#cali alert

[the-californicationist]

🚨Cali Alert🚨

Hey all!

Over the next few weeks (ish...), I'll be revising and reorganizing chapters of my old fic, Gunslinger. Nothing too major has changed. There are just a lot of errors and inconsistencies, and that fic means a lot to me, so I want to fix them. I know some people like the original story, though. So, this is your alert to go and download it as-is.

I have also downloaded a copy, so if you miss the window, just DM me on discord (@/californicationist), and I'll send you the unedited file. No worries.

It's only available on AO3 right now, but after editing, I might cross-post it here. It's long as hell though, so maybe it's not tumblr-ized enough. idk. Advice appreciated on that.

As a side note, my family is going through a bit of a stressful week, so to everyone who has been so patient with me and my non-existent posting schedule (and the fact that I've been afk in replying to asks, DMs, etc), thank you. Seriously. Big hugs.

Your faithful feral feline,

Cali Cat ✌️🩷

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 9th: Cowboy | Wanted Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi | Cavalier a/n: steddie, post-canon fix it, brief mention of canonical harassment, brief allusion to survivor's guilt. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

The sun rises over a leveled Hawkins, bright streaks of sunlight illuminating the cracks and crevices that spider through the town. Fractals that remind Eddie Munson of what’s occurred over the past week since the world first split open. 

A week of chaos, of death, of fear. A week of discovering that monsters are real, and that while the ones beneath their feet are terrifying, the ones that hunt Eddie above ground are somehow worse. 

The people who still think he’s a murderer, despite being publicly cleared, are far worse than Vecna. They taunt Wayne, deface his posters with things like Dead or Alive on his missing posters, show up at his work to torment him. 

It’s why eventually, they have to tell Wayne that he’s dead. Eddie hates it, the idea of leaving Wayne in the dark, but he knows that Nancy’s right and it’s the best way to keep everyone safe. Dustin offers to deliver the news complete with his favorite, now-bloodied, guitar pick chain.

He’s just a kid, Eddie thinks, hiding in Steve’s basement for the time being, his wounds healing slowly. 

Dustin’s just a kid, and he sobs when he tells Wayne not because Eddie’s actually dead, but because Wayne is devastated and Dustin has to lie. 

Months pass, and Eddie is still considered missing despite everyone’s story that he was swallowed up saving Dustin from a crevice that’d opened beneath their feet. 

No body, no absolution. Not for Eddie. 

“We can’t keep him holed up here,” Steve groans, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the couch between Eddie and Robin. “It’s not fair.” 

“What do you suppose we do then, Steve? The town still…” Nancy grimaces and trails off. 

“Yeah, they want me dead, sure. Let ‘em take a crack at it.” Eddie says, monotone and cavalier. “That sounded bad, but seriously, what kind of life is this? Steve’s basement’s fine, but what’s the plan? I just stay here for the rest of my life, hiding? I’d rather be–”

Steve turns and levels him with a glare that needs no words. They’ve talked about this, time after time, that making comments about preferring to be dead are a personal insult to the people who love him, who fought tooth and nail to save him the way he saved them. 

He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “What else can we do?” 

Dustin is in the corner with the other kids, talking amongst themselves, until Lucas speaks up. 

“Someone who knows what’s actually going on has to get him away, outta town. Start over.” 

The older teens share a glance, Jonathan and Argyle shrugging in tandem. “California’s pretty far. We’re not going back but, we could set you up with some good people out there.” 

“He can’t just go alone though, he’s barely healed!” Robin reminds the group of Eddie’s extensive injuries, healed on the surface but not all the way through. They may never be healed all the way through. 

Eddie sighs and drops his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees. He tries to disguise the way his shoulders shake, tries to bite back the helpless, hopeless sobs that threaten to rip through his rib cage. He doesn’t want to cry in front of his friends, and the few times he’s broken down in front of Steve, it’s pulled painfully at the tendons in his chest. 

He feels Robin rub his back and Steve rests a hand on his thigh, thumbing small circles into the fabric of his sweatpants. Well, they were once Steve’s but he can’t even go back to the trailer to salvage what he can of his things. He can’t even go get Sweetheart, not that he thinks he’ll ever be comfortable playing her again. 

“What if I go with him?” Steve suggests, quietly enough that Eddie’s the only one to hear him clearly. 

“What?” Dustin questions, stepping forward with the rest of the kids. 

“I said, what if I go with him? I know what’s going on, my body’s recovered, and let’s call a spade a spade here, I’m the only one without parents around to question where I went. So, what if I go with Eddie to California?”

Eddie’s chest pulls for different reasons— this time, with hope and gratitude, with love and affection. 

“Steve, I’m not asking you to do that,” he whispers, turning to face him individually. “You have a whole life here.” 

“We’ll come visit, and he can come back to visit, too. And eventually, you’ll be declared dead here. You can start over.” Robin slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and squeezes him, a rare show of physical intimacy. Her voice is melancholic at best, but the more the group discusses the option, the more it seems like the only option. 

At least for now. 

At least while Eddie remains a wanted man. 

They waste no time packing up the Pizzamobile, offered as a gift to travel across the country with the provision that Steve return it to Surfer Boy when they reach California. 

Eddie and Steve refuse to say goodbye, because it’s not. Robin promises that all of her college applications are now going to California schools, and she hugs Steve and Eddie tight enough that if love could click Eddie’s injuries back in place, he’d be healed immediately. 

As they get on the road, Steve at the helm and Eddie sitting passenger, Eddie finds that Argyle has a vast cassette collection. 

“Little soundtrack, Stevie?” Eddie wiggles the tape between his fingers and pops it into the tape deck. 

The song starts and after the first verse, Eddie just stares out the windshield, thinking. 

When he was a kid, outlaws and cowboys were glamorized. Always on the run, nothing to tether them to one place, living alone out on the road. But now it’s Eddie who feels like the outlaw, running from his own innocence, and he can’t find a shred of glamor in that.

“You’re thinking awfully loud over there, Munson.” Steve does it again, rests a hand on Eddie’s thigh as he drives one-handed, and Eddie feels that same glimmer of hope come alive again. 

Eddie shrugs and rests his head back against the seat, cracked pleather against his neck. 

“All good over here, big boy.”  They drive in silence save for Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive and Eddie watches the sunset over the wide expanse of promising highway ahead of them.

[rock-n-onyx]

.

[thomas-jefferson-miku-binder]

i feel like a douche for saying this because fandom spaces are for fun and you can do whatever you want in them. but man it sucks a bit how star trek has so much to praise and so much to be criticized for yet all i see is. ship talk.

like i love spirk just as much as anyone else but it feels a bit… frustrating, wanting to talk about the symbolism or the writers’ prejudice and how this series makes you hope for a better time while not actually offering it…

yeah i did like domestic spirk! but is that seriously all you have to say about the city on the edge of forever?

[cyarsk52-20]

if that abusive gremlin thinks that he could face Kendrick and win he’s dead wrong, didn’t he learn anything from this year? Like his boyfriend Drake got demolished by Kendrick this year, if I were that baldie I’d just back off.

And what does he mean when he say he wishes somebody would come after him? Like dude they already came after you ….five years ago that’s why you’re still in jail for seven more years. You wanna be all gangster, but real gangsters don’t shoot and abuse women… cause a real gangster would have done to you what Will Smith did to Chris Rock at the Oscars back in 2022

As in slap you in the face . Hard. Only not with an open hand.

[berryunho]

THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)

➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k

What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

────────────

➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play

────────────

Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.

There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.

You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.

“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”

Keep reading

[scarletttbitch]

earthquake in NYC its fine everything's chill but um whAT THE FUCK??

[stubz]

Black out

"I want that backup generator up and running! All power on essentials only! Engines, med-bay, defenses, everything else is secondary!" the Captain roared to all those in the command room.

"Calis! What's our status?"

"Generator is 5 mekrons away from being ready, dispatch has covered 30% of the ship already and distributed lights. No report of any injuries yet, although there are several dozen passengers stuck in the elevators. We are in contact with them and they are all alright."

"And the-"

"The youngling centre is fine, Kim and Max have reported to me that they are fine as are the younglings." the first mate smiled knowingly.

"...good. Alert me should anything change."

"Of course Captain."

.

"10 mekrons away from the station Captain. Repair workers are already at the dock ready to board and fix our power and the station has prepared board for us."

"Excellent. Calis!"

"Yes Captain!"

"Care to join me in getting our young?" the first mate smiles and nods.

..

"How do you think they faired?"

"Well, it's hard to say. According to Kim and Max they have light, probably flashlights, but for the children to be stuck in a mostly dark room for 6 horvaths..." Calis shrugged.

"True...I assume that Nova is a tad nervous by now...she never liked the dark. Even if we can see well enough in the dark." Captain lightly smiled.

"I am certain that the humans have thought of something to keep her and the others calm."

"Without a doubt!" He laughed. "Probably introduced them to some new game I'll be no doubt playing for the next few weeks."

"As will I, Dali will no doubt-what on earth is that light?" as the two got closer they noticed a warm orange glow seeping out from under the door. The entrance to the youngling centre.

"...that's not a flashlight..."

"...do you smell smoke?"

The two adults looked to one another before rushing the door.

"Dali?!"

"Nova!"

"Mapa!"

"Papa! Look look! We're roasting mars-millows!"

"...Captain...Calis...care to try a marshmallow?" asked a sheepishly smiling Max.

For a moment neither the captain or first mate spoke, too confused by the sight before them. A circle of younglings sat in the middle of the centre, all of them holding out little sticks with marsh-mell-ohs on the end. In the centre sat a youngling whose head and shoulders were on fire holding his own stick and marsh-mell-oh.

"...Max, is that...is that youngling a Fyreian?" slowly asked Calis.

"Yes, yes he is."

"And are you using him...to cook?"

"...he said it was fine." the youngling in the middle of the circle of younglings eagerly nodded.

"...good to know but why are you...roasting marsh-mell-ohs on him?"

"...it was Kim's idea!"

"Hey! ...Okay yeah it was my idea and in my defense we've kept the kids busy like this about 2 hours and it was a last resort."

"...alright. Now how does one roast one of these white squishy things?"

...

"So how did you come up with this idea?" the captain asked, glancing away from his roasting marshmallow.

"Well after doing every game we could think of we had to take a break to think of what else we could do. That's when the first kid actually had time to realize that we're stuck in the dark...and then we had a mass panic."

"We tried everything to calm them down but the both of us were too tired to do that properly," winced Max apologetically. "since well, we're well past our usual shifts. But luckily Kim came up with this idea!"

"Marshmallows! Now obviously we couldn't use a real fire and we can't just let 20 kids use candles to roast them so-"

"Wait wait wait...a candle?" Calis asked.

"Yea, during blackouts I would light a candle and roast marshmallows with it."

"...carry on."

"So we decided to use Fure since he can control how hot he gets and he's easier to manage than a fire."

"Told you they would have the younglings entertained." Calis whispered to their captain who snorted.

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 4

Oops! I didn't realize this one had so many chapters done. I had been using it as my "I'm stuck on the other two stories so I work on this one to clear my head" story and I currently have five chapters backlogged. So instead of Batshit Soulmates today, you're getting two of this one. One now and one tonight.

In this chapter we have Eddie doing his research and we find out how he recognized Steve. Also Jeff&Eddie besties for life!

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

The last few days in Hawkins went by in a blur. Eddie couldn’t do the research he wanted to, not without alerting everyone else what he was up to, so he focused on buying both their albums and listening to them nonstop.

“This that band you went to go see?” Wayne asked after three days of him having both albums on constant repeat. “The one you were whining about have to go to?”

Eddie sat up from where he laying on the floor with headphones on and took them off, resting them around his neck. He pulled one knee up and draped his arms around it casually.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Dustin has been gloating about it, so I would rather you didn’t add to the pile.”

Wayne crouched down so that they were eye level. “This about that secret you found out?”

Eddie opened his mouth to lie but Wayne just raised an eyebrow and he snapped his mouth shut with a click. He let out a low shuddering breath and then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s about that.”

Wayne picked up the vinyl sleeve and looked at the cover. He studied the image a moment or two before he said, “You think that someone you know is in the band, don’t you?”

Eddie bit his lower lip and then sighed heavily. He knew he couldn’t keep it from Wayne, but he had hoped he would have been back in Cali before he realized it.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” he said tilting his head back, “but yeah. I think I know someone in the band.”

“You jumping to conclusions?” Wayne asked in that gruff but gentle way that was a staple of Eddie’s childhood.

Eddie looked up at Wayne and then shook his head. “I don’t know enough. Not yet.”

Wayne got to his feet with a grunt. “Good. You keep it that way. There’s probably a good reason for all that.” He waved at the vinyl sleeve. “So don’t you go pushing your friend’s buttons until you know that reason.”

Eddie nodded. “I read you loud and clear.”

Wayne ruffled Eddie’s hair and walked away, leaving Eddie with plenty of time to think.

****

Dustin was staying in Hawkins for the whole summer, so when Eddie left, he was finally on his own.

Finally able to get out of his head and do some real research. He also knew better than to do anything than listen to his own music mid-flight. Too many wandering eyes.

Any one of his fellow passengers could be some blogger, Youtuber, Tiktoker, influencer or actual fucking press.

Thankfully the flight was most empty and short.

He was met at the airport by his manager Chrissy Cunningham.

She grabbed his bag, leaving Eddie to juggle his guitar better.

“Record management has all four of you in a hotel nearby,” she told him as she stowed the bag in her trunk. “They want you sequestered this time.”

Eddie winced. It wasn’t for any music related reason, though he didn’t doubt the sequestering would help with the process.

Nope.

It was because last time Gareth and Brian went on a three day drinking bender and were too sloshed to function for at least two days after that. Almost a whole week of recording down the drain because half the band went off the rails.

“Roger that!” Eddie said with a jaunty two fingered salute.

“You can have alcohol sent to your room,” she continued as they got into the car. “But Gareth and Brian aren’t allowed. So if you share your stash, that’s on you.”

“You can count on me and Jeff not contribute to the delinquency of our bandmates,” Eddie bit out. “We were just as pissed as the label when we couldn’t get a hold of them for those five days.”

Chrissy nodded. “Fame can really do some fucked up shit to people.”

Eddie hummed his acknowledgment. “Just please tell me I’m not sharing with anyone. You know they all hate sleeping in the same room as me.”

Chrissy snorted. “Only because you stay up all hours of the night perfecting song, while they actually want to, oh I don’t know...sleep?”

Eddie cackled. He was the world’s worst insomniac when they were working on an album. The rest of the time he was a sound sleeper.

“But no,” Chrissy hummed, “you all have your own suites. With Brian and Gareth on opposite sides of the hotel so they don’t fuel each other’s vices.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “That’s great news.”

They went up to Eddie’s suite and he immediately got to unpacking. He couldn’t stand living out of his suitcase and didn’t know how anyone else could.

He ordered a couple of six packs of beer, his favorite vodka, and a couple of whiskys that should last him at least a couple of weeks. He stashed the beer in the suite provided mini-fridge and settled down to watch Youtube on the big screen TV.

He was just devouring everything he could on The Fallen. He started with their music videos. The one for “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls” was especially sweet. He found out that the lead singer was bisexual and that the song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary peeps despite the title.

But the videos weren’t helpful. The band themselves were rarely in them. So Eddie turned to interviews. Impromptu ones on red carpets and podcasts, as well as sit down interviews for talk shows and entertainment press.

Again the lead singer was charismatic and charming. And it was looking more and more like his theory was correct.

Then he came across the interview.

“How does Azrael see out of his mask?” the Vanity Fair interviewer asked.

The drummer pulled out another mask and handed it to Abbadon. It seemed like it was part of the shtick that the drummer never spoke.

Abbadon held up the mask to the light. “You can see that the eyes are a mesh-like material. It works like a one way mirror. You with the strong light, can’t see in, but Azrael with darkness of the mask can see out.”

Eddie hummed his interest. That was a cool trick. It meant that the drummer wouldn’t get hurt while still maintaining that anonymity.

And it appeared that the interview thought the same as they nodded along, impressed.

“What is the reason for the masks?”

Astraeus leaned forward into the mic. “Because when we first got started no one would take us seriously as ourselves?”

Just then the hotel door swung open and Eddie quickly pressed pause. He sighed with relief when he saw it was Jeff.

Jeff stopped in his tracks to stare at the screen. “Oh hey, The Fallen. They’re pretty cool.”

Eddie whipped his head around and glared at him.

“How do you know about them and I didn’t?”

Jeff laughed. “Dude, the radio embargo was you thing, not an everyone thing. They’re really good. I love their new single ‘You’. It’s really sweet.”

Eddie nodded, it was really good. It was one was of his favorites, too.

Jeff got closer to the TV. “Wait. Is this the ‘metal fans would hate us if they saw who we really are’ interview?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jeff scoffed. “Metal fans are the most welcoming group of fans out there.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip and thought about Steve. And how preppy he still dressed even this far outside of high school.

“Not if they were preps,” he said softly.

That brought Jeff up short. “What now?”

“I think Abbadon is Steve.”

Jeff started laughing and laughing like he couldn’t stop. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled up the picture he had taken of The Fallen’s lead singer. Once Jeff had gotten control of himself, Eddie showed him the picture.

“Okay...” Jeff said. “I’m not sure what this shows other than your obsession with necks.”

“Zoom in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes but did as he was told. “Okay, so what am I looking at?”

Eddie licked his lips nervously. “You see those two moles, just under his chin?”

Jeff half shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

“Steve has moles in the exact same place,” Eddie explained. He took the phone back from Jeff and went through his IG feed. He pulled up a picture of Steve. The angle wasn’t exact, but it was close enough.

He handed it back to Jeff. “Now zoom in on the neck.”

Jeff did as he was told.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie pursed his lips and chewed on the bottom one. He played with his rings and was just fidgeting.

“Dude!” Jeff cried. “We should tell someone!”

Just then Eddie’s fidgeting hit the remote and the video began playing again.

“Is there any chance of a future reveal?” the interviewer asked.

Asmodeus leaned into the mic and said, “Ask us again in ten years when we’re world famous.”

Eddie managed to get a hold of the remote to pause it again and in the resulting silence Jeff and him shared a glance.

“Fuck, dude,” Jeff said. “We can’t say shit, can we?”

Eddie shook his head. “It would be like outing a queer person before they were ready.”

Jeff came around the sofa and flopped down next to him.

“Wow,” he said with more than a little awe. “So Steve Harrington is in a metal band...” He let out a shuddering sigh. “And is good. Not just good, but damn good.”

Eddie nodded. “Is it bad that I kinda feel like I’ve been tricked?”

Jeff let out a slow breath. “Look, I’m not going to tell you how to feel, but if no one knows, that it’s not personal.”

“You mean to tell me that no one knows?” Eddie hissed, getting to feet. “Not Robin, not Dustin? Or any of the kids? Because I call bullshit!”

Jeff looked up at him. “Robin, maybe. Those two are attached at the hip. Hell, Robin could even be their slinky and sexy manager, Celeste. But Dustin, man? I wouldn’t tell that kid shit. Not if I wanted it to still be secret ten minutes later.”

Eddie fought to calm his breathing. Yeah okay. That tracked. Robin with makeup and a black wig would completely disguise her to the point that not even her own mother would recognize her if they passed on the street.

“Dustin wouldn’t–” he began but Jeff cut him off.

“This is the kid that spoiled Will’s surprise party that he was planning,” Jeff said, counting off on his fingers. “The kid that would go searching through his mom’s closets and under her bed looking for birthday and Christmas presents. The same one that announced our second album six hours before it was set to drop. I wouldn’t tell Dustin Henderson the time of day if I didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

Eddie huffed. He wanted to argue that all that was little shit. Not really that important. But then he remembered all the times where Dustin would say something out of context, something that all his friends would jump on him for, only for it to be revealed later that Dustin had spoiled some surprise. It was just that no one had realized it at the time.

This time he let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie said, sitting back down next to Jeff on the sofa. “And I know that if Steve had come to me and said he wanted to form a metal band, I would have laughed in his face.”

Jeff gave his knee a squeeze. “We all would have. So let’s do what we do best. We change the culture. We make the metal scene open to people of all walks of life, not just the freaks and outcasts. We make it safe for them to come out.”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah. I could do that. We could do that.”

“Good,” Jeff said, patting Eddie’s knee. “It’s not going to be easy, but we’ve never liked easy.”

Eddie laughed as Jeff got up. “So what are you doing in my room anyway? Don’t you have your own?”

Jeff opened the mini fridge and took out a can of beer. “I forgot to order beer and I hate it warm, so I thought I’d steal one of yours.”

Eddie threw a throw pillow at him, which Jeff deftly caught and lobbed back at him.

Jeff came over and kissed his cheek. “Get out of your head and do something with all that restless energy you’ve built up with this eating away at you.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”

Just as Jeff reached the door, he called out. “What would you and the boys think about inviting them to open for us on our next tour?”

Jeff grinned. “They would probably kiss you on the mouth.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @papergrenade @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 02

Kinktober Masterlist vestis virum facit - "the clothes make the man" Soap x f!reader Kinks > panties, come play, submission switch Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

When you find Johnny digging through your drawers, his fists clenched around your sluttiest panties, you accuse him of going for a sniff like a hungry hound. But, when he asks if he can try them on himself, you realize he likes the feel of the straps and the lace just as much as you do.

You were almost certain that this was how you would die. When you peered into the hallway, still sweaty from your long commute home from work, you saw your bedroom door ajar in your apartment. Inside the room, it was still dark and peerless, and although you couldn’t hear any movement, the prehistoric animal vibes that were all tangled inside of your throat let you know that you definitely weren’t alone in there. Something made your hair stand on end.

Someone was in your room. 

You stalked forward, regretting your choice of footwear. You couldn’t sneak up on someone in clunky mules, but you tried your best to slide forward across the old wooden floor, praying that it wouldn’t creak and alert the intruder to your presence. 

You were holding your keys like a cheap version of Wolverine, begging to be wrong. You hoped beyond hope that it was just the wind that pushed your door open. More than anything, you wished Johnny was home. Your stocky, strong, special-forces roommate was out on a mission, but you could really use his killer instinct right now. But, he’d taught you some moves, and you were ready to fight for your life. 

You rushed the door, shouldering yourself inside in a flashy display of aggression,

“Gotcha, you motherfu– Johnny?!”

“Ahh!” He shouted, his blue eyes wide and full of shock, “Lass, I didnae ken you’d be home yet.”

“What are you doing in here? Are those… Why do you have my panties in your hand?”

You looked down at his fists as they were clenched around a handful of your laciest and raciest lingerie. 

“No! I dinnae… It’s not what it looks like, hen. Shite, I was just…”

“Just what, Johnny?” You put your hands on your hips, admonishing him for being a pervert but secretly pretty excited that he would be into you enough to come and try to smell you on your silky nothings, “Just sniffing my panties, you jerk? Those are the clean ones, idiot. My dirty laundry is over there.” 

His face was flushing a bright beet red as he confessed, 

“No. No, I just like how they feel. I was just… I could imagine how they feel when they cover you… down there.”

His eyes landed on your crotch, and you were both gazing down at your fully clothed pussy before you knew it. 

You looked back up at him and saw that his eyes were still fixated on the outline of your mons between your legs, lost in the depths of his imagination. You stepped forward towards him, snapping him out of his self-induced hypnosis,

“You wanna try them on?”

“What? Oh, I dinnae ken if–” He was unsettled, staring down at the spoils of lace and silk in his fist like he had just realized what he was doing. 

“No, c’mon. Try them on if you wanna see how they feel. Wanna pick your favorite pair?”

“I couldnae…”

“You can. Here,” you said, sitting him down on the edge of your bed and taking the scruffle of panties out of his hand, “Which ones do you like best?”

You held up a pair of bright blue ones with lace, watching his face as he studied the underwear with rapt curiosity.

Then, you tossed them back in the drawer and pulled out a black pair that were basically just straps on straps on straps. His face curled up in a hopeful sort of smile, but they still weren’t the winners. 

It wasn’t until you held up a very basic pair of pale pink silk bloomers that his eyes lit up like a firework. You knew those were the ones. 

“Yeah?” You teased him a bit, “You like the pink ones, Johnny?”

He licked his lips absentmindedly, reaching out to touch the soft ruffles at the edge of the elastic,

“Aye, lass. I like ‘em the best.”

“Don’t you wanna see how they feel on you?”

For once, he focused his gaze back onto your eyes, his face somewhere between bliss and disbelief,

“You’d let me try them?”

“I bet you’d look so cute in these. Honest. Let’s see, hm?”

You set the panties down on the bed right beside him where he could see them. Then, you helped him out of his shirt, watching him ruck off his clothes and let them rumple on the floor. He shucked off his jeans, needing to stand in order to get them over his thick ass and thighs. When you saw his boxer briefs, you shook your head and teased him some more,

“Tsk, tsk. These just won’t do, will they?”

You dropped to your knees and carefully, glacially slow, you peeled them away from his body. You revealed his furry root and pulled them the rest of the way down to free his hardening cock. He was throbbing, pulsing uncontrollably, excited in a way that was so truly male. His huge balls were tucked tight up next to his sacral core, full and eager. 

“Wow, Johnny,” you planted a soft, barely-there kiss to the warm shaft of his prick, “Such a nice cock. Don’t you wanna make him feel as pretty as he looks?”

Johnny nodded, breathing hard and letting you do whatever you wanted to him. You decided to dress him like a doll, happy to show him the wonders of lingerie as you knew them. Just seeing your gorgeous roommate undone like this was making your head spin, and you wanted to take it so much further. 

“Let’s slip these on, okay? Take a step for me. That’s it,” you guided his bare feet into the leg holes of the panties, guiding them over his knees and watching them stretch past his bulky thighs. 

“Oh, bonnie, wait… wait, wait…” He reached down for your hand, trying to stop you, but you shoved the pink silk up past his grip. 

“There,” you said defiantly, fixing them so that the back of the underwear were hugging his crack, tucked tight against his hole so that when he shifted his weight, he could feel the glorious slide.

“Jesus, fuck!” Johnny’s hands immediately went to his trapped dick, stroking the head along the silky seam, letting the wrinkles and ruffles tease him from the inside. 

You stood, hands on your hips, smiling genuinely up at him,

“Well? What do you think?”

His eyes were wrenched shut, his face twisted in shock and awe, sighing raggedly,

“Bonnie, it’s… too fuckin’ good.”

“Have a look,” you said, pointing to the full length mirror behind you. 

It was one of the cheap ones, but it did the trick. Johnny could see himself, naked except for your panties, stroking himself through the delicate fabric. 

You kissed his shoulder tentatively, watching him explore himself, and you tried to experiment with him, seeing how far he’d let you go. 

You dragged your finger across the swell of his ass cheek, admiring the strength there, tracing the edge of the taut elastic with your fingertip. Then, when you reached the warm join of his legs, you let your finger slip inside to its knuckle, feeling just the edge of his puckered hole, covered in hair and hot to the touch. 

“Mnghh…” He keened darkly. 

You pulled your hand away, and tapped on his thigh, coaxing him to widen his stance. Then, you ran two fingers along the crack of his ass, across the soft satin, and pressed it gently against his hole. You rubbed it in small, light circles, allowing him to feel the whisper of the fabric against his most sensitive skin. 

“Do they feel like you thought they would?”

He nodded, drunk from his pleasure,

“Aye, lass. Better.”

You noticed a dark stain forming against the pastel pink where his cock was drooling into the silk, ruining them with his hunger. 

“Why don’t you wear them to the pub tonight?”

His eyes flashed in panic, staring at you through the mirror, 

“I couldnae! What if someone sees? They’ll say–”

“Then you punch their fuckin’ lights out. You’re still a man, Johnny. Boys can be pretty, too. Don’t be shy.”

“Alright, bonnie,” he nodded, still stroking himself languidly, smearing the stain along his turgid ridge, “Will you wear some, too?”

Solidarity. You wanted to support him however you could, so you nodded, 

“Absolutely. Which ones should I wear?”

He followed you back to the drawer of wonders and fished out a white lace set, a bra and thong combo, and handed them to you. 

You admired them as they sat in his wide, callused palm, and you gave him a sinister look,

“Wanna help me put them on?”

What was, at first, surprise melted into excitement as he watched you strip down to nothing. All of your work clothes pooled on the floor at your feet. But, right when you were about to take off your plain, cotton panties, he stopped you. Silently, he was begging for them. 

You took them off carefully, letting him see that you wouldn’t toss them away, and you handed them over, trying your best not to be ashamed by your sweat and the tell-tale sign of your horniness imprinted on the wet gusset. 

He smiled when you laid them in his hand, trading them for the lacey set, and he brought them up to his nose, watching you the whole time. He sniffed your scent, enjoying it too much, letting his tongue dart out to taste your wet spot, daring to put the slip of fabric in his mouth like a lolly, sucking the sweetness he found. 

At first, you were repulsed, thinking about how far you’d walked in those. But, then you looked down at Johnny’s mess that his wet prick was making in your pink pair and you changed your tune real quick. You would absolutely suck his precome from the fabric right this second if he asked you to, so you understood his motivation. 

Johnny finally let the used panties drop to the floor and helped you step into your new pair just like you had helped him. He slid them up your legs, taking the time to position them just so, using the thick tip of his finger to trace the outline of each leg hole, lining up the elastic just right. 

Then, he helped you with your bra. You let him fumble with it, not giving him a chance to know if he was failing or not, but trusting him to figure it out. Even though he never groped you while your tits were exposed, now that they were covered by the lace, it was like you had given him a green light. His thumbs teased your peaks, plucking at them as if they were the petals of a flower, tugging them towards him one by one. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me… 

Your hand replaced his, resting softly on his throbbing phallus, teasing the fat body of it and rubbing his wet cockhead through the silk. 

“Fuck, bonnie. Gonnae have me comin’ if you keep that up.”

“Wanna come in your panties, Johnny? Wear your ruined fucking knickers to the pub in front of all of your friends like the pretty little slut you are?”

“Aye,” he whimpered, his eyes glassy and unfocused, lost in his pleasure. 

You pulled his cock downwards so that it would point at the double-sewn gusset, knowing it would stay wet the longest, and you stroked him faster and faster, watching him watch you work. Johnny whined and keened louder with each backstroke, his whole body trembling at your touch. Then, he froze in place, his hips tight and thrusting forward,

“I’m– God! I’m coming, bonnie. You’re makin’ me come! Fuck!”

You watched his white cream spill out and begin to fill the cradle of his underwear, soaking into the fabric and covering his sack and shaft. It pulsed as it dripped, throwing ropes of his milky orgasm into the pink hammock you had created for him.

“Wow,” you praised him, “It’s so much. Mind if we share?”

He was too far gone to understand what you were asking, but you heard a moan of excitement when you showed him what you wanted to do.

You reached a finger inside of his warm pool of come and took some to paint on the inside of your panties as well, showing him how you were laying it in the spot just below your hole. Then, you took more, scooping it up and adding it to your collection. Finally, you reached in once more, greedy and insistent, seeing that there was plenty left, and you used it to paint both of your nipples wet, smearing his pleasure across your puffy flesh, and replacing your bra cups when you were done. 

“Holy fuck, lass,” he sighed deeply, “You gonnae wear me all night?” 

“Yeah. Would you like that? Both of us covered in your come, and no one’s gonna know,” you leaned in close to him and kissed his jaw. He was too tall for you to reach his lips, but he bent down to press his mouth to yours at the suggestion. 

As you watched him get dressed again, opting for his jeans and a fresh tee shirt he’d grabbed from the dryer, a whirling thrill coursed through your blood. You didn’t usually dress up for the pub. It was a place to unwind, not to get wound up, but it was a Friday night, so you opted for a little black dress. You knew that the impression of your lace would stick up through the thin fabric, but you didn’t care. No one was going to say anything to you; you dared them to with Johnny around. Even before you knew about his obsession with your panties, he never let anyone near you with their bullshit. He’d protect you. 

You met him in the kitchen, grabbing your purse and keys. 

“Lemme see you, bonnie,” he said, sauntering over to you, his eyes pinned to your rack. 

“You approve?”

“I can see your bra through it,” he warned you, rubbing the back of his knuckles across a visibly perky nipple covered in lace.

It was so sweet. He thought you were too innocent to know what you were doing, but you kissed his hand and winked at him, letting him in on the secret. 

“C’mon,” you led him out onto the street, locking the door behind you, “We’re already late.”

As you walked together, you could feel his come heating up between your lips, slipping against your flesh and making you feel even wetter than you were. You stole a glance over at Johnny, who seemed to be as distracted as you were.

“Can you feel it?” You asked him in a low tone. 

He nodded, 

“Aye. Wet. Drivin’ me fuckin’ barmy.”

You laughed, clutching his hand in yours, your heart swelling when he grabbed you back even firmer. 

At the pub, the game was roaring on every single television. It was Rangers at Aberdeen, but the crowd in your local was expectedly Glaswegian. Johnny’s friends had come up to watch it with him, taking the time to come up on the weekend from Simon’s place in Manchester. 

When they spotted him, the whole table erupted. People turned to stare and watched with a bit of amusement as Johnny was pulled left and right, hugged and grappled by all of the men waiting for him. They noticed you as you stepped a little closer, their eyes wandering way beyond politeness, but you didn’t blame them. You’d made your outfit choices on purpose. 

“Woah, mate,” one of Johnny’s friends piped up, “Who’s the bird? Too fit for you.”

“Too bad,” Johnny bit back, “She’s with me. C’mere, bonnie. Have a seat. I’ll grab us some pints.”

You sat beside him and watched him order for you. He knew you well enough to ask for a cider along with his ale, but it was the way he couldn’t keep his paws off of you that made your skin tingle. He couldn’t stop touching your back, right were the clasp of your bra was, feeling the ridge of it through the thin satin dress. Sometimes, his hand would wander up to your shoulder, feeling the thin strap, before returning to his point of obsession. 

Throughout the game, you watched him come more and more undone. He leaned over to whisper to you once or twice, threatening that he would have to go to the loo and take them off,

“Cannae keep these on, bonnie. Makin’ me hard like a stone. Mates are gonnae think somethin’s up.”

“Let ‘em think,” you giggled, stoking his fire and wanting it to burn. 

Finally, in the stoppage time, when Glasgow had obviously won, Johnny made to leave, much to the protestations of his tablemates. 

“C’mon, Soap! We were gonna go down to Drygate.”

“Nah, he can go. But, she stays wi’ us,” one of them commented, his eyes fixated on everything but your face. 

“Sorry, lads,” Johnny shrugged, “Tomorrow night, though. Still on?”

“Sure, you traitor. Bring her with you, or we’ll send you away,” the bearded one insisted.

“Alright, see you then.”

He rushed you out of the pub, and you couldn’t remember ever making it home in such a short amount of time. By the time you made it up to your shared apartment, you were both out of breath. 

“Gonnae come again, lass. So close. You’ve got me so fuckin’ close,” Johnny’s keys jangled in the lock, his movements showing his panic. 

Your smile curled into a threat,

“Oh, yeah?” You reached around to the front of his jeans and squeezed the long, hard body of his cock, listening to the keys as they fell to the floor, “My pretty panties makin’ you hard again, Johnny?”

“Lass, please…” He was shaking like a leaf. 

You bent down and retrieved his keys, unlocking the door yourself, pushing him through it and shutting it behind you,

“C’mere, baby. Take off those clothes. That’s it. Good boy. Now, stand here. Right here.”

You knelt to the floor in your entryway, watching him lean against the door, his dick flagging against the wet fabric of your ruined silk panties. You took his hand and placed it on the back of your head, watching his eyes widen with a beautiful terror as you leaned towards him. 

You let your tongue lap at the obvious wet spot in the panties before you began to suck, taking his head in your mouth and tasting him like a creamy dessert, listening to the chorus of his moans and reveling in them. 

“Fuck, bonnie… I cannae… Please…” 

You didn’t answer him. You wanted him to come too soon. You wanted him to shoot more of his creamy seed into your silky underwear. So, you sucked harder, taking his entire cockhead into your mouth, fighting it through the fabric that was sealed around it, bobbing up and down on him as much as the panties would allow. 

Your hands moved to his heavy, hanging sack, pulling the panties from side to side, letting him feel the slip of them. Finally, you hooked two fingers in behind them, prying open his hole just enough to let him know that you were there. 

That was his cue, and his body wrecked him with a blinding orgasm, making him hump his hips into your mouth, his cock desperately trying to fuck its way down your throat. You felt his hand twist in your hair, pulling you tighter to his dick, messy and chaotic, driven by his pleasure. 

The come poured from his tip and you tried to suck it through the silk, tasting the salt of him on your tongue and licking him over and over and over until you were sure that he was done spilling into his sheath. 

“Those feel pretty good, huh, Johnny?” You teased him, giggling at his expense, pleased with your work. 

But, his face was anything but amused. His hand tightened against your scalp hard enough to make you wince, chasing the smile off of your face,

“Take them off.”

You obeyed immediately, stripping him in the foyer, holding the soaking panties in your hand, looking up at him for your next instruction. 

“Put ‘em in your wee lips, bonnie,” he snarled, watching you tentatively push the silk into your mouth, choking a bit from the bundle of fabric, “Aye, tha’s it. Tha’s my girl.”

He wrenched you up from the floor and pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you through your gag, his tongue swiping at his own come-soaked mess. When he heard you coughing, trying to control the air and spit and come that was invading your mouth, he chuckled, 

“You dinnae even ken what you fuckin’ started, lass.”

This was supposed to be like 500 words... sorry O_O

[lisenberry]

Blend In

Suggestive/Explicit Language, Mystery 141 x F!Reader.

MDNI!

1111k words (heavy on the -ish)

For @the-californicationist Nameless Challenge!

Congrats on 500K words, Cali!!

Put your guess in the comments as to who you think it is!

You had no idea why you’d been chosen for this assignment, but you were not going to argue.  Certainly not with him.

Keeping any doubts to yourself, you checked the mirror in the bathroom one last time before exiting into the hotel room you shared with your teammate.  Well, not your teammate yet, but if all went well, your fingers were crossed for a spot on his elite task force. 

“What do you think, sir?”

As a mere corporal, just about everyone had a higher rank than you.  There was the distinguished Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish.  Big (huge) shoes to fill, but you were ready to prove yourself.

“It’ll…do,” he muttered, turning his head quickly towards the surveillance equipment set up on the nearby desk.  “And don’t call me that.  We’re undercover, remember?” 

“Do I get a code name or something?  You all have badass nicknames, and I’m just...the new girl.”  You shrugged your shoulders and tried not to fuss over the plunging depth of your neckline that barely covered your pushed-up boobs, or the uncomfortable way the fabric hugged your hips.

“No, New Girl is the new girl.  You’re—Ah, fuck.  Here we go.  Time to get out there.”  He picked up something on the camera feed of the hotel’s ballroom and pointed to it with his finger.  “Target’s moving.”

“Who picked this dress?  I thought I was supposed to blend in.  It’s obscene for a wedding.”

“Not for an oligarch’s wedding.  Tits up, back straight, and do your job.”  He gave you one last look over, dragging his gaze up to meet yours, finally, before giving you an encouraging nod.

“Aye, aye.  Sir.”  You couldn’t help but add the last with a bold smirk.  Maybe it was the dress, or the mission, or the unexpected glint in his eye, but you had a good feeling about this.

********

You’d been gone for only ten minutes, and he was already doubting every aspect of this assignment.  As the only fluent Russian speaker who didn’t scream special forces in the ranks, you’d been the easy choice.  But you were also soft around the edges, and sweet as hell, with a smile and an inner kindness that would lower anyone’s defenses. 

What the fuck you were doing in the military, or how you’d made it this far, he had yet to figure out.

He’d only agreed to this at all because the stakes were low, as was the risk of danger.  All you needed was a cigarette butt or a discarded champagne glass.   A piece of cutlery left behind on a tray.  Even just a partial fingerprint would be enough for Laswell to make a positive ID.

He was not prepared for you to strike up a conversation with the third most lethal psychopath on the watch list, or let him put his hand on your ass and squeeze you close to his hips as he whispered suggestively in your ear. 

“Careful, sweetling,” your commanding officer gritted low into his radio.  The comms device in your ear was undetectable, but he didn’t want to startle you or alert the target that you were in contact with someone.

It could also pick up your conversation, not that he understood any of what you were saying.   It seemed to be mostly flirty banter and coy laughter.  The man was obviously trying to get in you back to his room.

He didn’t know much Russian, but he knew enough about men’s appetites to get the idea.  He’d had his own thoughts, just the good sense not to say them out loud.

And he could not believe what he was seeing on the camera.  A sudden, sinking flood of anxiety made him jump in his chair and clench his fists at the stress.  You were going with the man, following him as he escorted you out somewhere beyond the surveillance feed.

“Do not leave that ballroom.  I can’t track you out there.  Get back.  Abort!”

He knew you could hear him, but you weren’t following orders.  Being ignored was most certainly the root of his blinding rage, not his concern for your safety.  Or the hungry way the bastard had looked at you in the dress he’d handpicked himself for the way the color made your skin practically glow. 

The cut and size may have been a miscalculation, he admitted to himself, as he checked the clip in his handgun and hurried toward the door.   

“Fucking hell.  You’re going to get yourself killed, and if you don’t, then I’ll do it myself.  When I get my bloody hands on you, Cupcake, I swear—”

“Cupcake?  That’s the best you can do?”  You stood on the other side of the door, with your hands on your hips as he pulled it open, with a fierceness you’d only heard about from other recruits.

Suddenly directed at you, it was worse than you’d imagined.  He looked ready for war as his words caught in his throat. 

“There you are.  You’re alright?”

“I got his prints on my purse, his DNA on my tits, and a retina scan on my phone.  And his phone, for shits and giggles.”  You quickly held up your loot for his inspection, before he could catch his breath long enough to lecture you on your recklessness.

He swiped a big hand along his mouth for composure, but he still looked like he wanted to kill something.  Mostly you.

“DNA?”  His eyes darkened quickly, somehow even more than before, as he looked from your face to your aforementioned tits.

“Saliva, big guy.  I’m committed, but not that committed.  Calm down.”  But he didn’t of course, because you’d never actually seen him relaxed.  At least not around you. 

You’d heard stories that he was a generally likable bloke once you got to know him.  Earned his trust.  Maybe someday you would get to see that side of him.  From the looks of it, this wasn’t it.

“Your country thanks you for your service.”  He deadpanned, not appreciating your snark.  

“What about you, sir?  Did I make the team?”  You shifted on your heels hopefully, still brimming with energy from knocking out a man twice your size, watching him piss himself, and staging the scene to look like he’d passed out on his own.

“I’ll put in a request to my commanding officer as soon as we get back.” 

“Really?”  You stifled the urge to hug him in your excitement.

“No.  You’re never allowed to leave the base again.”

You weren’t deterred as you rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue behind his back.  You’d wear him down.  One way or another.

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 10 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, smoking, references to the drug war and colombia, Narcos season 3 spoilers

Notes: Thank you @janaispunk for always beta reading for me. I love you!

Words: 3956

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry September 4th, 1994 Dear Javi,

So it’s been a month since you left. I’m trying not to be hurt by the lack of communication. Dad said you’re alive. The reports out of Colombia sound like you’re doing well even. I know you called your dad. He mentioned it at Ale’s riding lesson. 

School is kicking my ass. Passing the GED and actually going to class is a huge fucking difference. For the most part, I’ve managed the social situations fine. Classes are small, I can sit in the back. People don’t notice the old lady in the back. I’m pretty sure I’m only retaining a quarter of what I need to. I’m on too high of alert. I knew it would be hard, but it feels like my anxiety has gotten worse again. I feel like I’m moving backward. 

Standing outside the Embassy, Javier lit a cigarette. The habit had returned in full as he fought to manage the stress of the day and ghosts of the night. He’d managed to keep his bed empty and his ashtray full. It felt like the better option of the two. 

He still hadn’t called home. His voicemail still held last week’s message from Alejandra. He fought with himself every night. The push and the pull to talk to Emily, but every night ended the same, drowning in smoke and whiskey. He wasn’t clean enough to have her or the kids. It was better this way. 

He felt useless down here. What good was the DEA if they weren’t going to actually do any enforcing. He and the whole agency were just expensive window dressing here to make it look like everything was above board, to get the DEA stamp of approval on this surrender deal. Javier hated it all.  

“Can I get one of those?” A woman appeared next to him, her dirty blond curls threaded with the soft grays and white of aging. Javier offered one up in a silence. “I quit four months ago.” She smiled before bringing it to her lips.

Javier cocked his head to the side, still assessing her motives. He hadn’t seen her around before. She wanted something, Javier just couldn’t decide what. He lit the cigarette for her as they both took a drag, sizing one another up as they did. 

He briefly wondered if her hair style was what Emily had in mind when she mentioned cutting it shorter. He still preferred the idea of her long curls. His chest tightened. Not that he had any right to a say in that. 

The woman squared up to him. “Carolina Alvarez, El Tiempo.” She held out her hand.

Just what he needed, the press. He let her hand hang in the air just long enough to make her feel uneasy before taking it with an admittedly poor handshake. As he suspected, it didn’t take long for her to launch into whatever introduction she had planned, pulling up his history with Los Pepes and the current politics happening with Cali’s plea deal. 

It was a power play. Javier refused to let her win. “You can call the press office if you want a comment, Miss Alvarez.”

“Carolina, please,” she said.

In another life, Javier wouldn’t give her the time of day. Of course, he didn’t have to deal with the press last time. That had been above his pay grade. He tossed the cigarette butt to the ground, stomping it out with his foot. Of course, he didn’t have to deal with her now. That was what the press office was for. “Have a nice day.” He turned, started to walk away. 

“Have you heard much about the Cali accident?” she asked. His steps slowed down. He turned back around. “Four more people dead. Children. Dozens more sick.” She stepped toward him. “An empty chlorine gas canister was found nearby.”

Javier kept his face straight. His shoulders tensed. He’d seen the initial report, but hadn’t thought too much about it. 

Caroline continued, taking his silence for permission. “There’s a rumor its manufacturer is linked to a front company operated by the Cali Cartel.”

“It’s like you said, it was an accident,” Javier said, expression etched in stone, not giving anything away. 

Carolina let out a humorless chuckle. “By the end of the day it will be. No matter what the truth is.” She met his eye, giving it a second for emphasis before lapsing into Spanish. “Thank you for the cigarette.” 

She walked away, leaving Javier in the same place, same expression on his face. He fought against his surging emotions. He wasn’t going to let some journalist use him to do her research. Even so, it nagged on him throughout the day. He found himself taking extra smoke breaks.  

When he found himself watching the evening news, the investigator calling it an accident, caused by a natural gas leak, Javier felt anger surge through him. How many families had to be torn apart to protect these men? Innocent children had died. Mothers had children to bury. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t justice. 

Pictures flashed across the screen, the children killed by the exposure. He’d seen children die before. He’d watched a man he respected shoot a teenager in the head as a warning. He’d held a gun to a kid. Those incidents had messed with his head enough, but these kids were in their homes, tucked into their beds. They were supposed to be safe. How many times had Javier watched as Emily ushered her children to bed, kissed their heads, and trusted that they'd be safe in their bed. That they would wake up. 

Javier was never good at guessing the ages of kids, but each face that flashes across the screen seems to remind him of them. Miguelito. Alejandra. Mateo. Children he’d grown to know, to love even…

This wasn’t right. Cali didn’t get to get away with it. Not this time. He shut the TV off, walking over to Chris Feistl’s desk. He leaned against the wall. “You got a partner, right?”

Chris looked up at him, confused and a little shocked. “Uh, yeah. Kinda.”

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he could still bring justice. 

“Good, you’re going to Cali.” He walked away before Feistl could respond. 

This time would be different.

Journal Entry September 18th, 1994 Dear Javi,

It hurts not to hear from you. Dad said all reports from Colombia have been good. I’m sure you’re getting restless. 

I had a panic attack in class this week. I had to leave ten minutes into the class. I hadn’t had one since Escobar was killed. That’s the longest I’d been without one since I came home. I was starting to think maybe I’d never have one again. 

I feel… disappointed. 

Javier met Carolina at a cafe. She gave him information about Cali's money launderer, Franklin Jurado. She pushed him in a way he needed just as she had in their first meeting. It seemed weird that perhaps his moral compass would come in the form of a nosy journalist. 

“Are you going to take these men on or what?” she asked.

Javier let out a quick breath, formulating his answer very carefully. “I’m going to do my job.”

“And your bosses?” Her gaze was piercing, like she was trying to see his soul or haunt his dreams until the job was done. “Do they know what you’re doing?”

His eyes drifted to his coffee. “No comment,” he said, putting the cup to his lips, pinning her with a soft glare he was sure she saw right through. 

She called him with the address an hour after he left.

Javier didn’t have to sit long before Franklin appeared on the steps, bags in tow. He was going somewhere, but where was the question. A driver appeared, helping the man with his bags and once they were packed, a woman walked toward him. Javier watched from his SUV as Franklin took her hand. She didn’t look happy to be saying goodbye, and then he held her tight. 

A pang shot through Javier’s chest as the blonde woman folded into her husband’s arms. She didn’t want him to go, but she was there to say goodbye anyway. An image of Emily flashed through his mind. The night before he left, she hadn’t cried, but he saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she hugged him. He wondered if his coldness had made her cry since that night. This was better for her. She would be better off without him. He let out a sigh as he turned the ignition to follow Franklin’s, cutting off the thought before it wracked his body with guilt. 

After following Jurado to the airport, Javier headed for his own flight to follow him. Stechner blocked it, pulling him into the jungle with a couple of senators to rub elbows, to take him out like a show pony, the man who brought down Escobar, except he wasn’t even in the country when that happened. Everyone seems to ignore that part. 

He seethed on the helicopter ride in, feigning a broken headset to avoid talking. There were plenty of other places Javier would rather be, anywhere else really. He was supposed to be taking down Cali, despite what his orders were. Hell, he’d rather run for his life through the communas again than take a couple of stuffy senators on a stroll through the jungle. 

Humidity hung heavy in the air as sweat soaked his shirt. He was used to the weather, but in dress shoes and slacks it was hell. To make it all worse, it was apparent from the get go that it was a set up, a fancy, high tailed lie to raise support for whatever the CIA was gunning for, fighting communists or whatever. Javier found the whole pursuit to be a gigantic waste of time. He’d smuggled a communist out of the country once, he’d do it again without a second thought, but one thing became abundantly clear. Cali’s surrender had nothing to do with the war on drugs and everything to do with fundraising. 

Javier’s blood boiled the entire ride home, replaying his conversation with Stechner. The way the CIA agent had laughed about the drug war as if it was a joke. Maybe it was, but Javier wasn’t ready to let this one go. 

“The drug war? We lost it. You were there!”

It echoed on a fucking loop, driving him crazy as he made his way back home. There weren’t enough cigarettes in the world to numb the blows and they kept coming. 

“Did you ever stop to think that someone who takes this as personally as you do, is doing it wrong?”

He stubbed out the bud against his truck door as he got out, marching up the steps as he knocked on the door. 

This was personal. He couldn’t go home empty handed. He couldn’t face her without knowing he’d made an impact on this fight, brought down men like the one who’d inflicted such scars on her.  

Colonel Martinez opened the door, breaking Javier from his thoughts. He looked surprised to see him. 

Javier cut to the chase. “Want to go after Gilberto Rodriguez?”

Journal Entry October 2nd, 1994 Javi,

Where the fuck are you? It feels like my best friend abandoned me. You abandoned me. 

The day they arrested Gilberto Rodriguez, Javier went through the wringer, the emotional ups and downs. The DEA was excited. The bullpen had given him a round of applause, wanted to toast him. He didn’t like that. The ambassador had torn him a new one. Javier wasn’t a fan of that either. A meeting of high ranking Colombian officials with the American representatives showed the scope. Some felt this gave them more leverage while others feared it would make things worse, but the president ordered that Gilberto go through the same process as any other citizen. Javier considered that a win. He didn’t take pleasure in the press conference. 

By the time he made it back to the office, he had a killer headache, but it was thankfully empty by then. Javier pulled out the whiskey and the cigarettes. He didn’t necessarily feel happy, but he felt as if he’d done something finally.

Javier didn’t stop to celebrate or rest. He turned focus right back to Franklin Jurado, refocusing his attention on the launderer, but not before stopping to put a big, red X through Gilberto’s picture. That brought him a moment of happiness, but he paused to wonder.

He wondered if she had heard the news, seen the press conference. Did Emily know how much of a driving force she was to him? How much he wanted to clear the earth of every single cartel and drug boss, to make her feel safe again. For a second, he contemplated calling her. Could he know? Had he atoned enough? He shook his head at the thought, gripping the marker tightly in his hand. He would never atone enough. 

“This is Peña. Leave a message.” BEEP

“Mr. Javi. It’s me. Alejandrina.”

“I’m here too!” Mateo’s voice called out, sounding more distant than his sister’s. 

“Miguelito is here too. Mom is working in the yard.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this!” Miguelito said. “Grandpa is going to see it on the phone bill.”

“You never called me back.” Alejandra continued. “I saw you on the news in grandpa’s office. He didn’t know I saw. It sounded like you caught the bad guys. Can you come home now?”

“There’s more than one bad guy.” Miguelito reminded her. 

Alejandra sighed frustratedly as she went off in Spanish at her older brother. There was static on the receiver and then Mateo started talking as his older siblings fought in the background. 

“Mr. Javi. Stay safe. We love you. Bye.” The machine clicked off. 

Javier spent the next week in meetings getting berated or praised for the DEA’s actions, but mostly the berated. The doubt crept in at times. Maybe he should have left well enough alone, but it never stayed for long. He’d done the right thing. He was certain of that. 

Neil spent most of his time listening to the Jurado tapes in search of a location of Franklin. Nothing was turning up yet, but he still held out hope. Each conversation Franklin and his wife had tugged on something in Javier’s heart. Maybe it was the way she begged him to turn himself in, her worry, the anxiety. 

Even as he sat at the end of the bar, eyes pinned to Christina Jurado, Javier felt the guilt ebbing at him. Last year, he wouldn’t have thought twice about using Christina’s situation to get the information. It was easy enough, buy her a drink, pull out the charm, trick her into telling him where Franklin was. So why did he feel so damn bad about it? Why could he only picture Emily in the same position? 

Her situation had been nothing like this. They were two separate people in two separate realities. So why was he struggling with this? Why couldn’t he separate the two women? He should call her. 

Javier shook his head, waving the bartender over. He ordered a drink for Christina, clearing his head and dusting off the charm as he waited for the drink to be delivered. 

She looked annoyed at first, but the moment his English caught her ears, he watched her entire demeanor change. Javier knew he had it in the bag, but it didn’t feel as good as it used to. And then the words slipped out, almost like his mouth had a mind of its own. 

“You reminded me of someone. Someone from home.”

She liked that line, but he wanted to shower the moment he said it. What right did he have to utter even her existence in this place? None, but he’d done it anyway. Further evidence that he’d done the right thing by not calling her. 

Even through the guilt gnawing at him, Javier played the dutiful flirt. Almost lost himself in it, almost dared to enjoy it.

“So what could pull him away from-” He looked her up and down. “From all this.”

The words repeated in his mind. What could pull him away from her? In both cases the answer was the same. The Drug War. This all powerful thing that had left him battered and bruised yet kept drawing him back in. 

Christina paused, gave him another once over and then slid from her seat. “Say hi to Texas for me.”

Javi gave her credit, she was committed to her husband, or maybe his flirting skills weren’t as good as they used to be, either way, it was plan B. He called out the name she’d never told him, told her who he was, and she all but spit in his face. 

When Javier showed up at her front door later that day, she didn’t turn him away. He may not have learned where Franklin was, but she gave him the time of day. She listened. She all but told him she would try to convince her husband to turn himself in. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t look at him as he set his card on the coffee table, a far away look in her eyes, no doubt replaying the past, just like Emily when- Javier cut the thought off. This wasn’t her. This was different. 

He reasoned that he was doing this to help Christina, to keep her safe, but he knew that wasn’t true, his own selfish motives landing in the forefront of his mind. It was for the greater good, but how many people had he harmed for the greater good? 

Before he left, Javier vowed to keep Christina out of harm’s way. It was the least he could do. This time would be different.

It worked. Christina called Franklin almost as soon as he left. By the grace of god, the tap caught the man thanking someone in the language, specific enough to track him down to Curaçao. 

Before the night was over, Javier sat at the airport bar tapping his fingers against the smooth surface. He still couldn’t shake the feeling, the deceit of it all. He was caught off guard when his SAT phone rang. He answered, keeping an eye out at the bar around him. 

“Peña,” He answered, taking a sip of his whiskey. 

“Uh, it’s me… Christina Jurado.”

“I’m glad you called… You okay?”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Christina said. She sounded nervous, worried. “If I do this- if I get my husband to- you can protect us? We can go home?”

Javier’s chest tightened. He finished off his drink. “You have my word.” But he didn’t know how much his word carried these days.

She hesitated before answering. “I talked to him.”

“You did? That’s good.”

“He’s gonna cooperate.”

“He said that?” Javier picked up his duffel bag.

“No, not yet- but he will. I just… I need a little time.”

“That’s fine.” Javier walked down the terminal. “You take all the time you need.” 

He hung up without another exchange, just before his flight was announced over the intercom. Internally, he repeated his early promise. He’d keep her safe. 

Journal Entry October 15th, 1994

I dropped my classes today. I haven’t been able to make it to class. I thought I could do it. You thought I could do it…

Javier had almost forgotten the adrenaline rush of chasing down the bad guys. The hunt for Gilberto had been one thing, but the thrill of actually chasing someone down, weaving through the crowds, finally getting him. It felt good. It felt like a win when even his wins felt like losses these days. 

In all of Javier’s days in law enforcement, he’d never had someone ask about their wife. Never had anyone worried for anyone’s safety but their own, and he assured Franklin that she would meet them in Miami. 

Javier couldn’t help but admire the Jurado’s commitment to one another. For one, it made it a lot easier to get his witness, yet there was something about them. Tangled up in this mess, but still committed, still loving each other. 

As they landed, his phone rang again. Christina called him, freaking out about the men at her apartment. He had to tell her they’d arrested him. She reacted as he expected, upset and anxious, and surprisingly, his guilt had subsided. Maybe it was because they had Franklin. Maybe it was because he knew if she could get herself to the embassy, she would be safe. He’d done it. He’d brought Franklin in, and he hadn’t destroyed a family in the process. She just needed to get herself a couple miles before they found out Franklin was in custody.

“Christina, you want it, this is it.” He cut off her rambling firmly. “As soon as we hang up the phone, you get yourself to the American embassy. You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t call anyone. You get yourself there.”

He caught the whispers of her agreement before the line went dead. 

He paused a second after the call ended, staring at the keypad. Maybe it was the American soil. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually starting to feel good about this. He thought about calling for real, so close to punching the numbers he had memorized. Then he was reminded that he was on the tarmac. The job wasn’t done, but afterward, maybe he would call her. Except, Christina never made it to the embassy. 

An envelope with Emily’s handwriting greeted Javier when he got back to his apartment in Colombia. The return address confirmed it as he stared at it in the dim light of his apartment, rereading the address like he might catch a clue to its contents in the ink strokes. He debated opening it. The kids’ secret phone call to him from a couple weeks ago, the only message that accompanied Emily’s on his answering machine, ran through his mind. 

It was too late for this. It had been a long couple of days. The guilt that had returned tenfold since he left Miami without calling Emily, with Christina’s whereabouts unknown, but he ripped the seal open anyway. 

It was likely Emily ripping him apart, angry with him for abandoning her. Even the kids’ voicemail hadn’t been enough to make him call. He didn’t deserve them. Any of them. He was better off out of their lives.

He rubbed his forehead as he unfolded the paper, but it wasn’t words that greeted him, but bright colors and advanced stick figures drawn in crayon, five people. He furrowed his brow, looking back at the envelope. In the corner was Alejandra’s name atop the return address. In the picture, two adults, three kids, and a couple of horses all smiled back at him. He couldn’t help his own smile that ghosted his lips. Paz and Hurricane. His heart clenched. He hoped that Ale was still taking lessons at the ranch, and the boys practicing with the lasso. Alejandra had written their names above each person. 

He’d been a dick. Hadn’t returned calls like he said he would, promised he would, but Ale still wanted him to have this, Emily still sent it. She didn’t have to. She could have lied and thrown it in the trash instead. 

Javier cleared his throat as the page began to blur a little bit. He needed to go to sleep. He grabbed the maintenance magnet, using it to pin the drawing to his fridge. 

This time would be different. 

...........................................................

Taglist: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @burntheedges @southernbe @fanyyoouu @greengirlwurld

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @weho2kcmo

[rigginsstreet]

just a little something for @harringrovelovefest but it doesnt fit any of the prompts lol

-

Billy knew dating a straight boy would bring nothing but trouble. Cyd had warned him enough back in Cali, told him how straight boys may be good for a one time fuck, get it out of your system, but that's it. Don't go try pursuing anything more, because it'll never be anything more.

And Billy had taken that to heart. The one time in his life he didn't feel the need to put his hand on the stove to test its heat, last thing he needed was some straight boy running scared, opening his big mouth to let the world in on Billy's little secret. Maybe he played with danger a little too much, but he also knew when to play it safe to save his own ass.

Which is why Steve Harrington had been such a fucking enigma.

Billy knew better, and yet he let himself fall for the king of small town America, the poster boy of Ideal Heterosexual Living. He was such a fucking idiot.

He'd gotten a few good months out of it, at least. Definitely some of the best sex he's ever had - once he taught Steve how to properly use his dick, anyway. And he's gonna miss having that asshole hanging onto his every word, clinging to him like another limb. That absence is gonna be a bitch to fill.

But Steve, apparently, is ready to go back to pussy, if the visual Billy's getting from the parking lot of Family Video is anything to go by. Can see clear as day through his windshield, into the store, how Steve is leaned over the counter, smiling all big and bright at some chick he thinks they went to school with.

Billy knows flirting when he sees it. Honestly, he just wishes Steve had the decency to not flaunt it right in his face. Could've taken her to the back and fucked her in private without Billy having to have this image burned into his brain.

Whatever.

He slams on his horn, finally alerting Steve to his presence.

Steve perks up at the sound of the horn. Billy's a little early to pick him up from the end of his shift, but only by a few minutes. Robin can clock him out, it won't matter.

"Gotta go, Shelly," he says to the girl on the other side of the counter. "But make sure to come back and tell me what you thought about Animal House. I'm telling you, it's a classic!"

Shelly laughs and agrees to his request before heading out, and Steve can't get out of the store fast enough. Yells his goodbye to Robin and runs out the door, panting as he plops himself into the passenger seat of the Camaro.

"Hey, tiger." He grins. And it's only now that he notices the voice coming from the radio. Just about the last damn thing he ever expected Billy to be listening to. "Is this Dolly Parton?" He wants to laugh, but the somber look on Billy's face and the next words out of his mouth have him refraining.

"My mom liked her. Got a problem with that?"

"Uh... no. No. Dolly's great."

Billy pulls out of the parking lot without a word. The track on the cassette changes, and the melancholic lyrics fill the silence.

When you love somebody With all your heart and soul And you want to keep them with you But you know they want to go What do you do? What do you say? When you know they want to leave As bad as you want them to stay

Billy's fingers tighten around the steering wheel. This song was always a bitch to get through, but it's downright torture right now. He thinks about changing it, but it would only draw attention. Best to just push through it, act like it's just another song. Keep his feelings down like usual.

Steve notices the shift, though. He also notices the way Billy's eyes have gone a little glassy, starting to fill up with tears.

He gets it. Billy's mom is a sore subject for him, and as he listens to the lyrics spilling out of the radio he can't help but to feel bad for his boyfriend. There's an ache in his chest like he's carrying Billy's emotions for him. He wish he could. Wishes Billy didn't have to feel a single bad thing for the rest of his life, he's already felt enough.

And then the chorus starts, and Steve's mind switches over to his own past woes.

And there's nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn't care at all and the other cares too much It's a sad situation, I must say When someone wants to leave As bad as you want them to stay

Nancy feels like a lifetime ago. And he's over her, he is, but. Some wounds take longer to heal.

This song would've hurt more had he heard it back then, in the thick of it. But now he can mourn that period of his life for what it was and look at Billy and take pride in what his life is.

You know how much I love you But I know you don't love me And I know it's just a matter of time before you leave But I, do I stand aside and just let you walk away? But I know you want to leave As bad as I want you to stay

Billy wonders when the blow is gonna come. How long it'll be until Steve breaks the news. Will probably let him down easy, because that's the kind of guy Steve is. And Billy won't go down without a fight, because that's the kind of guy he is. Can't ever let things go without kicking and screaming.

Maybe he should end things first, beat Steve to the punch. Leave his ass blindsided, leave-

"Hey," Steve's voice comes gently, along with the hand now holding Billy's on the wheel.

They're stopped at a red light, so Billy chances a glance over.

And there's nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn't love at all and the other loves too much It's a sad situation I must say

"I'm glad I have you." Steve smiles, all soft and sweet. Delicate, like he's stepping through a minefield. "I'm glad we have each other."

Billy's breath catches in his throat. Doesn't know what kind of sick game Steve is playing. But he's holding Billy's hand, and he's staring into his eyes, and he looks sincere.

His mom had looked sincere, too, all the times she told him she loved him. Look where that got him. People are sincere, until they aren't.

When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay Oh, it's a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay

"You can't-" Billy starts, choking on his words. "You can't leave me." His own honesty strikes him, but the words are out, and he figures it's time to lay it all on the table. "Or- if you are, just do it now. Don't string me along Steve, I won't- I can't-"

The light's gone green, but there isn't a soul on the road, so Steve doesn't feel guilty almost climbing into Billy's lap just to hold him as close as he can, kissing the top of his head, his cheek, his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, blue." He holds Billy's face between his hands, forcing him to understand the weight of his words. "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not." He shakes Billy's head for emphasis, eliciting a laugh from the both of them.

There's tears streaming down Billy's face, but it's relief. Maybe he jumped to conclusions, maybe he has to reel that shit in. He'll work on it.

"Yeah, okay." He sniffles. Doesn't make a move to get out of Steve's grasp. "You're stuck with me, too, though."

Steve beams. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: Jobber on Jobber - Cali-Boy v Christian Thorn (wrestler4hire.com)

I'm a believer that the right attitude can take you a long way in life and in wrestling.  Cali-Boy and Christian Thorn may not have the polish other wrestlers have in gay wrestling but these two definitely work for it.  

Cali-Boy v Christian Thorn (wrestler4hire.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Background  We begin with our two young wrestlers locking up.  I love a good jobber on jobber match because you never know who will come out on top.  

Cali-boy flexes while Christian's jaw drops

The Action  Our two jobbers quickly throw their bodies at each other without the fluidity of the usual pro matches.  In fact the two spend a lot of the time rolling around on the mat and not using the entire ring.  

Christian getting too cocky before Cali-Boy puts him in his place

Cali-Boy having some fun and toying with the light weight

But what they lack in tactical wrestling skill they more than make up for it with enthusiasm.  These two are determined to earn this match and the sweat pouring off each other further cements their hard work.  

I mean look at those arms... Christian is feeling the hurt from those guns.

Cali-Boy putting the little guy out.

The Moment 

Around the halfway mark I started enjoying this match quite a bit. I love that time in the match when both men tire and push through the last bit of exhaustion to come out on top. From the sweat proving how much heart each fighter has to the constant flip-flops that kept me guessing who would ultimately submit. A jobber match sometimes needs a good heel to bring out the best wrestling but in this case, they brought out something in each other.

Not a bad way to be put out if I'm being honest

Each fighters movements are slowed as all that boundless energy is used up.

From Cali-boys impressive muscles, to the look of anguish and struggle on both of their faces - these guys put it all out there on the mat and they both deserve this wrestling moment. 

[cuecrynsleep]

Reconnecting the Past

Amangela | Reunion AU!

Chapter 16: Skipped a Beat

Amanda, Angela, and Arasha call, and Tommy makes an assumption.

Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a representation of those in Smosh, rather a fan made perspective on the characters they portray online. Remain respectful.

← Ch. 15 | Masterlist

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Arasha tapped the steering wheel of her car, waiting for the light to turn green. Her eyes glanced at the digital clock, doing some mental math on Angela’s apartment to the filming location. As the light turned green she drove straight ahead, turning into the parking lot of the familiar apartment complex. She parked at the nearest open available spot for guests, taking her phone out of the cup holder. Her fingers tapping on Angela’s contact, before the ringing sound filled the car. The sound was cut short before it beeped just before the call ended. She frowned at her phone, rolling her eyes, until a text came in shortly after.

‘Angela: Be out in a second’

Arasha replied to the text, scrolling through her instagram notifications afterwards. The sound of a door alerting her eyes forward. Angela walked towards her car, a phone to her ear as she continued talking to whoever was on the other side of the phone.

“I have to go,” Angela said, as she opened the car door. The phone briefly squeezed against her ear and shoulder as she put on her seat belt. “Bye. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You don’t have to hang up,” Arasha immediately spoke. “I don’t mind.”

Angela paused. “Are you sure?” She asked, the phone pulled away from her ear as if the caller wasn’t a part of the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said. Arasha put her car back into drive, carefully maneuvering out of the parking lot. “It’s just a phone call.”

As Angela moved her phone closer to her, Arasha could make out the voice much more clearer.

“Wait, is that Arasha?”

She glanced at Angela from the corner of her eye. “You’re talking to Amanda?”

“Oh my god. Hi Arasha!”

“Hey Amanda, it’s been a while,” Arasha smiled. Her smile not once feigned as Angela groaned.

“I should’ve just hung up,” Angela murmured.

“Oh come on. Why?”

“I feel like one of you is going to embarrass me,” Angela said, her eyes trained on Arasha as she spoke.

“Who do you take me for? You should just put me on speaker.”

“I agree, put Amanda on speaker,” Arasha interrupted. “I need to focus on the road.”

“More of a reason for me to hang up then,” Angela huffed. A few seconds passed, Amanda’s words being drowned out by the light traffic, before Angela put her on speaker.

“-call was cut short yesterday. I don’t want to stop talking-“

“You’re on speaker,” Angela interrupted. A light smile was on her face, her eyes obviously avoiding Arasha’s ever-so curious ones that’d glance at her.

There was a brief crackle and muffling of background noise. “Finally, I’m on speaker. Can’t believe she tried to stop us from talking to each other, Arasha.”

“I know right,” Arasha said. She bit her lip, stopping herself from making a joke about Angela wanting Amanda all to herself. She didn’t exactly know what she can and cannot joke about. “Angela hasn’t even told me that you guys have been calling.”

“Yes I have,” Angela defended. “I mentioned it.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn't know it was like a thing," Arasha said.

"It's not daily but we've been calling often," Amanda answered. "How have you been, Arasha?"

"I'm good. I got a callback for an audition yesterday." Arasha paused, glancing at Angela who was silently listening to the two converse, with a light smile on her face. "How about you?"

"Oh my god congratulations on that callback," Amanda cheered. "I'm doing great. I have an idea of when I'm going back to Cali, so I'm happy about that."

"What?" Angela immediately said. "Wait, you didn't tell me this. When?"

"I didn't?" Amanda asked, surprised. "I swear I told you yesterday. I wanted to make sure to tell you."

"It's fine," Angela shrugged. "You can tell me now."

"I don't know the exact date, but it'll be around the last week of July."

"Still a few weeks then.”

"Yeah," Amanda paused, a few seconds passing before she spoke. "I can't wait to see you." Her voice was airy yet so undeniably emotional. Arasha's eyes widened at the switch up, she glanced at Angela who's smile widened at the words. She couldn't even tell if she was third wheeling at this point. Even if she knew that was the farthest thing from both of their intentions.

"We'll have to schedule a meet up at some point then," Angela said.

"For sure," she agreed. "You're one of the highlights of my time here, so yeah, definitely." The compliment was said casually, yet borderline cheesy considering Angela isn't even in Canada with Amanda. An achievement on Angela's part maybe.

If Arasha could describe Amanda in one word based on this interaction alone it'd be soft. Almost as if anything Angela did would make Amanda crumble. That alone was enough to get enough Arasha's mind wandering.

"This is highschool all over again," Arasha jokes, a beat later. "I'm just witnessing two people make plans I'm not a part of."

"Wait!" Amanda said, just as Angela scrambled over an apology.

"We can all hang out, Arasha!" Amanda said. "I definitely do need to catch up with you sometime. I really want to do that."

"The more the merrier," Angela followed up. "Besides I talk to Amanda enough as is."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Angela apologized, her face broken out in a wide grin.

"I'm thinking dinner some time. It'll be on me," Amanda said.

"I'm so happy my plan worked," Arasha chuckled, despite clearly not having that intention at all. "All I'm hearing is free dinner."

Amanda sighed. "Well not anymore after that."

"Damn, guess I'm not getting free dinner either," Angela shrugged.

"That part was only extended to Arasha anyway," Amanda teased.

"That's so unfair!"

"Look," Arasha interrupted, having a feeling that playful bickering would go on for longer. "You two need to hang out properly. You're the ones reconnecting. The last thing I want to do is get in the middle of that.”

A second later, Arasha cleared her throat. "But I also do want to catch up with you sometime Amanda."

'I'm looking forward to it."

"Awww," Angela cooed. "I'm so glad I didn't hang up after all. I'm happy you two are talking."

"We never had a reason not to Ange," Arasha said. "I didn't have some reservations with her like you did." She said, glancing at Angela with a teasing smirk, before going back to facing the road.

"I knew you were going to embarrass me!" Angela practically yelled. "I fucking knew it!"

Amanda's laughter filled the air as she took in Angela's reaction. "God, I wish I was in the car."

It wasn’t long for the conversation to change topics, the three going from discussing traveling to shopping. As the destination neared Angela ended up rambling about her improv group, Arasha too focused on driving to give full responses aside from the occasional hum.

“Oh come on,” Angela said. "Are you even listening to me Amanda? I feel like I'm talking to an empty crowd.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Amanda chuckled. “I'll talk more. I just liked listening to you ramble.” She said softly in a raw voice that it completely caught Arasha off guard. She couldn’t help but do a look over Angela, gauging her reaction. There was the usual smile on her lips but she didn’t look surprised nor caught off guard. If anything, it was just a part of their new normal.

“Well, at least you're listening,” Angela said, pausing before she continued on. “And I don’t exactly want to count on Arasha fully listening when she’s driving.”

"I am listening," Arasha said. "We usually talk anyway when I'm driving so it's not exactly out of the ordinary.”

As Amanda and Angela lightly bicker back and forth, Arasha leaned back. She let her mind wander further, taking the train of thought she had before and delving into it. Yet, at the same time, she wasn’t exactly one to assume. Especially, when she didn’t exactly know Amanda, at least currently, that well. Angela acted how she normally would, as if she was finding herself as she talked to Amanda. There was only an occasional pause and shift of awkwardness and hesitance, though it was probably par for the course.

Meanwhile for Amanda, the part that more so brought her attention, was the differences. There was just something about the way she acted. The way she talked to Angela, and how her voice sounded with every word she spoke.

It was reminiscent of a lovesick Angela back in University. As soon as the thought hit her, she shook it away and pushed it aside. It was none of her business. The two are currently happy as they are. That’s all that matters.

[stawpny]

I’m bored and ao3 is kinda dry (atleast for the wttt ny tag)

so here are some NY ships I NEED to see more of 🙏

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MassYork: ok, I used to be almost totally opposed to this, seeing them having more of a brotherly relationship but with history n stuff it’s kinda not possible. But anyway, probably my main ship for now, bc OHMYGOD “nobody can kill you but me”? GET OUT, GET MARRIED, PLEASE.

like if it’s Mass/Cali/York or Mass/Jersey/York I will eat it up.

no questions, it is already in my mouth. I am eating the fuck outta this.

GeoYork: in my mind they have a cute dynamic. I feel they would be best friends as younger colonies and then have a very complicated relationship until they finally get together. Slowburn kinda, also kinda they have been in relationships dozens of times but something always happens. and isn’t Georgia called the “Empire State of the South”? or am I just hearing things

peach + apple? cobbler + pie? idek but I love them

TexYork: guys pls. southern gentleman and city boy? literally perfect for each other. they would make fun of each other endlessly. accents, vocabulary, actions, plus so much more because they’re very different.

TX taking York to his ranch to meet bro’s cows??? yes please. I’d like to meet Betsy too .

^TexaCaliYork: also a fire ship (see what I did there?) like the ship above, but with the hipster in it aswell. Texas and Cal constantly bicker like children and York sorts it out like a teacher would.

NY: you hurt his feelin’s, go apologize.

TX, scoffing: fine, but don’t expect me to get along with him after.

(spoiler alert!! York forces them into a cuddle pile afterwards to get over there lifelong beef)

IlliYork: they’re enemies, they’re lovers, the whole kit-and-caboodle. they’d switch hats sometimes and hold each others hand when they’re in their cities. they’re idiots and the Midwest and the Northeast hate them for it. It’s kinda gross but in a good way.

they’d be the couple who like hold hands in public but not make a single move other than that to show that they love the other. absolutely no kissing in public, they would just sit there in silence with a death grip on the other’s hand. they would totally insult each other to the face and then say, “Love you, tho.”

FloYork: fun fact: they are absolutely insane together. They influence each other and constantly say stupid shit. Florida would force York outta his comfort zone from time to time but the inner extrovert masked by New York’s fake introvert personality will do it almost willingly. he puts up a “fight” but he would deadass do it bc he thinks this shit is hilarious.

NY would be a little like Florida even if they weren’t dating. like NYC is absolutely batshit so that would mean York would have to be a little too.

NY/CA/TX/FL/LA: little crazy, ik, but I remember reading fics abt these five (including gov, but I’m still questioning if he would be in here or not) and absolutely devouring them. spectacular ship. it’s like a little bit of everything, except the Midwest and the other western states, but almost everything. I would love to see more of them.

they would def fight over each other. (who got to hold hands with who, who got to sleep/cuddle with who, etc.)

—

I’m not forcing you to give into my opinions, but if u like these, I like you 😼

some of these hc’s are not entirely mine, some were influenced, tho most are from the rotting part of my brain

I hope u use these ships in the future or I might spontaneously combust

(spoiler alert 2!! I will still explode [out of love] if u write about them)

ily guys