him to act as an anonymous source within CNP who could corroborate your story and prove a pattern of harassment on you personally and professionally. It also didn't hurt that he was willing to vouch that Stechner had been the one to approach him during the whole Los Pepes fiasco.

The third outreach, and the most difficult of them all, had been the one you'd known you couldn't avoid any longer.

"—The Vice Admiral is very busy at the moment."

"Please tell him it's his daughter calling."

The seconds you were placed on hold were used to take a deep breath to center yourself.

After that call, and once things were in motion, there was a moment where you wondered what would happen after.

Those concerns were shelved once you'd received everything you needed. After all, you'd decided from the start that you would follow through without a regret.

Crosby had been surprised to see you come in to his office at the end of the day, after Dotty had left, and there was really no one to witness and spread the news.

When you'd handed him the dossier, he'd been stony and reticent as he flipped through the documents and photos.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me in my role as director, sir, and it's been an honor reporting to you, but I can no longer in good conscience and confidence remain at my post, knowing what I know now," you'd told him with unwavering poise.

Frowning deeply, Crosby stood from his desk and circled it to sit in the chair next to you and take your hand. "Darlin'…I'm so sorry. Had I known—"

You shake your head and squeeze his hand. "I'm glad you didn't, because if you had, this conversation would be going a lot differently, Arthur," is your smooth assurance as you give him a fierce look.

He chuckles a raspy sound, eyeing you with an impressed smirk. "I'm sure."

Then, an obvious detail finally leaps up into his realization.

"Wait a minute. Who was he retaliating against?" the glacial look in his eyes softens with confusion.

Giving him a seriously stoic expression, you fold your hands in your lap and level him with, "The same man he had rotated out the last time. And, the man he's been stacking the odds against ever since he recommended him to come back to Colombia to go after the Cali godfathers."

The look on his face is a mixture of disbelieving cynicism before he shakes his head as if the prospect is too ridiculous to say out loud, but at your cool stare, he sobers and looks at you intently.

"This whole time, you and Peña – you've been involved with Javier Peña the whole while?"

"Ironically, we'd been looking forward to disclosing our relationship officially, but then, well…it's a moot point now, isn't it," you reply evenly, crossing your arms and eyeing him with the unspoken accusation.

You all set him up to fail.

To your luck, Crosby agrees to honor your request regarding your plans, and all but gives you his blessing in decimating Stechner. After all, the bastard never reported to him, so there's plausible deniability.

The next morning, you packed up your office while the news spread like wildfire in the building. Without batting an eye, you thanked your staff, wished them well, said all your farewells to those who'd rushed down to see you off, and begrudgingly agreed to the happy hour send off the Mil Group boys insisted on. It was a rowdy, albeit cheerful impromptu party, one filled with only friendly faces and toasts in your honor. You managed to get away with tons of hugs, promises to stay in touch, and 'attagirl' high-fives for doing what no one had been able to do: give Bill Stechner his most-deserved comeuppance.

No one dared remark or ask about the tawdrier detail, aka your no-longer-secret relationship with the notorious Javier Peña, and you were grateful for it, but knew they would all be dishing about it the moment you finished strutting out of the bar to head to your car.

By the end of the night, you drove home, feeling clearheaded, but sad.

When you'd loped into your apartment and walked by the phone, you'd seen the machine list one missed call, so you pressed the button to play the message while you pulled your heels off and leaned against the wall in the hallway.

"Hey, my love! I tried your cell phone, but it just kept ringing. Anyway, I'm flying into town on the 'morrow and can't wait to see you. I'll be staying in the same hotel, so after work, come up and visit. Can't wait to catch up, krasivaya!"

Your heart feels a little lighter at hearing Sasha's voice, and after such a devastating, demoralizing few weeks, you revel in having something positive to look forward to, and when you show up the next afternoon at his penthouse suite's door, he's shocked to see you.

"Ketsele! Wha-Wait, is today a holiday? I figured you'd be working—" he's remarking as he pulls you in and gives you a double-cheek kiss before hugging you tight. His cotton crewneck white shirt, blue-striped linen trousers, and his bare feet make it obvious he wasn't expecting any company, and his hair is slicked back from the shower but curling around his nape – making his relaxed appearance and chiseled features softer.

"Hah, n-no, not a holiday," you simper as you squeeze him back and snicker when you pull away to rub your palms brazenly along his neatly trimmed scruff-covered cheeks. "Whaaaat, what happened to the sexy beard?!" is your jibing whine as you pout at him.

"Ah, it was getting annoying, and now that it's fairly warm stateside, it didn't make sense to keep it," he tuts and squeezes your purple tunic-dress-clad waist cheekily before he ushers you over to sit and have a drink. "So? How're things?! How's work, and everything still great with Javi darling?"

You let out a mordant laugh as you sit and take the champagne flute he's just generously filled to the top before joining you on the plush couch with his own.

Sasha watches you chug the champagne down, before you sigh out and turn to face him fully so you can give him your best winning smile.

"Well, um, my grandmother passed away suddenly not so long ago…" you declare, and when his expression goes from convivial to incredulous, you add glibly, "I quit my job yesterday. And, Javier quit his job couple weeks before that after blowing up his life here. We fought, and I haven't seen or heard from him since."

When Sasha stares in aghast, albeit woeful worry at you, the snarky laugh bubbles up from your throat as you lean over him to snatch the bottle of champagne from the side table, plop back into the couch, and begin to drink brashly direct from the expensive bottle as you kick off your leather flats.

"Blessed fucking hell…what the fuck happened?" his baritone is rough with concern and confusion, and as if absorbing it all out of sequence, you watch as his eyes crinkle and fill with tears, "I-I'm so sorry. Why didn't you call me?!"

You take a long pull from the bottle, hoping the bubbles of the champagne with fill your belly and set you aloft to fly up and never have to look back at your life.

After a hiccup filters out of you, shame washes your glibness away and tows you under. Makes you feel stupid and inane. Especially when it scalds hot up from your gut thanks to how truly upset Sasha looks for you, and before you know it, your consternation flushes up to the top of your head, making your face burn with mortification. The feelings you'd walled off crash over you now as the compartments fail and fall under the weight of everything, leaving you frayed and unable to keep your brave façade up.

"…Everything just…it just all…it all fell apart…" you choke out as your composure finally caves in and the hurt leaps up to ensnare your breath.

Your vision narrows in at the edges as you start to sob, and before you've realized it, you're crying in Sasha's arms, desperately weeping until sobs wrack your frame and have you breathless and keening.

He'd manage to hastily take the bottle and set it down on the floor before you dropped it in your state of turmoil, and had scooped you into his fierce embrace as you lost yourself to the sorrow and heartache.

Tears run down his face as he rubs your back and lets you get it all out, waiting until the hot press of your spent tears cool on his neck and your sobs have quieted down to the occasional tremulous inhale and exhale of breath.

You curl up on the couch together once you start to shiver from the cool air-conditioned chill of the sprawling penthouse, and when you sniffle and hide your puffy face into his shoulder, Sasha scrubs the back of his hand across his flushed countenance and squeezes you protectively.

"I'm here, my love. For as long as you need me, I'll be here," he whispers in a thick, roughened bass, emotion still heavy in his voice.

Eventually, when you are utterly drained and can't shed another tear, you go slack in his embrace and try to scrape your composure together. Once you're sure you won't fall apart all over again, you muster the effort to shift against him so you can rest your head on his shoulder and press your forehead to his scruff-darkened jaw.

In a hoarse, low murmur, you tell Sasha everything that's happened.

He is quiet the entire time, listening and caressing your back as you go through the sheer litany of dramatic events you've been through since he'd last seen you.

When you finally conclude in the recap of everything, and clear your parched throat to sit up and absently wipe at your cheeks with the back of your tunic's bell sleeves, you stare drearily at Sasha with your red-rimmed, watery eyes and frazzled expression.

Letting the cleansing inhale out through his nose, he sits back and gives you a cerulean-eyed squint before blustering, "How in the entire fuck have you not become some novelist's muse for the sheer sweeping expanse of your suspenseful life that could be the inspiration for a world's bestseller?!"

Blinking at him in tremulous shock, it takes you a moment to appreciate how he scrunches his face – crooking his brows exaggeratedly while he opens his blue eyes as wide as they can go and he twists his lips in faux displeasure at you.

You burst into hapless, smoky laughter before it turns into peels of guffawing giggles while he comically grabs your arms and shakes you goofily.

"Tell me, ma chérie!" he growls sarcastically while you playfully tussle with him on the couch until you funnily slap his cheek. "Gauh! Alright, I take it back. I take it back!"

"I can't with you!" you rail and shove him when he pouts at you. "Jesus Christ on the Cross…" is your weary sneer as you sit back and sniffle, busily wiping at your face now with your sleeves. "I'm…I'm so sorry for unloading on you…"

Sasha mordantly grunts. "Stop it," he huffs and pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry I wasn't here – wasn't able to give you the support when you needed it…"

You both go silent and just sit close while you collect your composure. He doesn't expect you to divulge any more, but you surprise him by murmuring, "I miss my grandmother so much. After Javi just left, I had this longing to call her and vent in that split-second of losing my mind, when I'd forgotten everything else…and then I just wished I could take it all back. That I could rewind to before and do everything all over again."

"…Have you tried to reach out to him?" Sasha asks tentatively.

You nod dimly and sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. You take a tremulous breath.

"He said that he would keep trying. That after he tied up loose ends with that case…that he would keep trying to make it work and we'd talk about what we'd do, but he left and…I don't believe him anymore," is your despondent response, and saying it out loud has your heart going numb. "I didn't trust him…I don't trust him at all now, and part of me wonders if I should've ever trusted him—"

"Hey, don't go down that rabbit hole now," Sasha sits up and cups your cheek. "Don't try and talk yourself out of how you felt. It was real. Don't regret it."

Sighing deeply, you nod and bow your head. "It's a moot point anyway. I…I sort of went scorched earth at work, and without my job at the embassy, I really don't have a reason to stay in Colombia anymore," you mumble before shuffling over to retrieve the bottle of champagne from where it sits before drinking a pull from it. When you exhale and offer it to him, Sasha takes it and chugs several gulps. You end up watching his throat work the bubbly down as you remark, "I have to figure out what to do now with my life…"

Grandly, Sasha plops the bottle down on the side table and lets out a charming grunt as he reaches for something tucked under the glass candy dish. "Well, then. At the very least, you can look forward to this!" he announces boastfully as he turns and hands you an engraved, lavishly detailed envelope with your name on it.

You gasp. "Oh my god, the wedding!" is your exclamation as you admire the envelope before opening it delicately to retrieve the lux lace-patterned and golden foiled invitation to your friend's special day. "This is lovely. Oh, I'm such a shit maid of honor—!"

"Ah, stop your fretting! You can come to New York and make up for lost prattling time with Irina," he scoffs irreverently as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. "You can stay with me. It'll be like old times!"

You feel overcome all over again, but now it's for profound love for Sasha, and how he's always so selfless with his affection and care.

He manages to keep you preoccupied the rest of the day over a bevy of snacks and drinks while you think out loud about plans for Irina's bridal shower, and when you inevitably return to fretting about everything, he tows you back to lighter things.

Sasha's just finished suggesting you just take a sabbatical and come stay with him while you decide what you want to do next when the penthouse door opens and a preoccupied Nikolai rushes in.

"Alexander, that twit of a business manager keeps calling and it's pissing me off, so would you get that infernal phone of yours and—" the grumbling man is sneering in a thick Ukrainian accent before he skids to a halt and sees you peering over at him from the back of the couch with wide eyes. "I—forgive me, I wasn't aware you were entertaining."

"He speaks!" is your cheeky exclamation as you smile at how he's glowering busily at you while Sasha sputters amusedly at your side. "I was beginning to think you had a squeaky voice, or sounded like Donald Duck—"

Guffawing at that now, Sasha folds his arms over the back of the couch and buries his brash laughter into his forearms, but fails to rein his mirth in when you elbow him bossily. "Hah! Alright, alright – sorry," he husks irreverently before clearing his throat and sobering in his goofy demeanor when Nikolai glowers and crosses his arms huffily. "What's Ian fretting about now, then?"

"Something about an art dealer," the sentry of a man mutters before waving it off as he makes to exit for his private quarters. "Let me know if you need me—"

"It's nice to see you, Nikolai," you charmingly chime, smiling when he pauses to nod politely at you.

"Nice to see you as well, miss," he mutters almost bashfully before hustling away.

Reluctantly, Sasha bounds up to go retrieve his cell phone. "I'm sorry, ketsele, this'll only take a few minutes, then we can get back to drinking and being stupid!"

You take the moment alone to nibble on some strawberries from the lavish platter he'd had brought up. You are contemplating gorging on a piece of pineapple when he stalks back in moments later, looking annoyed.

"What's wrong?" you pipe as you clean your fingers on a napkin and sit back in the plush cushions of the sofa.

"Ian just told me that the director of the installation at the art gallery in Miami is getting cold feet now because the dealer who recommended 'Worship' for the residency there is getting prosecuted here for corruption and fraud?!" he seethes, dropping heavily into the seat next to you with a forlorn huff. "If the gallery's board of directors votes on it, 'Worship' might be delayed because of that asshole—"

"Wait…is the art dealer's name Santiago Medina?"

Sasha pauses in his harangue to blink over at you in surprise. "Yes, yes, it is," is his musing drone until he deadpans, "Oh shit, so it's true?"

You're the bearer of bad news. You explain how Santiago Medina is literally at the center of the corruption scandal involving the Cali cartel paying for influence with the current administration running the Colombian government.

For the most part, he takes it well, and you end up agreeing to spend the night together for moral support.

You both make tentative plans to catch back up after he's done with his business regarding the installation at the museum, and the promise of considering traveling up with him to New York is not one he'll let you hedge on, so you assure him you'll think about it.

Needless to say, you feel unable to completely escape thinking about everything that's happened, and once you're back in your apartment the next day, you end up making some decisions.

Firstly, you call your prima and let her know what's going on, and what you plan to do. Secondly, you make the arrangements to put your apartment up for rent, and are surprised when you get a lot of interest. So thirdly, you are relegated to scheduling for movers and getting ready to pack up your life in short order.

By the weekend, you've packed almost all of your personal effects and labeled the furniture that will be getting put into storage stateside versus what will be going to the house in Medellín, and are preparing your suitcases when you remember you need to unmount and pack your phone. Well, you're actually actively avoiding packing up your closet, knowing there are items there that will throw you into a melancholic funk, so you busy yourself with getting the box the phone came in and prep it for repackaging.

Eerily, you're taping up a box for your office things to go into in anticipation of the landline getting packed in it as well when the phone starts ringing.

Rushing down the hall, you answer it and move into the kitchen to retrieve a marker for the labeling on the box. You pause when the friendly voice of the director from the D.C. DOS office greets you jovially.

"—I heard you're no longer at the embassy in Bogotá! I called around and got your personal number, so forgive me for reaching out like this out of the blue—"

You listen to him eagerly give you a sales pitch, and are about to kindly rush off the phone, but he thwarts you.

"—So, I know you're probably not in the mindset to be thinking of your next move, but frankly, there's a big opportunity opening up, and you're my first choice for it."

"…Ok, I'm listening..."

A few days later, you're finishing helping your cousin pack away the decades of belongings and keepsakes collected in the three-bedroom, one bath home once your grandmother's.

It was very difficult to go through things when you'd started, shedding lots of tears and some needed laughs when you'd find family memorabilia. The movers had collected the furniture and houseware you'd wanted to keep and send up to storage, making way for the furniture from your apartment you'd graciously passed over to balance out the home Miguel and your prima would settle in happy matrimony together.

"I got these in last week. I wanted to give them to you when you'd first come up, but…well, anyway, here," your cousin is remarking as she enters the kitchen where you're currently sat sorting through some knickknacks you'd collected from your grandmother's old bedroom.

Sitting back in the seat, you follow her as she walks around to sit at the table with you before she places an envelope with the photographer's name in laminated lettering on the front.

When you open the flap, your breath catches in your chest.

The glossy photos are crisp and vibrant as you pull the stack from the sleeve and marvel at the prints as you shuffle them one by one onto the table.

The wedding photos were mostly candids taken throughout the ceremony, out in front of the church, and at the reception. A lovely shot of the happy couple is the first. The big group photo in front of the iglesia's flower-rimmed fountain is next, and you feel a lump knot in your throat at you and Javi standing on the left of the bridal party as you glance from it to a candid of you, Javi, and your grandmother sitting in the pew, just before the vows. You hadn't even realized a photo was being taken, because you were looking at each other in the moment.

A tear escapes your eye as you notice how happy your grandmother looks, sitting on the other side of Javi, as she sees you both staring lovingly at each other.

"I like this one a lot," your cousin croaks, feeling just as emotional. She points at a photo of you and Javi dancing during the reception, and his smile as you laugh in mid dip has you snickering and sniffling. "But this one is my favorite."

She points to a photo of your grandmother, you, and Javier all posing while sat at your cake-slices-and-drink-laden table in the reception. Your abuela has a bright smile that lights up her features while you look truly content – smiling just as brilliantly while scooted close to Javier, who looks handsome and boyish all at once with that dimple of his on full display.

That's what does you in. You start to sob, and through the tears, you simper, "These are beautiful. Thank you. I love them."

Shuffling closer, you both hug, and share some tears while reminiscing about the wedding.

You manage to get through some more chores around the house that takes you into the early evening.

You're just taking a break at the kitchen table from dotingly polishing your grandmother's santos before you wrap them in the packing paper to be placed with the rest of the knickknacks you plan to take with you, and your cousin is cooking dinner while she chats with you. It's about that time of day when your aunt will be getting home from work, so she's jokingly warning you she's probably jetting over to see the progress on the house when you hear a car pull up on the street before the distant squeak of the gate being opened echoes over from the outside.

Comically looking at each other, you snicker and prepare for the inevitable. But then you're confused when instead of your aunt barreling into the space from the front door, there's a knock that sounds through the house. Turning to stare surprisedly at you, your cousin vacillates on whether she should go get the door, when you snicker and chime, "It's your home now, girl. The lady of the house should answer the door!"

Chuckling, she sets the rice spoon down and covers the caldero on the stove before wiping her hands on a towel and rushing by you with an irreverent squeeze to your shoulder as she goes. You decide to return back to the santos while you wait.

The one you're currently turning over in your hands is a figure of La Virgen Santa María, and your thoughts tug free the recollection of the last time you'd seen an effigy of the Virgin Mary. You picture the prayer card that had been in the shoebox, and the melancholy it plunges you into distracts you from the voices and the clang of the screen door closing.

It isn't until the sound of thick leather soled footsteps echoing over the terrazzo floor nearing towards the kitchen only to stop at the doorway behind you that you're stirred back from your longing thoughts to turn in your chair.

Your father stands in the threshold of the kitchen.

His broad shoulders and tall stature fill the space, looking just as imposing as he did the last time you had argued with him and stormed away, but instead of the dark polo shirt and tan slacks he'd been wearing that day, he's in a black guayabera with navy blue vertical stripes, and light cream-colored pleated trousers. His leather dress shoes are polished as meticulously as always, and his hair is swept back, but there's more pepper-gray shocked through his thick strands of hair than you remember.

You're so disarmed to see him that you don't immediately register how uncertain he looks as he stands there, trying to find something to say.

"Tesoro…" he rumbles in a tense bass-filled tone, hands fidgeting at his sides as he clears his throat and tries to verbalize his thoughts.

Overcome by your feelings coming crashing down around you like a rickety house of cards, the knot that tangles in your throat has a tremulous sob catching in your chest before you rush up to your feet and toss your arms around his shoulders.

He seems surprised, but quickly wraps you up in a hug and holds you tight as you start to weep.

Your cousin stands in the living room and witnesses as your father's eyes get glassy with unshed tears while he rubs your back, holding you tight as he consoles you with deep baritone shushes. Stifling a sniffle, she leaves you both to have your moment and goes out to the walkway to stop her mother from interrupting the emotional scene when she hears her coming up the sidewalk.

You don't even notice, too far gone in your tears and the comforting haven of your father's presence, completely unselfconscious to the need to be held by your Pá after so long – to feel safe in his warm embrace and soothed by his familiar aftershave and cologne.

Truly, you're filled up with relief as he whispers assurances that everything will be all right. And, in this moment, the world melts away, leaving just the two of you.

Right now, you're just a little girl being comforted by her dad, and for now, that's more than enough.

***

The drive back from fixing the fence along the riverbank had been a miserable one.

His body ached in the worst way – muscles strained, cheeks and back of his neck tender from tanning under the hot Texas sun, and feeling completely downtrodden after spending most of the day distracted and fuming with every drug-running boat that cruised by to rub in his face what a failure his time in the DEA had been.

But nothing more demoralizing could've heralded his current state of being – at his lowest low – than the song that came over the radio while his father drove them home.

Esta canción que canto amigos Es una más de dolor Si es que me ven llorando amigos Discúlpenme por favor

At first, he didn't know why it sounded familiar, but then when the second section sung after the instrumental horns blow in the melancholic ballad, he gets hit with a scalding déjà vu.

Traigo en el alma pena y llanto Que no puedo contener Y es que la quiero tanto y tanto Pero me tocó perder

He can't even stop it from happening. Not with how utterly worn down he felt, and before he could even muster the will to pull himself together, tears stung his eyes before escaping to roll down his cheeks.

Y ahora tengo que olvidarla también Y arrancarla de mi alma y mi ser Y de aquel amor que quema mi piel Que no quede nada

"Javier," his father grouses when he spares a glance over at his only son and sees him rushing to scrub his hands over his face with a terse grunt.

Que no quede huella, que no y que no Que no quede huella Porque estoy seguro que tu mi amor Ya ni me recuerdas

Que no quede huella de ti Y de los besos que te di Para convencerme mejor que yo Ya te perdí

Pulling off to the side of the dirt road, just short of the gravel-paved junction he'd need to turn onto to head back to the house, Chucho put the truck in park and turned to face Javier with worry. "Son—"

"I'm fine, Pop. I-I—" he interjected gruffly and exhaled a turbulent breath before reaching over to snap the volume on the radio all the way down. With the silence of the cab, he mustered the composure to clear his throat and stuff his feelings back down.

Looking anywhere but up at his father's concerned expression, he assured, "…Just got away from me for a moment there…"

Frowning, Chucho had reached for Javi's shoulder to give it a fortifying squeeze and pat before resuming the drive home.

The next day, after a fitful night's sleep, Javi had been up and dressed in a worn pair of jeans, soft denim shirt with snap buttons, and his battered work boots. Having pointedly ignored and weaved a path around the boxes as well as his luggage from Colombia still waiting to be unpacked to instead head downstairs, he'd grabbed a belt and slipped it through the loops of his jeans as he went.

Even though his back aches and his knees were protesting as he hustled down the stairs, Javi was getting himself ready for another day of toil on the ranch, even if it killed him. After all, he'd decided to get in the swing of helping with the drudgery he'd grown concerned was getting too much for Chucho to do mostly on his own, even with his cousins lending their time around the busier seasons.

His father was just coming back in from the porch with the weekly milk, butter and egg delivery that got dropped off by his primo before taking the rest to market in town.

It was a tradition since he was a kid, and even though it'd been years since his uncle had passed on, his prima Lucía kept it up. He was about to comment that things must be good over on that side of the family land when the house phone started ringing. Hustling to go answer it while his father stored the items in the fridge, he figured it might be Spencer calling again to "check in" and make sure he couldn't change his mind about getting back to work at the DEA.

"Peña Residence."

"Holy shit, Jav!" the boisterous greeting from Steve has him gritting his jaw and his shoulders squaring up. "You won't fucking believe what I just heard—!"

"Jeez, isn't it a little early to call and ply me with gossip, bud?" he grumbles as he turns to see his father begin to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"No man, listen! I just left headquarters – was there for that task force operation I told you about, and the news is all over the building: That asshole Stechner got bounced out of Colombia and is going up before a Congressional committee. CIA's basically burn noticing his ass for a bunch of shit that was leaked, and word is he got taken down by someone in the embassy—"

Javier's jaw drops as Steve details more, but his mind reverts him back to what Marisol had told him about the message she'd meant to give you. What was it?

"That her plan worked."

She'd said it so triumphantly, before teasing that she was sure he'd find out the details once he got back home. Holy shit.

Steve's boasting stirs Javier back as he smugly twangs, "—It's gone up the chain at DOD and DOJ, so he's finished. Someone said the dossier was filled with unsanctioned covert ops stuff, and supposedly it all got sent over to the powers that be in D.C. by some Vice Admiral, which had me thinking your badass mamacita pulled off the ultimate takedown."

But before he can keep crowing about the gossip, Javi cuts in with, "Steve, I gotta go. I'll call you back when I can, alright?"

He hangs up and bounds out of the kitchen to grab the keys to the truck in the bowl on the side table in the hall. "Pop, I'll be back in a couple of hours—"

"What?! Where are you going, mijo?" Chucho follows him out to the front hall where Javi is currently grabbing for his tan windbreaker jacket in the coat closet.

"I just gotta take care of something. I'll be back," he hastily explains as he rushes out the door.

Thirty minutes later, he's parking in the lot across from a building he hasn't been in since before he'd shipped out to Colombia, and when he comes in the door, even at the early hour, the receptionist looks up and is nonplussed to see him.

"Agent Peña?"

Of course, she'd know his face. He was sure Spencer had sent his DEA badge photo around to every field office since he'd gotten back stateside, and with the glances he'd gotten through the halls at the headquarters building in Virginia, he had no doubt his reputation preceded him – for better or worse.

"I need to see Growman," Javier had ordered, not asked, dispensing with all pleasantries.

Looking tense, she'd began to respond, "Um, well, he isn't in yet—"

"I'll wait."

The steel in his voice is only matched by the iron of his stare, so she'd quickly nodded before reaching for the phone to call the deputy director for the Laredo field office.

A few minutes later, and the man ambles out the security door leading to the offices and waves Javier in, looking surprised but intrigued.

Before they're even completely down the corridor that leads to the office spaces, the man was drawling, "Shit, man. Does this mean that resignation thing was a load of—"

"Are you aware you have boat runners smuggling drugs day in and out across the border, going up the tributary from the river, right along my family's property?"

Skidding in step, the deputy eyes him warily before ushering Javi down the rest of the way to the director's office. "So, this is technically a personal inquiry—?"

"Listen, Todd, I don't really care to discuss it with you, seeing as you can't do jack-shit to resolve it yourself, so I'll wait for Growman," Javi cuts in with finality.

Thankfully, the man in question rounds the corner, and after greeting Javier warmly, he takes him into his office and waves the deputy off.

As he rounds his desk to sit in his cushy chair, he began to remark, "Mike Spencer said you might come in here at some point once you got bored with retirement—"

"Nate, I'm going to be very clear here. I spent all fucking day yesterday watching drugs being smuggled up stream, just a stone's throw away from my property. Beyond the fact that I could go over your head to the brass and tell 'em you're letting these bastards get past you in broad daylight, I'm going to say this once: If you don't stop the drug traffic from going up river in my backyard, I will go to every newspaper from here to D.C. and namedrop you as being asleep on the job, and I'll do it in my personal capacity while still being the guy that took down an entire drug cartel," Javier levels in a terse rasp, voice hitting a low register as he leans forward with his hands on his hips to add gruffly, "Do we have an understanding?"

The director eyes him dubiously before drawling, "So I guess the rumors are true."

He knew what he was referring to. "Check it out: that's Javier Peña, the Crusader," he recalled overhearing in the lobby of the DEA building weeks prior. The sarcasm of the musing and the glances he kept feeling spoke volumes.

It was fine by him to live up to that hype.

"Care to find out for yourself?" Javier contumely challenged, eyes dark and features etched with promise.

Stonily, the other man leaned back in his chair before deadpanning, "…I'll get it handled."

"Good," Javier remarks, turns, and storms to the door to exit before pausing to look back at the man. "Don't make me come back here."

With that, he exits the office and stalks down the hall, out the security door, through the compact lobby, and out the building. He gets in the truck and doesn't look back as he drives off.

A short while later, and he's walked into the Sherriff's department.

The heat from the sun was radiating in the foyer, so he rushed through the vestibule and right up to the information desk.

"I'm here to see Deputy Miranda. Can you let him know—"

"Holy smokes, is that you, Javi?!"

He paused to turn just as a very familiar dispatcher was ambling over at him with a bright smile. Unable to suppress his crooked smirk, Javi drawled, "Hey, Pam."

"Well, as I live and breathe! I didn't know you were back in town," the spry woman exclaims as she pulls him in for a jovial hug. "Come on in with me," she offers as she simultaneously holds up her hand to the front desk rookie and chimes, "No need to fret, hun! This one here's got all the clearance he'll ever need," before looping her arm around Javier's and escorting him back to the bullpen.

"Look what the cat dragged in, boys!" Pam shouts out before kissing Javi on the cheek and leaving him to the room filled with mostly friendly faces in order to clock in for her shift.

"Check it out!"

"It's Mr. Laredo himself!"

A bunch of the fellas catcall tauntingly at Javier as he makes the rounds to shake hands hello, pat shoulders and shake his head wryly at the hazing.

"Hey, hermano!" Manny pulls him into a bear hug, giving Javi no quarter until he relents and hugs him back. "What the hell, y que haces por aquí, güey?! How long you been back in town?"

Clapping him on the back, Javi leans back and rumbles, "Not long. Listen, I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere private?"

"Ehm, sure. Yeah. Hey, Carl. Can you finish taking this log down to filing for me?" Manny grabs the folder and hands it to one of the other deputies.

"Sure, John. And I'll only charge you one of those pastries Heidi made for yah," the other man chuckles as he goes.

Rolling his eyes, the man nudges Javi to follow him down to one of the conference rooms that's currently unoccupied. As they go, he can't help notice how his uniform accentuates some muscles he hadn't remembered his buddy having much definition in from the last time they'd hung out, but before he can comment, the door is shut and the inquisition begins.

"Alright, what the hell you up to now that brings you over here asking for favors before 8am?"

Yep, John Emanuel Miranda, 'Manny' to his very close friends and family, always was able to read Javier before he said a damn thing. After all, the two had been friends since elementary school, when Manny had come in mid-semester. His family had immigrated from Monterrey, Mexico, and one day when he struggled to find his locker due to the language barrier, Javier had walked up to him and offered to help. When he couldn't find a table that looked friendly enough to go sit at, he saw Javier waving at him enthusiastically from a table at the back of the cafeteria, inviting him to come sit with him. He eventually came out of his shell more, and over time, he and Javier were best of friends, and eventually he learned enough English to befriend Javier's friends, and ever since, they were partners in crime – and extracurricular activities at school – before following each other into the police academy and then onto the Laredo Sherriff's Department.

Javi still remembers the time Manny introduced himself to some of the other kids as John, and how he'd asked what that was about. "My dad told me he named me John Emanuel Miranda so the gringos would be nicer to me. He figured if I had a white-sounding first name, it would be harder for them to be mean. So, to gringos I don't know well, I tell them my name is John. If I like the person enough, eventually they can call me Manny."

He'd just realized he'd told Steve a while back while they'd been waiting for Navegante about his best man John driving him to the chapel before he'd told him to pull over, and is amused by the fact he'd likely referred to him as John because Steve was a hillbilly who hadn't earned the privilege to know him as 'Manny,' when he shakes himself loose of the recollections and clears his throat to answer his friend.

He tells Manny about the smugglers, how he'd demanded that the DEA handle it, and how he'd decided it'd be a good bet to have the sheriff's department aware so if the agency dropped the ball, his guys could be aware and be more vigilant.

"Ni madres…yeah, we'll handle it. I know a lot of people who would happily patrol the waterways more to make sure those hijo de putas don't cross near their land," the man responds soberly as he eyes him reassuringly. "So then, you doing all this because you plan to stay for good, Javi?" he followed up, as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.

"…I'm doing it because I don't want that shit happening in my town. Let alone right in my family's backyard. And I knew you wouldn't either, which is why I'm trusting you with it," Javi responded curtly before sitting in a chair and rubbing his hand crankily across his features, struggling with his cigarette craving hitting hard after trying to go cold-turkey. "For now, though…yeah, I'll be home for a spell. Helping Pop out on the ranch while I figure out my next move."

"Well, excellent! So, then you'll be free to be my best man."

Having not expected that, Javier had lifted his face from his hand to balk at him, mumbling, "What?"

Manny gives him a kilowatt smile, shoulders proudly winding back as he tells him, "I popped the question, and Heidi said yes. We're getting married in a few months, so I'll need you to be my best man."

Stunned, Javi takes a minute to stand and clamp both hands onto Manny's shoulders before giving him a wry shake and pulling him into a hug. "Congrats, huevón! She finally wore you down—"

"Ah, no mames, cabrón," Manny scoffs and shoves Javi comically. "We all can't be eligible solteros forever!"

Javier is in much better spirits by the time he gets back to the ranch, and while his father is peeved with him, he just tosses his tools into the back of the truck and hops in before ordering him to drive out to the northern pasture.

By the end of the day, the dirt and sweat of hard labor actually felt good to him, and Chucho can't help affectionately patting his arm while they moseyed back to the truck.

"Whatever you ran off to handle this morning, seemed to help pick your spirits up, mijo," he'd commented, as he put the tools in the back of the truck.

"Yeah…" Javi retorted as he tossed his work gloves into the back of the flatbed and smirked. "Just making my way while I'm here, until I figure out whether I'm cut out for this ranchero life—"

"Oh, I've given up on that one a long time ago," Chucho cut in slyly, smiling as he got in the truck.

Snorting, Javi got in too. "I'm trying, Pop."

"I know. And this viejo appreciates it, but we both know you'll get stir crazy and find what you're meant to do next," he fondly assures as he starts the truck. "But I'm grateful all the same that in the meantime, while you figure it out, you're spending it here, Javier."

It feels good to hear.

So, he opens up, and tells his dad the news about Manny and Heidi on the drive back to the house.

Once his father parked in the driveway over by the storage garage, Javier was feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He was in such a good mood, that he'd been in the middle of remarking, "Maybe we can go into town for dinner? Haven't been to Jaime's folks' spot for barbeque in a while—" but then he stopped dead in his tracks when he was up the walkway and spotted a big box left on the porch, right in front of the screen door.

"I thought all your things were delivered already," Chucho remarks as he comes up beside him.

"Yeah, they were," Javi mutters as he goes up the porch steps and grabs the box. It's heavy, but manageable, so he'd put it down on the nearby porch chair so he could look at the tracking label.

His heart sank when he saw the sender's address.

Chucho perceived the way Javier deflated, so he quickly opened the screen door and unlocked the door. "Bring it in, mijo," he instructed gently as he held the screen open for him.

Vacantly, Javi picked up the box and brought it through the threshold to be put down in the living room. He hadn't realized he'd been staring at it blankly until his father had retrieved his pocket knife and held it out to him.

It took everything in him to slice through the tape and pop the lids open.

His belongings – the ones he'd kept in your apartment – are packed meticulously into the box, folded and arranged in the most efficient way he's ever seen.

The look on Javier's face was everything Chucho needed to see to know where the box was from, and knows his son is brooding with self-loathing, so he put his hand on his back.

"Son, I don't want you to let this eat you up—"

"It's not. It…it won't, Pop," Javi snapped before easing his tone and diverting his gaze. "I'll, uh…I'll take this up, shower, and we can go to dinner."

With a frown, he nodded and watched Javier pick up the box and make a hasty retreat up the stairs with it.

When he made it up to his room, he dropped the box onto the floor by his bed, and intended to storm off to shower, but he ended up just staring down into the representation of the last vestiges of his life with you, feeling plunged into a sadness he'd been holding at bay.

He'd been distant during dinner at the restaurant, and pensive on the drive back to the ranch, so his father had deliberated about just sitting him down to hash it all out – to insist on him needing to vent and purge his feelings about the whole matter once and for all so he could work to heal from the breakup and not wallow in his despair.

The chance is thwarted when they come into the house to the house phone already ringing.

Mechanically, Javier had marched to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"Peña Residence."

"Hey, Jav. Sorry to call again, I know you said you'd call back, but…uh, well, I thought you should know," Steve is prefacing in a much more sober tone now than he'd had earlier in the day. Javier grunts for him to continue, so Steve explains, "I came into the office straight from the airport to catch up on memos and shit. I had a voicemail message that was just a few seconds of quiet before the person hung up. I thought that was weird, so I asked if anyone had called during the day when the calls to my line were getting redirected. The dispatcher logged one from a woman, who'd called my direct line, but didn't want to leave a message…and I can't help thinking that could've been your girl."

"…When was it?" Javi asks, throat tight as he feels his father's eyes on him from his vigil at the kitchen entryway.

Steve tells him the timing for both calls, and Javier feels an ache behind his sternum.

"—Wish she'd left a number. Sorry, man. Just figured I'd let you know," Steve is remarking, pulling Javi back.

"No, don't worry about it. Thanks for calling, Steve. Give my love to the girls."

As soon as he hangs up the phone, Javi is ruminating, and for some nagging reason, he's compelled to go up to his bedroom and dig into the box now.

"Sorry, Pop. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?" he tells his father as he rushes by and bounds up the steps.

He hears his father shout up a hasty goodnight while he hustles into his room and proceeds to dig through the box, putting every item and article of clothing on the bed as he empties the contents.

Once emptied and tossed aside, he takes stock of everything, trying to mentally itemize all the things he'd ever had at your place, hoping for some elusive clue he has no clue about finding or why, until something that is not present in the bunch jumps out at him.

His gray college shirt is missing.

Leaning on the mattress, he disbelievingly marvels at the missing belonging, and something he wasn't even aware he still had now began to blossom in his chest.

Hope. You kept it, because you didn't want to part with it, because maybe…maybe you still hoped to see him again.

Overcome, he sits on the bed and grabs the shoe box he'd put on his nightstand, took the lid off of it, and retrieved the photos of you among the other items of importance strewn over them: his mother's rosary beads, her prayer card, and the little Virgin Mary glass paperweight she'd gifted him when he'd gotten into college.

Everything held so much meaning to him, and seeing them all together allowed that hope to radiate deeper in him.

And for the first time, he felt like there was enough – that he had enough to go on.

So, as soberly as possible, he did.

________________

Read Chapter 39: Longing

Spanish-English Glossary:

Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny"

Sabes = You know

Santo Cristo = Holy Christ; Saint Christ

Doncito = Slang for gentleman/young man, said in the diminutive

Guapo valiente = Valiant hunk

Agua fresca = A non-alcoholic beverage made of fresh fruits, blended with sugar and water

Lancha = A motorized, boat; dinghy used to go up waterways

Porfiado = Stubborn [male]

Cerveza = Beer

Mejico = Mexico

Prima = Cousin [female]

Iglesia = Church

Santos = Saints; Catholic figurines used in a home shrine/altar

Caldero = Cauldron (old school rice cooking pot)

Guayabera = Traditional Latin American button down/formal dress shirt worn by men; usually worn by men to look distinguished

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa

Mamacita = sexy lady; foxy woman

Hermano = Brother; bud

Y que haces por aquí, güey = And what are you doing over here, dude

¡Ni madres! = Coloquial Mexican phrase, meaning "No Way!" "You're kidding me!"

Hijo de putas = Sons of bitches

Huevón = Dummy; goofball

Ah, no mames, cabrón = Ah, quit fucking around, asshole; akin to "Quit busting my balls, man"

Solteros = Bachelors; single men

Ranchero = Rancher [male]

Viejo = Old man

Song translation: Esta canción que canto amigos This song I sing friends Es una más de dolor It's one more pain Si es que me ven llorando amigos If you see me crying friends Discúlpenme por favor Excuse me, please Traigo en el alma pena y llanto I carry in my soul sorrow and weeping Que no puedo contener That I can't contain Y es que la quiero tanto y tanto And I love her so much and so much Pero me toco perder But I get lost Y ahora tengo que olvidarla también And now I have to forget it too Y arrancarla de mi alma y mi ser And rip it out of my soul and my being Es aquel amor que quema mi piel It's that love that burns my skin Que no quede nada Let's have nothing left Que no quede huella que no y que no Don't let there be a mark that doesn't and doesn't Que no quede huella Don't let it be traced Por que estoy seguro que tu mi amor ya ni me recuerdas Because I'm sure your love doesn't even remember me anymore Que no quede huella de ti Don't let there be any trace of you Y de los besos que te di And the kisses I gave you Para convencerme mejor que yo To convince me better than I do Ya te perdí I've already lost you

The song referenced and translated above is "Que No Quede Huella" by Rodolfo Aicardi. It’s featured in Season 3 of Narcos, and I suggest checking them out on Spotify.

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

[go-go-devil]

for the characters, give me.... siegmeyer of catarina and somsnosa!!

Quite the duo to choose here! Let's go!!

(Also I'm not going to include the "Idea for a Story" bits with them since I'm either currently writing one or have already written several for both characters)

Siegmeyer of Catarina

First impression: Right off the bat I loved him, largely due to his voice acting and the fact that his "Hmmmmmm, Mmmmmm's" instantly became a new vocal stim of mine.

Impression now: I love him even more! One of things I like about the Dark Souls npcs is how several of them are meant to relate to the player themself; Siegmeyer here being the newbie who comes in thinking they'll go on an easygoing adventure, only to realize how unprepared they actually were and end up hitting a wall at portions of the journey. He's the living embodiment of that feeling where you're stuck in one area of a video game and need to look up a guide on how to proceed, or even when your dad plays a video game that isn't the original Super Mario Bros for the 1st time in his life and you watch him constantly running into walls and dying at stuff that seems extremely basic to you before you realize just how new and out-of-his-element this whole experience actually is to him.

(Okay maybe that last parallel was a bit personal, lol)

Favorite moment: Every moment I have with him is a favorite of mine, though one I sadly haven't experienced in any of my playthroughs yet is when he finally gains the initiative to help us out by diving headfirst and screaming into a pit of Chaos Eaters and absolutely destroying them (though still with our help since there's too many for him to take on alone). Even though his quest always ends in tragedy, I like this ending since he at least gets one last hurrah and proves himself to us. The ending I got where I killed all the Chaos Eaters before finding him and he morosely reflects on how useless he is feels worse for me, since as far as I'm concerned it probably caused him to hollow before even seeing his daughter one last time...

Unpopular opinion: Not entirely sure how "unpopular" this take is per say, but I really hate it when people come to the conclusion that Siegmeyer is unintelligent due to how often he struggles throughout his quest, or even that he's somehow being manipulative in the process???

This largely came from a lore video I decided to watch one time from a popular DS Lore Ytuber. It was all just a series of very negative takes on Siegmeyer, but some of the shit he "speculates" about him was honestly quite disgusting; like how he thought the reason he falls asleep is "because he can't muster the brainpower to keep thinking" or something along those lines which is a WHOLE fucking can of ableist worms I don't feel like getting into here. Now I'm not one to rag on someone who's just speculating on the story of these games and their open-ended narratives, but I truly hope nobody takes that video too seriously because holy shit... -_-

Favorite relationship: Siegmeyer/Domhnall

Favorite headcanon: Besides the one's I've discussed with you before, I have this very self-indulgent headcanon that Siegmeyer's wife was a Carimian immigrant, and that he's one of the few outsiders who has any knowledge of (or respect for) their culture. I say it's self-indulgent because there is literally no in-game evidence of this and I'm using it for some fun character bonding moments in To The Accursed. Personally I always found the connection between the tearstone rings of Catarina and Carim to be intriguing; two rings that are opposites yet counterparts to each other. Maybe both countries aren't so different after all, and are even allied. Who knows!

Somsnosa

First impression: Immediate attraction. I mean what's not to love? She looks like the main character from Ico AND has dominion over the insects. It's like the perfect character for me!

Impression now: One of my favorite female characters of all time, even despite how light on story and characterization these games are. Really though, it seems to me that Somsnosa gets the most when it comes to a personality out of all the other characters, even Wayne. Between both games she goes through an arc of suffering from depression, then overcoming it with the help of her friends, then succeeding in running her own business (there's even more to it in Absent Moon, but I won't spoil that for you here). I also find it refreshing and hilarious how out of all the playable characters in Hylics 2, her redesign is the only one whom everyone can agree wasn't fruitified and/or sexualized in any way XD

Favorite moment: Her introduction in Hylics 1 is probably her most memorable moment for me, largely due to the absurd but sweet way we cure her depression and how cool her house is.

Unpopular opinion: Declining because "unpopular opinions" largely don't exist in this fandom.

Favorite relationship: 100% in a polycule with Wayne, Dedusmuln, and Pongorma! I will never back down on the Crescent Crew polycule, these four are soooo much more than just band mates ;-)

Favorite headcanon: Hmmmm, that's a tough one... I suppose one that I've had for the longest time was that SHE'S actually the one who kickstarted Moonage Lobotomy back when it was just her and Wayne. They found a microphone and guitar while scavenging through some trash cans and she realized right away that the two of them could totally start a band together! As far as I'm concerned she writes nearly all of the lyrics for their songs, with Wayne contributing only rarely as he's more of an instrumental being, and was also the one to suggest that Dedusmuln try their hand at percussion after their theremin was stolen/devoured due to a luggage mishap while on tour.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

14.

Another fucking draw. At least they’d actually scored in this one (Obisanya 26, Tartt 74), but what good was that when they let the other team net the ball just as many times? Jamie stared morosely at his Lynx collection, trying to muster the energy to change out of his kit. He was sweaty, his hair was a mess, and his side ached dully from a nasty tackle near the final whistle; taking a shower would be heaven. But he was too tired to move.

It wasn’t so much the game that left him exhausted, even though it sure took its physical toll. The past ten days had been a mad flurry of setting up surprise after surprise for Roy, and that had involved more gift hunting, eavesdropping and secret sneaking around than Jamie had ever thought he’d get up to. Between that and football and team Christmas bonding there’d barely been time for sleeping and eating.

And after all that, he still hadn’t called Mummy. He’d tried to, every single night, but he just. couldn’t. do. it. Apparently his efforts still weren’t up to scratch, which was baffling, to be honest: how fucking sad was Roy that not even the truly fanastic stuff Jamie had pulled for him had made him happy? Christmas was only days away, and Jamie was running out of both ideas and time. Could he get Sade to actually write Roy a song… ? Might be too much, though, even if he managed to figure out how to sort it. It’d give the bugger a heart attack or something, and that would make Keeley sad and probably not count as him doing a nice thing, even if it’d be dead unfair of the universe to blame him for Roy being a frail old man.

Perhaps he could invite Dani out for another brainstorming session; it had worked a treat last time. Jamie was pretty sure that Roy had appreciated his gifts and gestures, from what peeks he’d managed to sneak of the man. Just not appreciated them enough, apparently.

It also seemed like maybe Roy was getting a tiny bit suspicious. Yesterday, he’d kept turning his head every this way and that, and sometimes stopping dead in the street and whirling around, looking a little wild-eyed. At one point Jamie had had to dive behind a couple of large rubbish bins to avoid detection. That was a pair of perfectly ripped trousers he’d never wear again.

Fuck, but he wished that—

“Jamie, are you feeling well?”

Jamie turned to look at Sam, who had stopped by his cubby, already changed and with a concerned pinch to his kind face. He looked just slightly, slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if his question would yield an answer or something sharp and snide. Jamie made an effort to smile. “Yeah, bruv, I’m sound. Just, you know, tired of not winning.

“It is disappointing. But, thanks to you it was a draw instead of a loss. And it was a very nice goal too.”

At the praise, Jamie felt his smile grow easier, more sincere. It had been a very nice goal, hadn’t it? Good of Sam to notice. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mate. And yours were great too, you know?” he added, remembering what Dr. Sharon had said about how acknowledging other people’s accomplishments did not diminsh Jamie’s own.

The way Sam’s lips curled into a wide grin, mirroring Jamie’s own, and the way the sight of it made Jamie feel warm had him thinking she was onto something there.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Sam said simply, and gave him a friendly nod before walking back to his own cubby.

Still smiling, Jamie finally began to undress.

---

Once he was showered and changed and Ted had somehow talked them all into feeling determined and hopeful rather than dejected, Jamie hefted his bag and headed for the door. On his way out he passed by Keeley and Rebecca Welton, offering a smile to the former and a polite nod to the latter.

Keeley lit up when she saw him (and fuck, but that still did things to him, didn’t it?). “Hi, Jamie,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if you could stop by my place tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about some new tweaks to your brand, now that you’re playing again?”

Jamie perked right up at that. Talking to Keeley and discussing his brand? Fucking brilliant. Much better than spending another day trying to figure out what would possible make Roy Kent happy enough to appease the universe into letting Jamie call his mum.

He’d been working hard. He deserved a little break. Besides, hanging out with Keeley at her place might well yield some new Roy related ideas.

“Yeah, mint, yeah,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Or, actually, no, I can’t. The team’s doing a day trip Winchester Christmas Market after our recovery sessions. Sorry.”

He was, too. As much as he was growing to appreciate the lads and was looking forward to the trip, he’d rather spend some time with Keeley (and his brand was in sore need of some brushing up, ‘cause people were still being cunts and hung up about him walking out on City and Amy and stupid shit like that).

“Oh.” Keeley looked disappointed, which cheered him a little. “Tuesday?” she suggested.

“Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve got training, but I could drop by after? Unless you wanna… “ He nodded towards her closed office door.

“No! I mean… No. There’s been… there’s an issue with the ventilation, yeah, it smells awful in there. Like dying animals and farts and baby vomit. Blegh. You don’t wanna go in there.”

Uh, yeah, no thank you, he sure as hell did not. Jamie made a face. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “I’ll just come by yours then?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “Great! Thank you, Jamie!”

“You’re all right.” He gave her another smile, Rebecca another nod (and noted that she for some reason seemed like she was struggling not to either roll her eyers or laugh, which was kind of rude, considering how hard Keeley worked for her and all, and she really should get Keeley’s office sorted), before heading out to his car.

So. Fun trip with the boys tomorrow – maybe he’d find something nice for Mummy and for Roy at the Christmas market – and then hanging out with Keeley the day after. So-so playing and his mummy issues aside, life wasn't so bad.