#i have family issues ofc every group is a family to me

[ihavenosoul12]

torchwood is found family and disaster polycule to me. a family that tears itself apart and creates its own wounds yet patches them up together. standing together shoulder to shoulder but also dragging each other down if they get the chance. the most dysfunctional family to me.

they also the fuck nasty polycule

[nohkalikai]

every time i talk w my parents i have to remind myself not to get swayed by their doting affectionate act.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 11

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: PLEASE READ! I have made the decision to change this series from a reader fic to an OC fic. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and it's not something I decided on overnight. I don't believe I can do the narrative justice by staying in the constraints of a reader fic, and my first duty is always to the narrative. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but trust me, having to go back and re-write everything into third-person past-tense was not on my to-do list. I realize I do not have an OC option on my taglist sign up form. This has been fixed. If you would no longer like to be tagged in this series, please let me know. All of the parts will be updated along with the corrected tags before the next part is posted in two weeks. I apologize for the inconvenience. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

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After the long trek up the Jedi Temple steps, Wolffe placed Cara down onto the ground and let her walk beside him, but he securely held her hand. The Temple still made him feel uneasy, but with a little gentle prodding from Plo, and after passing by several clone troopers, he decided to release Cara's hand and let her walk on her own. He kept one eye on where he was going and the other on her to make sure she didn't wander off on him. She had always been a curious child.

As Plo guided the group through the Temple halls to their new quarters he told Cara a little story that made her giggle and laugh. It warmed Wolffe's heart to hear her laugh and he soaked up as much of it as he could. She had been through so much already, and the funeral was going to ruin any chance of him hearing her laugh in the near future. It wasn't like he laughed much either. His wife was the one who laughed the most, but it was contagious and he always caught it from her.

Along their journey, Wolffe had to stop Cara from touching things that didn't belong to her. She wanted to touch everything within reach and most of it belonged to the Jedi or someone else. The rest of the Wolfpack found it amusing and snickered every time Wolffe veered off from the group to grab his wandering child. He'd never been on babysitting duty before, but his wife made it look easy when they went out together so he thought it wouldn't be an issue for him. He was dead wrong.

"Cara," Wolffe sighed as he sprinted over to her once again. This time it was a cube-shaped shiny-looking object sitting on a table. "If you don't stop walking away from me, I'm gonna have to carry you."

"Look! It's pretty," Cara said as she picked up the cube and admired it.

"It's not yours," Wolffe said. He took the cube from her and placed it back down where she found it.

Cara pouted, turned away from Wolffe, and crossed her arms. "But it was pretty…"

Wolffe's eyes softened and he crouched down to her level. "I know, but just because something is pretty doesn't mean you can take it. That's called stealing."

Cara turned back to face Wolffe, still pouting. "Is stealing bad?"

"Yes, it is," Wolffe said. "The Coruscant Guard can put you in jail for that."

"I don't want to go to jail!" Cara gasped and put her hands behind her back. "I don't like Fox."

Wolffe tried to hide a snort, but failed miserably. "Don't worry, baby, you won't. As long as you stop touching things that don't belong to you."

"Okay," Cara said. She reached her arms up for Wolffe to pick her up and he obliged.

Wolffe fell back into step with the rest of the group as Plo continued to direct them through the Temple. With so many twists, turns, and hallways it wouldn't be easy for Cara to leave the temple, even by accident, which was one of Wolffe's major concerns about getting deployed. Actually, he had a whole list of concerns, but he could only focus on one at a time. He never used to be such a worrier, not with his wife around, but now, so many things could go wrong if he wasn't there with her.

"We have arrived," Plo said as he stopped and turned to face a plain door in the hallway.

Wolffe was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard his general's voice and realized that he'd been walking on autopilot for the last stretch of the journey. He'd have to access the Temple maps later to make sure he knew where all of the entrance and exit routes to and from the room were. He'd memorize the entire Temple layout if he had to. He refused to leave any of this up to chance. There was too much at stake. He couldn't stay focused on a mission if he was thinking about Cara's welfare.

Wolffe placed Cara down and took a hold of her hand. This was new for the both of them, but they'd do it together, even if it was scary. Plo opened the door and Wolffe did an immediate visual scan for threats and initial observations. It was spacious compared to any living quarters the GAR had ever given him, but it looked rather restricting for Cara, who had lived her whole life in a multi-room apartment. It was a simple layout with a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a window, and, thankfully, no enemies.

Cara grabbed Wolffe's leg and stepped behind him to hide. He could tell she was nervous, but so was he.

"Daddy," her voice trembled. "I want to go home."

Wolffe twisted his neck around to look down at her and sighed. He gave her an encouraging pat on the back and walked forward into the room with her following behind. "This…" he began, but hesitated. "This is home now." The words tasted bitter even for him, but if he was going to convince Cara, he needed to convince himself first. It definitely wasn't home. Not by a longshot. Home was their apartment. Home was pretty curtains and smelly flowers. Home was a warm meal. Home was his wife.

"Out of the way!" Sinker shouted as he barreled past Wolffe and Cara. "Man with a box coming through!"

Cara giggled and Wolffe shook his head as the rest of the Wolfpack filed into the small room.

Boost plopped down onto the bed and bounced on it with exaggerated motions. "This bed is super soft. Softer than any bed I've ever slept on. You should feel it!"

Cara let go of Wolffe's leg and ran over to the bed to try it out for herself.

"Look at this!" Warthog exclaimed over his shoulder. "There's a window too. You can see all of Coruscant from up here!"

Cara hopped off of the bed and ran over to look out the window. She was just a tad bit too short, so Warthog picked her up so she could see.

Comet walked into the room last and pulled open the doors of the wardrobe. "Wow," he said with a big smile. "Lots of space in here, too. You're really staying in luxury, ad'ika."

Wolffe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as a small smile crept onto his face. What was once a terrifying situation was now an exciting adventure thanks to the Wolfpack. They knew he was scared just as much as Cara was, even if he'd never admit it, and their exaggerated display had not only eased her fears, but some of his own as well. She was smiling, giggling, laughing, exploring, and seemed fine right now. They saw her fear and shot it point blank like the good soldiers they were.

"Commander," Plo said, interrupting Wolffe's thoughts. "If you will excuse me, I have a briefing to attend."

Wolffe's small smile turned into a grimace. "Understood," he said. "I'll grab my kit."

"No need," Plo dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I will take the sergeant with me. You are much more needed here."

Wolffe looked at Sinker, who nodded in agreement. "I'll report back when the briefing is over."

"And I will meet you all on the terrace in a couple hours," Plo said, a sadness invading his voice.

Wolffe nodded in response and watched as the two left. He worried his lip and wondered what the briefing was about. Normally a briefing meant they were about to deploy, but he hoped that this time it was the slim case where it wasn't a deployment order, because the thought of leaving Cara so soon burned a hole straight through his gut. They still had the funeral to deal with, and he couldn't abandon her after that. It would make him a deplorable father and human being, but a very good soldier.

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[butch-reidentified]

I notice a lot of radfems claiming that trans community is a cult now that I'm in gender critical spaces and I guess I can see why because they silence dissenting opinions and keep engaging in their homophobia, ignorance of sex based oppressions, supporting problematic people and etc. When I was in the trans community, they say that radfems are a cult. I don't know why that is though. Do you know why they say that radfems are a cult? I just think radfems don't want trans people to promote misogyny, homophobia and whatever bigotries they keep spouting

I've seen that once or twice when I was in trans spaces too. It doesn't make sense to me either, but I can't say I'm surprised since every single other thing they believe about radical feminism is also laughably inaccurate.

Looking at these images, and going through each point in context of radical feminism vs transactivism, there's a lot that's interesting. Where we encourage critical thinking, doubt, questioning, and dissent, TRAs actively discourage and punish it. They no longer even tolerate trans people who disagree on very minor matters - I remember when it was generally agreed upon in trans spaces that dysphoria was a defining aspect of being trans & everyone made fun of "tumblr genders." Now, the "truscum," "transmed," and old-school transsexual types are also called transphobic bigots and told they aren't welcome.

We have no involvement or desire to interfere in other radfems' family or personal lives; transactivism often encourages people to cut off family members for minor infractions like questioning anything about the person's transition or identity, not adjusting quickly enough to new pronouns/name, and the like. TRAs have often claimed parents who do any of those things are transphobic and abusive. TRA culture also frequently encourages trans people to socially engage primarily with other trans people (but only the ones who share their views!), date other trans people, live with like 7 other trans roommates, etc. Most trans people I knew who subscribed to the full gender ideology package rented a place with 2 or 3 other genderist roommates. They also discourage relationships of any kind, including friendship, with anyone who doesn't fully share the genderist perspective.

TRAs certainly view "any outside criticism as proof of persecution." I don't know any radfems who have an issue with criticism of radical feminism (that isn't straight up misogyny ofc). "Outsiders who question the group are hostile enemies or inherently evil" is transactivism to a fucking T. Radfems don't claim anyone is inherently evil, and idk any radfem who thinks that outsiders who question or disagree with radical feminism are hostile enemies. I doubt many even feel that way about TRAs; we just don't tolerate misogyny. I don't think they're inherently evil or anything lmao. In fact, most radfems I've known actually have a lot of empathy for people who struggle with dysphoria, gender nonconformity, mental health issues, etc.

"The leader's transgressions are explained away or ignored." In many of these quotes, if you swap "the leader" for "trans women" or male nonbinaries, you'll notice it's pretty dead on. Eli Erlick for example, or Sophie Labelle, and so many more. They will defend a serial rapist transwoman over a gender critical MTF transsexual any day, and that's pretty culty behavior to me - not to mention it proves that this isn't about literally being trans, but about the ideology. Though they will usually take a trans woman's side in any situation, if the trans woman does not subscribe to gender ideology, they'll demonize and attack instead. In rad spaces on the other hand, I see women consistently held accountable when they do something wrong, and if it's a serious moral transgression, they'll be kicked out of the space no matter how popular or influential they were.

"Unquestioning commitment" to the ideology and "practices are the binding truth and law" (insert binding joke here). Extreme "polarized us vs them mentality" and "black-and-white views and right-or-wrong thinking with no gray areas." All of this is accurate of transactivism. I have not experienced or witnessed this type of thinking in rad spaces.

"Leaders use deception both to the public and to its own members." I mean the entire ideology is based on deception and denial of reality. Gaslighting is fundamental to convincing people that sex isn't real/can be changed, that sexual orientation is based on attraction to people's invisible internal identities and is inherently fluid and has nothing at all to do with sex or really any physical traits, that women/girls are oppressed because they identify as female or because patriarchy hates femininity (I've seen them claim "masc privilege" is a thing and butch lesbians benefit from it wayyy too many times) - or that women & girls are not oppressed at all. Flaunting that you've had sex with someone without disclosing that you're trans (aka deception) is fairly common in some of the more extreme genderist spaces as well. I'm not sure how this could possibly apply to radical feminism. We are generally pretty committed to accuracy and reality, and deception is not in line with those values at all.

"Members are discouraged from getting information from non-group sources." This one actually lowkey gave me chills bc it's really true. We all know they don't understand what radfems actually believe, they have block lists and block radfems/gender critical people on sight, even in the absence of any negative interaction. A whole lot, if not most, of the statistics and data they like to cite are from their own organizations, or even from information someone spread on social media years and years ago and everyone just doesn't question its authenticity or origins. "Non-group sources are held to be liars with sinister motives." That's practically word for word how they react to statistics, info, etc., from non-trans organizations. And gender critical people certainly know how often they call us liars and insist we want trans people dead. These especially don't apply to radical feminism. We encourage engaging with all kinds of people and content, and we don't rely on or use data/information from other radfems or radfem organizations much at all.

Now, regarding the point about special vocabulary/shorthand/buzzwords. Both TRAs and radfems use such things. However, radfems do not use them to "substitute for rational analysis." But a mantra like TWAW is exactly that. Even "TERF" and "transphobic" are thrown around extremely quickly and easily, in situations where they often don't really apply, and the intention underlying that is putting an end to any doubt/questioning going on, shutting it down by claiming bigotry.

Using "shame, guilt, and/or fear to influence and control members" absolutely doesn't happen in radfem spaces. Not that I've ever seen or heard about. It was definitely something I experienced a lot of in trans spaces, though.

I don't have the energy to do any more of these breakdowns of the points, sorry. But you get the idea. Additionally, TRAs tend to make it their entire identity and lifestyle. It's all-consuming. Not to mention there's no such thing as wrongthink in radical feminism like there is with genderism. I don't constantly monitor and police my own thoughts and feelings for "problematic" ones like I did when I was involved in all that gender stuff. Plus, they actively seek to recruit people, especially young, mentally ill, traumatized, and/or otherwise vulnerable people. Radical feminism doesn't really recruit at all; women and girls tend to find it themselves most times.

I hope this more or less answers your question

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 20

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.4k

a/n: I forget that the strip of time between midterms and finals is about A WEEK. So I have been manhandled and tossed around (not in a fun way) this semester. I finally have time to breath this break.

Please enjoy , this chapter is all love.

I have a surprise for you all soon.

Also, thank you @ficjoelispunk for the kind words about RLW, it inspired me to continue when I was in a rut because of finals. Thank you.

You overestimated how tired you were because you woke up with drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and the worst morning breath of 1986. The sheets were rustled and missing the body you clung to most of the night. Rolling your neck and stretching your limbs so tight you spasm a bit, you look over to the clock reading 1:15 pm. Yikes. 

Yawning, for some reason. You slept for nearly 13 hours, there’s no reason for you to still feel-

Then, the loudest most earth shattering rumble from the pits of your belly shook your entire body. 

“Well shit.” You mumble to yourself, pulling the covers up to conceal your breasts while you stretch over to the telephone on the nightstand. Eyes squinted you drag a manicured hand down the list of extensions for services. Maid service? Might as well. 

Dialing the numbers you wait. 

“Hi-Hello. Um could I please get um… whatever breakfast you have up to room 417.” 

“Well we’ve got honeymoon eggs, croque madame, quiche Lorraine.” You roll your tongue against your cheek and smile to yourself. 

“Could I just get scrambled eggs and a Belgian waffle. No syrup, just butter and uh...powdered sugar!” Your glance over to the space where Javier had been. “Get me beignets too actually.” Your lips quirking.

You pictured it so clearly, it was summer again and you were thirteen. There was a sheen of sweat on your forehead from biking uphill in 97 degree weather. Your brother and Genie up ahead talking about something important to them. Javi had been a few weeks from fifteen, the summer was ending. He paced with you every time you biked anywhere. I’m not laughing, he’d laugh as he waited for you to catch your breath at the new shop across town. It was rare for anything new to open up so the second your ragtag group got word of the bakery opening by the new 7/11, plans were made. 

You remembered the air conditioning in the place being blasted so high you let out a joyful squeal when you walked in. Tall adults ahead of you in line covering the menu. Peering your neck to get a glance, getting frustrated at how packed the small bakery was. Guess they weren’t the only ones with a plan. Suddenly hands tuck under your arms and you’re being lifted. You gasp so loud your brother whips his head back in concern before breaking out into laughter while you’re held in the air by Javier. With your eyes blown wide and your stomach dangerously pitted, Javier grunts below you. 

“A-alright make a decision I can’t hold you for so long.” He groans, “Although I know you’re just gonna order the beignets.” 

You scoff and he puts you down. And he pays for an order of beignets, blowing powdered sugar in your face as you all sat and ate. 

You wonder if he’ll remember when he comes back from his meeting. You’re giddy at the memory, the two of you were always sweet huh?

Well you feast and the housekeepers come in and strip the bed and dishes while you shower. You attempt to dress appropriately considering Javier hadn’t disclosed any details about what the day entailed. You opted for the orange ribbed tank top, a matching cardigan and a gray wrap skirt. And you knew how much Javier adored your hair wet in its natural state of waves so you hadn't bothered using the outdated hotel dryer. 

Javier bursts into the room early at one pm, you're at the desk squinting into your compact. Removing the mascara that had spread to your lid. Rubbing your glossed lips in the meantime, watching him from your peripheral you could feel the stress expanding from him as he places his coat on the bed. Reluctantly you look at him as he rolls his neck, “Hi…” You croak, stupidly nervous suddenly. You can taste the bad mood. Your eyes avert and you open your compact again to look busy. He doesn't respond, just the sound of his shoes across the rug. Through the compact you see him crowd your chair and before you could look back at him he’s placing a kiss to your scalp. Closing your eyes to take in the gentleness your turn in your seat to look up at him as he’s hunched over, your palm closing on his cheek and kissing him tender. 

“Hi.” he finally responds. Your eyes crinkle at their corners.

“I saved you something.” You kiss him again before reaching over for the plate of beignets. His eyes are bright and wide when he gets a glance.

“Jesus–thank you.” Setting the plate down, you stand, giving him your seat as you are done getting ready. He sits and grunts the second you attempt to give him space to eat, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. “Don’t you dare leave.” 

You roll your eyes, picking up the doughy concoction and bring it to his lips with your hand cupped to catch the powder. Good thing you weren't wearing black. “Do you remember when we had these for the first time?” 

Javi takes an aggressive bite and scrunches his brow before smiling as he chews. You liked to watch him eat, you think it had to do with the way his jaw strained, you desperately wanted to lick and kiss on his jawline. “Yes… There were so many people in that bakery. I remember that guy–”

“What guy?” Your brain starts indexing and filing the memory, you don't remember much after he picked you up you must have been in a blushing daze. Javier takes another bite.

Licking his lips, “The guy that elbowed you to get ahead in line– me and your brother flipped out on him–wait you don't remember?” He mumbles seems like something you’d remember, you pinch his arm with a laugh and it all comes back to you. You all had waited on the line and someone attempted to cut, elbowing your ribs in the process. You recall gasping and immediately gripping at your rib at the sudden bruise. Javi called the man some sort of dickhead while your brother asked if you were okay. Javier finishes the sweet, reaching around you to grab a napkin. “Thank you for saving me some but we have plans in 15 minutes.”

Your cheeks burn bright and you give him a small smile, “Oh do we?” You place a hand on his shoulder, dragging it down to his bicep. You watch goosebumps rise on the sliver of skin peeking from his shirt. 

He grips at your waist playfully, “Yes we do. Now up–before I keep you trapped in this room all day.” He gives your behind a small spank, he mumbles, tempting me with that tiny skirt.

Javier doesn't tell you where he’s taking you. All you know is that it's walking distance from your lodging. He nods a tight lipped smile to a few colleagues in the halls of the hotel, his hand grip yours firmly. You knew he was protective of you before all of this, you hadn’t pictured he’d be this possessive in public. You absolutely adored it. You refrain from psycho analyzing your desire to be held and protected by your partner and opt to bask in the fleeting moment with your head leaning on his arm as you walk into the busy streets of New Orleans. 

Javier wastes no time in using his left hand to fish for his sunglasses. Oh it was a gorgeous day, a rare breeze in June and jazz filling the air. You were beaming and walking ahead, dragging Javier with you. “Please tell me you’re taking me to the French Quarter, I’ve never been.” You drag him down the unfamiliar streets. 

He chuckles, “We are but it’s actually that way.” His voice has a slight rasp to it, you wonder if he’s getting sick. He points and shifts his force, slightly pulling you closer to him as he crosses the street. The street off the Roosevelt wasn’t much, but to you it had been everything. You had been so used to the flat impossible to walk anywhere landscape of Florida and the too-small-for-its-own-good of your hometown that when you look up to see the buildings tall enough to block the sun you feel a wave of satisfaction. You were on vacation. You walk, taking in the streets, the architecture. The red brick sidewalks and the creole style buildings.

The colors so bright, your orange top matches a building you pass and you suddenly wish Javier took his camera. Javier eventually lets you go in the spirit of watching your wonder take control of your body. He watches every small bit of your reactions, he wants to tell you about the places he had been in those six years. Had you known he came down to New Orleans three times before, that he thought of bringing you here once already. His eyes crinkle at their corners when a woman carrying a small puppy in her hands stops to call you beautiful. Your face goes beet red as you thank her and ask to pet the tiny thing before she blesses you.

You look back at Javi, slowing to get to his side again. “That was the nicest thing to happen to me, ever.” You snake your hand into his and his chest fills with a warmth only you can provide. How scary is that?

“Well you do look beautiful, been watching you this whole time.” He admits, hold the shame-it’s just you. You smile a dimple deep grin and  bring your conjoined hands to your lips, kissing him on the dorsal of his hand. Leaving your mark, your eyes flitting up. You gasp. 

“We’re here oh my god!” ahead of you the time ceases to exist. The past in front of you, buildings gradually changing in style, some new in its classic Creole style and others chipping and rustic, the greenery. And so colorful. The sounds of street performers and parents positioning their kids for photos swarm you two. “We should pay one of those tourist photographers to take a picture of us.” You suggest, 

Javi swallows thickly. He knew once he’s given the picture he’d carry it wherever he went, he imagines it taped onto his desk in Colombia. His chest aches at the idea.

He nods, and lets you drag him to a man with a large polaroid camera snapping a picture of an elderly couple. Javi checks his watch. He frowns, he had a plan for the two of you—it was important to him but he so desperately didn’t want to cut short the spark in your eye. You wait patiently with your hands behind your back and Javi thinks it’s the cutest shit ever. He places a palm right above your behind for attention, craning his neck to speak to you. “I told the man at Belle Form that we’d be there in 15 minutes.” 

Your lips quirk in a little confused smile, your brows pulling together. “What’s that-“

“Does the lovely couple want a photo?”  The man calls and Javi nods, taking your hand and walk the two of you in front of the pale yellow building, wrapping his arm around your waist. You blush furiously and lean your head against his chest. The man croons, lifting his camera to his eye. “Beau couple, bisous! Kiss! For the second one.” Your eyes widen but Javier doesn’t allow himself to think, he grabs your jaw and kisses you softly as the man snaps his second shot. 

The two of you part and the man holds both images in his hand, letting his camera fall against his chest. He doesn’t shake it, Javi reaches his bulky pocket, fishing a ten from his wallet. “Keep the change, let’s go.” You smile at the man and take the pictures before Javier is hauling you along.

“God where are you taking me!” You exclaim, bringing the photos to the light, squinting to see the image slowly developing. Javier chuckles, his hand patting the box like shape in his pocket opposite his wallet, your brows pull together too curious to know what it is.

“I came to New Orleans by myself for work in 1982.” He states. It starts like all of his stories, sudden and straightforward. Your chest absolutely blooms, you loved kissing him, keeping him close but nothing came close to hearing stories about his life. Seeing things from his eyes. And maybe it had to do with the nights you spent in your dorm wondering just what he was doing at that moment. Over the bustling noises of Canal street. “I spent the whole weekend alone, I ended up at a museum. You know I expected paintings, maybe photographs—I hadn’t known that galleries displayed poetry in their exhibits.”

You frown, unsure where he’s going with the story. Something awful turns inside of you when you picture Javier alone in a place like this. You lean into him more as the two of you strolled. He continues. “My mother wouldn’t call herself a poet but she was. She came to America with just her poetry book and her copy of Twenty Love Songs and a Song of Despair. My mom was the biggest Neruda fan out there. And the exhibit had been an ode to Pablo Neruda.” 

His eyes covered, they had been misty. He never got emotional over his mother, over the thought of her or the memory of her face. Instead every time he hears a poem he thinks of her, and for some reason that is what twists his insides. You look down at your feet, eyes glassy too. 

“Anyway the gallery is called La Belle Form, it’s right up here.”

You give him a simple kiss to his shoulder and his tense form drops slightly. “So what exhibit are we seeing today?”

Javier chuckles, cutting the tension he created. Taking the photo from your hand, the small white border pinched between his thumb and pointer. His own cheeks redden at the sight of the two of you deep in a kiss. “We aren’t seeing their current exhibit.”

“Javier, it's been quite some time.” a man in a three piece suit opens the door to the dimly lit gallery. Your eyes widen and you look up to Javier, he had been here only once yet a local remembers him by name. The man looks late into his fifties, with dreadlocks pulled in a low ponytail with streaks of gray. He reminds you of a professor you had at Miami. The gallery is empty as you step in, only a few paintings hung and half written words stuck to the walls. Is this place even open?

The cold air from the air conditioning eases you though, the Louisiana heat was nothing to be played with. Javier holds your hand in his as you two follow behind the man before he stops in the middle of the studio. “I’m Edmond Marcel, this was my father's art gallery–I’m sure Javier here told you about how we met.” He glances at the brick wall of the man next to you. 

You ignore his last bit and reach your hand out, “I’m Andrea Diaz, Javier’s girlfriend.” You wear the title with pride, you’ll entertain it for now, you know once you go home you could never use the thing. Edmond gives Javier an approving smile and shakes yours firmly. “This is beautiful real estate, my goodness.” It truly was, from outside it seemed like a small gallery but once you were inside the depth of the place went on, the ceilings high and there had been half walls creating canvases for exhibits. 

Javier lets your hand go as you step closer to a wall with a painting of a man sitting on a stool cleaning his trumpet, attached to the wall was a shelf with two headsets and a cassette player. Just above the shelf is a label, Excerpt from L’il Liza Jane, 1916. Your eyes go wide at the date and you look back at Edmond, pointing at the display asking for permission with just the wonder in your eyes. He lets out a hearty laugh, “I’m still working on the curation for this exhibit, feel free to explore while I set up in the back. Keep her entertained.” He pushes Javier’s shoulder and walks off. 

You stay in silence until you hear a room door shut from around the corner. Your eyes snap to Javier once it's safe, “Okay– how do you know this super cool old man.” You whisper, taking a few steps, your gaze meeting a drawing of Nina Simone. Javi laughs, slinging his arm over your shoulders while the two of you observe the beautiful penmanship of the all smudge ink drawing of the singer. 

“I told you I visited his gallery four years ago.” He rubs his hand up and down your arm, he could always tell when you were getting cold. You had just been thanking the gods for the cool air of the museum but you chilled easier than a gold diggers heart. Your lips still purse in confusion, it just doesn't make sense. You could name 40 places you've been to in the past year and you doubt any of the workers could remember who you were. 

“So you met him once and he's willing to open his place up for you.”

“Kind of– it isn't just that-”

“Romeo and Juliet, come back here.” Edmond calls from an unknown corner. Your brows pull even tighter and Javier sets off a pleased look at the announcement before taking your hand and bringing you to the back office where Edmond yelled from. You have a small smile on your bemused face, your eyes fall to half finished paintings and sculptures propped before you're at the doorway of an art studio. Edmond blocks any view with his eyes glancing down at his watch. The two of you stand in front of the man hand in hand. “I’ll be removing some vinyl lettering from the last exhibit by the Alyce Frank painting, be gentle, don’t mess with the prints. Getting reprints is expensive and it's just me, when you're done leave them there. I’ll clean them up.” He nods, giving me a smile and Javier a nod again, squeezing his shoulder and leaving once again. 

The room is lit warm, open shelves and dividers holding older art line the walls. The walls painted a light gray. The rooms huge, years and years of work so meticulously separated and protected in the cases and shelves. But in the middle of the room lies a table. Your brows furrow as you approach the cluttered area. Your eyes straining to read the prints, your heart skipping a beat when you notice each print signed off the same.

Neruda

Neruda

Neruda. 

Your brain doesn't catch up with your heart, your body is on autopilot as you sit yourself on the stool. Your finger traces along the multiple poems laid out, the photos of him, his home, a tomb that isn't his. In the direct center is a case of pens. It was the exhibit Javier had seen all those years ago, maybe it wasn't everything but god were there a lot of poems on that table. Your eyes fall on a watercolor painting of a blue and red home. 

“I was only 20 when I came here. I was miserable the entire week, I didn't find enjoyment in sight seeing if no one was there to see it with me.” You listen to Javier speak from behind you, you listen with emotion crawling in your throat but you also read. 

So on the coast comes to light,

out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,

gnawed at by the moving salt,

swept clean by the mass of night,

bloodstained in its sea-washed crater.

He knows you, he knows your silence is an invitation for more, “I strangely thought about my mother the entire week I was here. It probably had to do with all of the history, the culture, the folklore that surrounded this city. It was–it seemed like somewhere she’d run off to.” He admits. It's the first time you hear a hope in his voice, a small wish that maybe he'd run into his mother. You chew onto the inside of your lip to hide the tears that threatened to fall. He was just like you, wasn't he? “I thought of you too. At that point when I was in Houston, surrounded by work and Lorraine, I had tried to bury any thought of home. But I came here, alone and I guess it hit me.”

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.

“Anyway I ended up here, and seeing the exhibit just set me off. It was after–”

Your eyes fall to the image of the tombstone, a poem engraved in spanish. “Pure your gentle name” You whisper, low enough for you to hear but you know he heard you because he sucks in a shaky breath. You read the rest in a whisper, translating in english because you had seen it before. You know it sat framed next to the bowl where the car keys went in the Peña house. 

Pure your gentle name, pure your fragile life,

bees, shadows, fire, snow, silence and foam,

combined with steel and wire and

pollen to make up your firm

and delicate being.

“My father gifted my mother a poetry book with that poem engraved in it. He gave it to her in the hospital the day I was born. She took it with her when she left, my dad has a copy of it framed. The image of the grave was next to a painting of Tina Modotti. I cried for the first time in a long time in the bathroom.” You don't dare turn to look at him because you could hear the nerves in his voice and that alone is setting you a fine line of sobs of devastation and adoration. “Edmond found me in the bathroom and you know me–I don't just open to everybody but the second he asked me if I was alright…” Javier chuckles to hide a sniffle. “Ya tu sabes, I told him everything. About my mom, about my dad… about you.” 

“Me?” You whisper to yourself, Javier grumbles from behind you and finally moves to sit with you. Hurriedly you wipe your eyes, strangely, yet so him… he holds your hand. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Was he-did he-”

“His father died during his fifteenth year of being a therapist, so he had useful advice to say the least.” His hand moves to the image of the tombstone, dragging in front of both of you. “I told him that this poem gave me bad memories, remembering when she left and how I tore the house apart looking for her poetry book and my dad found me in all that clutter– I was a mess.” You leaned your head on his shoulder, the small bits of his story came in slowly but you were all ears. A hand wrapped around his bicep for comfort. Javiers free hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a choke itching in his throat. Another sniffle and you could feel the embarrassment illuminating off him, you spared him a glance and thumb his arm again. “Sorry-I don’t know why–” 

Your brows furrow, eyes watery. “Don’t apologize to me–is it why you stayed in contact with Edmond? Because of your moment in the bathroom?” You ask, steering him away from the direct thought of his childhood and you could feel the relief. Baby steps, you don’t need it all. You’re just so glad he’s opening up.

 Brushing a tear that got caught in his mustache, he begins again. “He just listened and asked my permission—he asked if it was okay for him to give me advice which was appreciated. He told me to give it new meaning, to remember it as my mothers but also to remember it as the love from my father. Remind myself that he gave her the book out of love for her, out of appreciation for carrying his child. Out of love for me.” Javi exhaled a laugh, “Shit, I went straight to the print shop and framed the poem when I got to Houston and then I wrote my dad a note about my conversation and sent him his own framed poem. Who knew a little therapy was all I needed.”

You screw your eyes shut in a cackle that echoed the room, rubbing your eyes clean of tears. You haven't had many people who cared enough to tell you beautiful tales of their life, you’ll take Javi’s broken stories any time. You looked around again, reality setting in. Javier Peña had an entire art gallery archive pulled for you– just for your date, he had been so grumpy all day and last night when you teased him about his gift probably because he was anxious for your reaction to him opening his heart out in front of you. It was the most romantic gift you've ever received. 

It’s him who makes you feel the most loved and he hasn’t even said the words yet. Maybe it’s you who must say it first. 

“Javier Peña, you're a romantic.” Is all you can manage to say, you say it with a smirk on your lips nonetheless. Gaze flitting up to him as his lips turn upwards beneath that mustache of his. Eyes narrowing in a failed attempt to keep a straight face but they crinkle and shine beneath. 

“Don’t tell anyone, it’ll ruin my reputation.” He mumbles and you roll your eyes, slinging your arms over his shoulders and kissing him deep. Soft lips against yours and that so familiar manly feeling his mustache tickling your nose. He smiles between the kiss, slipping a risqué tongue. Pressing so hard you nearly tip off the stool. “Tan bella, Andrea, perfect.” He murmurs as you part, your lips raw from the make out intermission. Dizzy, light headed, you lean your head on his shoulder once more and take in the place around you.

All soft light and all his personal history. And selfishly for a moment you envied him for knowing his mother  enough to miss. You suddenly felt so silly for crying until you slept over someone who offered you nothing to miss. You want to pinch yourself to reprimand the silliness of it. Andrea, don’t you know you aren’t the only girl to have a dad up and leave? Why does your world have to end? 

“I was having what seemed to be a panic attack when I called you Thursday night.” Javier admits in hushed tones, like someone was in the room other than you. Like he’s ashamed to be so vulnerable. “I had this date planned in my head after the night you begged me to be honest with you, when you walked in on me reading the details for this trip. I planned the whole weekend out just for us before I ever offered. I was a little nervous to ask you, figured you’d tell me I’m crazy and that the risk was too high.” 

The crease between your brow deepens, “I’ll always say yes to you.” You whisper like a prayer, a promise. 

He mumbles an, I know, “When your brother came over to talk to me about you, about your grandmother and the possibility of you seeing your father in New Orleans I panicked. I had this full body ache of knowing I needed to be there for you when you see them and a weird chest spasm when I thought of it going wrong, then you cried on the phone and told me all you wanted was a family.” He says the last part fragile, gentle and pure. Like him repeating it pains him just as much as you. Yet you feel embarrassment more than pain, embarrassed to have been so desperate and needy that night, and sure you felt it deep in your bones but verbalizing it to someone else—fuck did that make your cheeks heat. 

You grimace, trying to conceal the genuine heart ache you felt hearing him recall that night. You offer nothing to say, afraid of speaking and breaking down on your first date with the boy you’ve dreamt of being with.

He spares you, shuffling in his seat, causing for you to sit straight as he fished in his pocket. While attempting to pull a box from his denim he talks, “But then I thought about how I had this planned—that it might help with what you might be feeling—fuck hold on.” He stands and digs his hands entirely into his trousers.

He pulls out a tiny box, your heart nearly falls until you realize it’s far too thin to be what you wanted deep inside—you abandon that thought. Not now, too soon. He sits again, and fully turns to you as the box lays unopened on the image of his mother’s favorite poem. “I told you on the phone that I was your family. Andrea, I really mean it. No matter what happens tomorrow—you are meeting them with a family and you’re leaving with one too.” He pats the box. And you tear your eyes away from him as they begin to well. 

Your shaking hands fumbling for the box.

Thumbnail slipped under its lid to delicately open the thing. And your heart swells beyond its capacity, “Oh Javi.” You whisper, there sitting on a reprint of Neruda is a box with interior engraving. 

Pure your gentle name, pure your fragile life,

bees, shadows, fire, snow, silence and foam,

combined with steel and wire and

pollen to make up your firm

and delicate being.

And sat so perfectly in the box were a pair of earrings. Small gold bees, its wings spread and instead of a striped abdomen and stinger, in its place sat a red stone carved in a perfect shape for the little insect. Your heart is going wild, so filled with love and appreciation. You wondered if this was real, if he was real? Will this end with, and it was all a dream? Will I wake up alone again? 

“Is-is that my birthstone?”

Javier nods, “I had it made on Tuesday when you saw me in the grocery store, I got nervous because the gift bag was in my hand.” 

You chuckle between tears, your hands reaching to remove the bees from its plush purple hive. “I didn’t notice—Javi-“

“I gifted my dad the poem to show him appreciation for being my family. You’re the only person in my family missing an heirloom. So that every time you wear it you’re reminded that you have a family.” 

Your brows quirk as you break out into tears, placing the jewelry back in its place and attacking your perfect boyfriend, your family, the hardest most aggressive kiss of all time. Nearly knocking him clear off his seat, you press into him so tightly you could feel his heart race against yours. And the kiss is all teeth and passion and frankly too charged for an art museum but you couldn’t care. You loved him so much, you cried hard like you’ve just been proposed to. Somehow this beats that fantasy. 

And so unlike Javier who tried to keep his serious manly face when you were this eager, he smiles and chuckles against your thankful, thankful lips. Parting for a breath you realize there had been tears from him too, with blurred eyes his thumb finds your cheek and like always he pushes away his own tears to clean up yours. His own cheeks wet, he thumbs your tears dry. No longer do they have to dry on their own. You couldn’t do this anymore, you cannot bear not telling him.

“Javi— I lo-“

“My goodness did I just interrupt a proposal!” Edmond enters the room with a gasp, his eyes bouncing from a jewelry box, a pile of Neruda poems and a teary eyed couple inches from devouring each other whole. 

Javier looks at you with an embarrassed smirk, his cheeks burning up under your own hand as you quickly wipe away his tears too. 

"Actually this is our first date."

[lilyofthevalleyys]

I love Rosekiller and I think I’ll make a fic rec list about it. Enjoy reading!!

Check the reblogs for more fic recs :)

1. any fic by graveryavery

My summary (MS): seriously, they’re amazing at writing. Have your pick of whichever fic.

Link: graveryavery

2. Drunk on Love by amethyst_citrine

status: 1/1

Summary: Evan Rosier has been in love with his best friend for years. He thinks that every time Barty Crouch Jr. flirts with him, it's just an act, making him roll his eyes and walk away. But maybe Evan is drunk, and thinks it's a good idea to stop running.

MS: Rosekiller at a party. Oh, what could go wrong? These two lovebirds are such idiots honestly

Link: Drunk on Love

3. Midnight Rain by blackmojito

status: 1/1

Summary: In the middle of December, in a house that's not his own, Evan learns the true meaning of warmth.

MS: I love their writing style in its short, sweet way. Also fluffy christmas fics? yes please 🤲

Link: Midnight Rain

4. I’m Not Going To Teach Him How To Dance With You by greensenne

status: 18/18

Summary:

“You’d be my best man wouldn’t you, Evs?

There’s an ugly pain burning low in his chest as he says, “Of course. What are friends for?”

Or, Barty's father forces him into an arranged marriage, and Evan is to be his best man. Which would be fine if Evan weren't head over heels in love with him.

MS: I know, this is a classic and everyone’s heard of it. But for the new people, this is probably a good place to start to get into shipping Rosekiller. And yk, a reread would be good 🤭

Link: The fic bcuz the title is too long

5. Spider-Man: Death Eater Parade by basiliscus

Status: 5/14

Summary: Evan Rosier has been Spider-Man since he was 15 years old and he is tired. He saw it all, he did it all and he hates himself more than any Rita Skeeter ever could. Evan Rosier has seen people die. He let people die. Evan Rosier is tired, his moral code is broken and then a ghost from the past comes to haunt him 5 years after he thought he buried him and sent him off to hell.

Barty Crouch hates Spider-Man. He can't stand the bastard who's willing to let people die when he has the ability to prevent it. Barty spends almost every day on whatever scene Spider-Man goes to. Only break to this routine is an awkward university dropout Evan Rosier that stumbles into his life.

Evan is living a double life as Spider-Man and quite literally hates it. He meets the only person who hates him more than he hates himself.

There's no person on Earth who hates Spider-Man more than Barty. The issue is Barty falls for Evan.

MS: Alright, here’s a Spider-Man alternate au fic with double identities and a enemies to lovers. It is still ongoing though, but love anyway

Link: Spider-Man: Death Eater Parade

6. A Truthful Joke by justreadandwritex

Status: 9/9

Summary: Evan and Barty have been best friends since the age of three. Now they're sixteen, at Hogwarts, surrounded by couples. They joke about it - a lot - but at a certain point, when is it a joke and when is it a desire?

On top of a sexuality crisis and family issues, has to deal with another feeling, or rather feelings. For his best friend.

And while his best friend seems to pull away from him, Barty tries everything in his power to keep Evan in his life. They're best friends after all, right? Just friends. Ha.

*Some chapters will discuss homophobia or family issues but I always give trigger warnings

MS: It’s beautiful and I like it. That’s it.

Link: A Truthful Joke

7. Annoying by godforsaken_mess

Status: 31/31

Summary: barty accidentally texts the wrong number. evan just happens to be the victim.

a texting story that i got the idea to write at 3am so you can expect perfection (sarcasm).

obviously rosekiller is the main ship but i'll shift focus onto the other ones from time to time so that they can happen as well.

more focus on the slytherins ofc but the friend group is split up so please forgive me 🙏

i don't own any of these characters!!

MS: Evan is a little shit here and I love him so it’s fine. Also love a good text fic so just 🫶

Link: Annoying

8. Call It What You Want by lxcuxex

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Sometimes you two are worse than Regulus and James.”

Evan’s attention immediately snapped towards Dorcas who paused mid bite, “What? It’s true. You’re bickering like a married couple.”

Barty simply grinned, leaning forward. “Our fifth anniversary is coming up isn’t it my sweet Evan? Shall we go on a trip, love? Perhaps the countryside?” He suggested, watching as Evan’s face flushed a pink, bright on his freckled cheeks.

or

The one where Barty and Evan are too clueless to realize they are basically boyfriends.

MS: The last part of the summary is so true though. Anyway, love this fic and idk how many times i’ve reread it

Link: Call It What You Want

9. One got shot and the other got lost by All_for_the_andreil

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Barty, what the fuck?”

-or-

Barty Crouch Jr. slowly losing his mind when he thinks Evan is dead and then being his psychotic self when he finds out he's being held hostage instead

TW: Blood and violence

MS: Look, I know I said I love a lot of the fics here but this one might take the cake. I love psycho Rosekiller even more than I love fluffy Rosekiller. If you look carefully, you’ll notice this may be the only crazy, semi-canon fic in this rec list, so yes.

Link: Too long title that I’m lazy to type

10. don’t want none of this (good times all times) by cherryknots

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“They’re messing with you both,” Lily whispered in his ear, and he had to lean in close to hear her over the cheers that were louder now as the kisses around the circle grew sloppier with each couple.

“Hm?” Evan blinked, still staring at the spot that had been previously occupied by Sirius. He was long gone now.

“Sirius and Barty,” Lily clarified patiently. “They got you and Remus right where they wanted you. I think that Sirius is currently… making it up to Remus right now in the dorm…"

Evan lifted his eyes back to Barty, who was still staring at him. At how close he was to Lily, a frown deepening on his face.

Oh?

So that’s what this was?

A small smile grew on Evan’s face, and he nodded in understanding. If Barty wanted to play, then Evan would, too.

or, Evan is dragged to another Gryffindor party, and to his dismay, Barty has to kiss Sirius Black during Spin the Bottle.

MS: Evan flirting back to Barty? Are you serious? Yes please. *snatches it and consumes greedily* but anyway, it’s a short fic about them messing with each other, although I have no idea why they would want to do that but yk, ok

Link: Too long title yet again

11. The Very First Night by constellationgrayson

Status: 1/1

Summary: Barty is a detective. Evan is a jewel thief.

But Barty wasn't always a detective, and one look from Evan is making him wonder if his new life is really as fulfilling as he wants it to be.

MS: A somewhat forbidden romance and I am insanely grateful to the author for making it a fade to black kinda scene at one point. Or maybe I just skipped it I can’t remember.

Link: The Very First Night

12. We Found Wonderland by kazsbf

Status: 1/1

Summary:

"Barty never liked closed captions before he met Evan. He hated the idea of having to read something he was meant to be watching, but he learned to love having closed captions automatically turned on for all his devices. He even had them set to automatic on his phone just in case Evan wanted to watch something when they were in the car or the library. He liked seeing Evan's eyes light up when he didn't have to turn them on and make accommodations for himself--they were already there for him."

MS: In other words: Evan is deaf and Barty arranges a date for them that accommodates his disability 🫶 Barty being the sweetest boyfriend

Link: We Found Wonderland

13. remember that night by regulvrs

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan and Barty share their first kiss. The only problem? Barty doesn't remember it. And that ruins Evan.

MS: Angst with a happy ending! I wanted to throw something at Barty to knock some sense into him but tbf to him, he was drunk, though I have no idea how it works having never drank before or see someone truly drunk but ok

Link: remember that night

14. Sparks fly by bluesofacushion

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan is head over heels in love with one of his best friends. What can he do? It’s not like Barty likes him back. He is fully determined to keep his secret with him to the grave but Pandora has other plans.

Based on ‘Sparks Fly’ by Taylor Swift so it’s mostly just fluff

MS: It is a sweet fic that is yes, mostly fluff

Link: Sparks fly

15. gods & monsters by littleredpartydress

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Barty, can we talk?” Evan asked.

Fuck. Is it serious? He couldn’t talk to Evan about something serious right now.

“It’s private so, uh, do you mind following me?”

Of course he minded.

“Sure,” Barty agreed.

OR

Barty and Evan get together after Evan is encouraged by Pandora.

MS: Pandora being the matchmaker here is beautiful

Link: gods & monsters

16. To Be Seen by twoclosetothestars

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Well, how long have you liked me for?” Evan asks.

“Since when I stayed at your house for summer break before fourth year,” Barty confesses.

“So really you have no room to judge because you didn't mention anything either!” Evan points out.

“Whatever,” Barty grumbles. “We’re both idiots. Now can we get to the part where we kiss because I’m really looking forward to that part?”

“I’m an idiot now, am I?”

“Yes,” Barty agrees. “An annoyingly beautiful, funny, smart, amazing idiot who I’d really like to kiss right now.”

“Sweet talker,” Evan teases, and then his lips are on Barty’s.

MS: They are idiots in love, your honor

Link: To Be Seen

17. All for you by dramaticwitchbitch

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan was pining. He knew he was. But simply knowing that did not make him feels less pathetic. It should be impossible to fall on love with one’s best friend. But Evan’s poor heart had gone and done it anyway. Barty, of course, was wholly oblivious to Evans pining. Evan supposed it was a blessing anyway. He wasn’t sure if their friendship would survive the thing.

The thing, was what Evan called is quiet obsession with Barty that threatened to burst put into a huge love confession along the lines of, love me like I love you, let’s grow old together; every time Barty smiled at him. Or flirted with him. Or just sat next to him, smelling sinfully good. Or just existing in Evan’s vicinity. Evan had it bad.

MS: Rose is down so bad and so is Bee

Link: All for you

Hope you enjoyed reading all of them :) and surprise surprise, there are more fics that I have yet to read so i’ll most likely be adding on to this :D

[thecatspirits]

Lately I've been thinking about how I would rewrite the Power of Three and incorporate it into my Xenomoggy and Hollyleaf's character really jumped out to me the more I thought about it. All three main characters had their personal issues (though Lionblaze's weren't really developed or explored) but Hollyleaf really spoke to me as someone, who like many others, struggles with self-esteem. Her grandfather, Firestar, was a prophecy cat, savior of the Clans and leader of ThunderClan. Her grandmother, Sandstorm, was the best hunter in ThunderClan (and she should have been deputy :\) Her mother, Leafpool, discovered the Moon Pool. Her father, Crowfeather, was a prophecy cat and part of the Traveling Group. Her adoptive mother, Squirrelstar, was a part of the Travelling Group and is a leader. Her adoptive father, Brambleclaw, was a prophecy cat, a part of the Traveling Group and was a leader (albeit a horrible one). Her brother, Jayfeather, was a prophecy cat and time traveller. Her brother, Lionblaze, was a prophecy cat. Her supposed best friend, Cinderheart, was a reincarnation of a medicine cat (though this wasn't really a good thing tbh) Every cat that Hollyleaf was close to (excluding Crowfeather ofc) was "special" in some way. And what was she? The product of a half-clan relationship? The daughter of a medicine cat? A murderer? From Hollyleaf's perspective, she was nothing compared to them. From the moment she was little, Hollyleaf's goal in life was to be important and yet no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to her family's legacy. I so wish they'd really explored Hollyleaf's self-esteem issues in-depth. How it drove her to cover up all her supposed short-comings in whatever way she could, even if it meant murdering someone. How the guilt of even existing drove her to reveal everything. They even could've added in that though Hollyleaf thought she was doing it for the sake of the Warrior Code, deep down she's doing it to disgrace the cats she's grown to despise for all their lies and the fact they represent everything she never thinks she can be to feel better about herself. How Cinderheart disagreeing with her actions made her finally break and run away. I so wish they'd had her time in the tunnels be spent realizing that's she's not worthless and that's she's more than her family's actions and legacy, that she can be her own person and find purpose and fulfillment. Heck have that be the purpose of the fox cub instead of it just randomly showing up (tbh that was probably what they were going for but I don't think it worked too well). I wish they'd had her own up to her mistakes and prove herself to herself and everyone around her. Then have her process her feelings on Dovewing and realize she's not being replaced. Then have her talk and connect with Ivypool and help Dove and Ivy to reconcile with one another. I just wish the authors had realized Hollyleaf's potential and utilized it. I wish Hollyleaf got the story her character deserved.

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Sliding Into Home ~ Status: All Star

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, S~M~U~T!!, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by me

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Its a Ruff Life

Sliding Into Home Master List Main Masterlist

Abigail Cecilia Hernandez-Adler grew up in a crazy house. But not like you think. 

The youngest of five children, she is also the only girl. Her parents' miracle. Not that they didn’t love her brothers. But she was an unexpected, yet adored by her family, miracle.  

Walking towards her childhood home, Mary was chattering as usual.  She loved her adoptive grandparents, well really, her only grandparents, seeing as how Frank’s mother, Evelyn, wasn’t really in the picture.  “Do you think Abuela (grandmother) made my cake?” 

“I’m sure she did.” Abby smiled.  Her “cake” was actually imported sweet bread with pineapple jam filling.  Ana could make it, but the local Salvadorean bakery had it shipped fresh every week.  Abby cocked her head when she heard the sounds of people yelling at the television, no doubt a soccer game on the screen.  “I think the guys are already here. Mami said the guys would be here but not the wives.”  

Frank groaned.  “So, they are planning on killing me.”  

“For what?” Abby asked innocently.  

“You know for what,” Frank growled. “I married their baby sister without them there.”  

“But Mami and Papi were there. They can get over it.”  Abby raised her hand to knock but Frank stopped her.  

“Remember me after I die, love. Don’t fall for anyone else. Especially this asshole,” thumbing back to Johnny. “Be a widow forever.”  

“Oh my god, so dramatic.”  Abby knocked and smiled. “Love you, Frankie.”  

“I’m seriously doubting that right now Cricket.”  

The door flew open with Ana on the other side with an apron already on.  “Since when do you knock?” 

“Since you taught me manners,” Abby replied.  She hugged her mother, “Hi Mami.”  

“Hola, mi linda (my beauty). Come in! Mi hijo,” she kissed Frank’s cheek. “The boys are in the den with your father.  Oh Johnny, Suzie, Scott, I’m so glad you came.  Oh, mi corazon (my heart),” as she hugs Mary. “You are getting so big.”  

“Abuela! I missed you!” Mary hugged Ana hard.  “Is Abuelo here?” 

“Is that my Mary?” William came from around the corner and Mary squealed, jumping into his arms. “Oh Nugget, you’ve grown like a foot since Vegas.”  

“I have not!” Mary danced around, with Dodger prancing with her.  

“To me, you have.  Go,” he pointed to the den. “There are some people who want to see you.”  Mary took off with Dodger following.  William stood up and smiled. “HI, mi hija, Frank.” He gave both of them a hug before shaking hands with the rest of the group.  “How was the house?” 

“It was good. A little weird,” Abby offered.  “But it still felt like home. Frank’s nervous.”  

“I’m not nervous, I’m cautious.”  William gave him a look.  “The guys are gonna kill me.”  

William laughed. “They are not.  They might try but you make their sister happy and let’s face it, they are more scared of her.”  

“Hey fools, apparently our little sister can’t even say hi to us,” a male voice says as the group walks into the living room.  

“Mami! Isn’t it polite to greet guests as they come into the house and not make them go to you?” Abby’s eyes sparkle as her brother, Marco, blanches.  

Ana comes out with her hands on her hips. “Marco, go get your brothers and come say hello to your hermanita and her family.” 

“But Mami...”  

“Now! Or vas a ver (you will see).” She reaches down for her foot and Marco practically runs into the other room.  

“What the hell,” Johnny mutters under his breath as Scott Frank and Abby laugh. Susie shrugs.  

“It's called La Chancla, or the sandal.  It’s a Hispanic mother thing.  They throw it at the child who annoys them the most.  It's usually Marco or Robert for us,” Abby explains.  “Frank got it once too, in high school.”  

Frank unconsciously rubs the back of his head.  “Ana’s got great aim as well.”  His back stiffens as Marco and three other men enter the room. “Shit.”  

“That’s a quarter Frank,” Mary sings, coming up behind them.  “Frank swears a lot and Abby is making him pay for it.”  

“Good for her,” the oldest looking at bunch says.  “Hi,” turning to the newcomers. “I’m Antonio,” offering his hand to everyone.  “This is Robert, Daniel and Marco.”  

Abby introduces everyone as Ana ushers everyone to the den.  As Frank walks by, Antonio stops him.  “We just need to talk to Frankie Boy here for a sec.”  

“Tony...” 

“Abby princessa, go talk with your friends. We’ll just be a moment.” 

“Its ok Cricket.” Frank nods to her.  “Love you”.  

Abby rolls her eyes and sighs.  “Just don’t kill him. I love him too much.”  She tosses her curls around and stomps out of the room.  

Frank swallows as he looks at his wife’s brothers. His brothers in law. “Guys look...”  

“Shut up Franklin,” Antonio growls. “Did you cheat on my sister?” 

Frank is stunned.  “No. I would never.”  

“Then the pictures...” 

“Were a set-up from Weiss,” Frank said.  “He’s been playing this game with her all because he’s in love with her. Daniel, you remember how he was with her. But I would do anything to protect your sister.  I love her so much. She and Mary are my entire world.”  

“You married her without us,” Robert said.  

“I know. I’m sorry.”  

“Are you going to give her a real wedding?” Daniel asked.  

“As soon as the season is over.  Scott and Abby have already started planning.”  

“What about your sister?” Marco looks angrier.  He was the closest to Abby since they were only about a year apart.  

“The police are looking for her and Weiss. But until they do, Abby will have security when she gets back to work next week.  If I’m not with her, someone else is.  Scott and Susie have been great keeping her company.”  

Antonio crosses his arms.  “We’ve always liked you, Frank. But she’s our sister.”  

“And I respect that.  I do. But when Abby wanted to get married right away, I had to negotiate...” 

“Wait,” Daniel stopped him.  “She wanted to move that fast?” 

Frank nodded.  “Yeah, I could barely get her to agree to give me the day so I could get your parents out there.” The look of shock crossed their faces. “Did she not tell you that?” 

“No,” Robert said. “I’m going to kill her.” Her other brothers began muttering in Spanish.  

“Or,” Frank said, “you could have your revenge.”  

Once the drama of the Hernandez boys and Frank was done, which suspiciously took longer than expected, the entire group sat for the lunch Ana had made. “God, I forgot how good your food is Ana,” Frank mumbled with a full mouth.  

Abby smacks his arm.  “Swallow and then speak, Adler.” She rolled her eyes.  “He’s rude but he’s right Mami. I have missed your food.”  

“I’ve taught you everything you know, mi hija.” Ana smiled softly at her daughter. “All it takes is practice.”  

“Don’t have the time,” Abby replied.  “Besides, I can’t do as good a job as you.”  She took a bite and looked at her friends.  “What do you guys think?” 

“It's delicious,” Sue said wiping her mouth.  “So much better than some of the restaurants in LA.”  

“Agreed,” Johnny said.  He saw Mary struggling with a piece of meat and reached over to cut it for her.  “You guys coming to the All Star stuff?” 

Daniel replied to him, “yeah Frankie Boy sent over tickets for everything.  Me and the boys are bringing our girls, except for Marco. He doesn’t have a girl.”  

“Shut up,” Marco said.  He looked at Susie and blushed a little, bowing his head in embarrassment.  

“It should be fun,” Frank said.  “I’m in the home run derby this year with Storm.”  He and Johnny high-fived. “First time two players from the same team made it in a while.”  

Abby smiled and kissed Frank’s cheek.  She went to reach for her drink but found it empty.  “I’m going to get another.  Does anybody want something?” 

“Can I get another beer Abbs?” Robert asked.  

“Sure.”  She got up.  As soon as she cleared the doorway, one by one, each of her brothers and Frank train their gazes on the door.  

Ana frowned. “What are you up...” A scream broke through the house.  

Abby came screaming out and right into Frank’s arms.  “Sp-spi-spider!” She screeched.  She buried her head into Frank’s chest and began to cry.  

“Hey Cricket, its ok,” he sooth.  

William got up and went to the pantry and walked back out with a giant spider in his hand.  “Antonio!” 

“Maybe next time you’ll invite your brothers to your wedding, hermana,” Antonio said.  

Abby stopped and looked at Frank. Her eyes became set in fury. “Baby?” 

 Her head turned as she looked at her oldest brother. “Did you put that spider on the beer fridge handle?” her voice was low and lethal. She got up and started to stalk towards him.  

Antonio blanched. “Ok, Abbs, look...” he looked at his brothers.  “It was Frank’s idea,”  

“The fuck it was! I just said to take your revenge, not scare her half to death.”  

The distraction from Frank’s explanation was enough for Abby to launch herself at her bother and throw her arms around his neck and into a choke hold. “You dick!” 

Antonio tried to rip her away, but she was stronger now.  Robert, Daniel and Marco decided to allow Antonio and Abby have at it.  

“Abigail Cecilia! Antonio David! That’s enough!” her father roared. Abby let go; both were breathing heavily. “You would think that your mother and I raised animals.” William sat back down in his chair. “Abigail, go sit.” Abby sat back down. “Now, Tony, apologize to your sister and then clean all of this up.  You and your brothers are on clean up duty.” The guys went to protest but William stopped them. “One peep from any of you and you will get a whooping.  I don’t care how old you are.”  

“Si, papi,” they all mumbled, throwing daggers at Abby.  

“Abby, go clean up the back room.” 

“But Papi, I didn’t do anything!” 

“I don’t care. You behave like animals, I’ll treat you like one.  And Frank?” Frank whipped his head towards his father in law. “You help her but if she kills you, no one is going to stop her.”  The entire table dissolved into laughter as Frank groaned in his seat.  

As Frank and Abby got ready for bed, Frank tried to talk to his wife.  “Cricket?” 

“I’m not talking to you.”  

Frank sighed. “I didn’t tell them to use the spider.”  

“But you told them to have revenge.”  

“What was I supposed to say? Hey sorry that my wife decided not to call you before she got married. My bad?” Frank grabbed her and put her on his lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I love you, baby.  I’m so, so sorry.” 

Abby sighed.  “Fine, but no sex for you.”  

“But Cricket...” 

“No!” She climbed into bed and turned her back on him. “You betrayed me, so no sex for you!” He climbed behind her and pulled her into his chest.  

“Are you sure, my love?” He let his hand glide over her stomach. “You won’t let me make you feel good as a way to apologize?”  He grazed a hand over her panties.  She jerked a little. “So sensitive.” He kissed her below her ear.  

Abby gave in with a low moan. “I hate you but you better not stop.”  

Frank smiled and began to make his wife feel good. “Never, Cricket, never.” 

All Star weekend is a chance for all the players to relax, if not invited to Boston this weekend for the All Star Game.  Most of the weekend was dedicated into activities for families and meet-and-greets. Frank had been here before, but this was the first year he was happy too.  

As a surprise, Frank had new jerseys for Mary and Scott with his name and number. For Abby, he had “Mrs. Adler” on hers.  “Maybe later, you can just wear this,” he whispered to her.  

“For my all-star, absolutely.” Abby smiled into the kiss as she put the jersey on over her camisole and jeans.  

It was rare when two players from the same team make it to the home run derby. But Frank and Johnny were always the exception and not the rule.  Johnny had been laughing too much to take it seriously and dropped out after the first round.  Frank on the other hand was proud of his swing.  He made it to the face off.  

With Bobby Fuller.  

When was Frank going to get a break from this asshole? 

Frank took his stance as he went to swing away.  Out of the 30 pitches he got, he sent 18 out of the park, with three sailing over the Green Monster.  Mary had been sitting on the field with the other kids and screamed in joy after each one.  Once he was finished, he sat back with the rest of the National League while Bobby went to bat.  With the last hit, Frank held his breath.  But it was short of the wall, giving Frank the home run title.  He had Mary in his arms as he was interviewed.  

“So Frank, this has been a big year for you?” 

Frank chuckled. “You can say that.” 

“New wife, new team. Any other changes coming?” 

“Not at the moment.  My family and are finally settled in LA and we like it there. Don’t we?” He tickled Mary. She giggled and ducked her head.  

“You’re Boston, born and raised. How good does it feel to will the home run title on your home turf?”  

Frank took a moment to look around the stadium. “This place raised me and my wife when we were kids, so it always feels good to be back. And yes, winning the title here is amazing.  I wouldn’t change it for the world.”  

“Congratulations on everything, Frank!” 

“Thank you!” He waved to the crowd as he carried Mary off the field.  

The next day was the actual game.  Frank made a conscious effort to sit away from Bobby and chatted with Johnny and others.  

Abby, Scott, Mary and Susie were sitting in the family section, enjoying the game.  It wasn’t so serious, mainly because it was for bragging rights and home field advantage during the World Series.  “Abby, can I have an ice cream?” Mary was bouncing all over the place.  

“Nugget, are you sure you’re not gonna get sick?”  

“Nope, promise!” 

Abby laughed.  “Ok as soon as they come by, we’ll get one.”  

“Oh, there is one at the top.  Can I go? Please?” Mary gave eyes.  

Abby chewed her lip.  “Ok, but right there and right back Mary. I’ll keep an eye out.”  Mary jumped up and ran up the stairs.  Just then, there was a groan that when through the crown.  Abby looked back at the game. An outfielder from the American League missed a throw and Frank was running from first to second.  The crowd cheered as he slid into the bag, safe.  Abby clapped and then turned back.  

To find that Mary was nowhere to be seen.  

A/N: I know that "La Chancla" is not something that is exclusive to the hispanic community. However, "Abigail" is a hispanic basis character which is where this is coming from. I hope I'm not offending anyone.

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[thenugking]

🌤️🌪️🪐 please!

🌤️How do you interpret the game mechanics in your fic?

I try to avoid going into a lot of detail about game mechanics, because they can make things really clunky and unnatural. I can’t use the phrase “spell slots”, it sounds far too gamified to me, so I stick with a more general “using magic takes energy”. From First Rest we have:

Wyll’s able to convince Shadowheart to use the last of tonight’s spellpower on summoning up a bucket of clean water,

Because I’m not going to fucking say “Wyll gets Shadowheart to use her last available Level One Spell Slot on casting Create Water, and then she needs to have a Long Rest to get some more back.”

Some things that are clearly just there for game balance I ignore. Like, sure, it’s useful in game to be able to pay Withers 200 gold to bring back your party members whenever they drop dead, but in fic, it really cheapens the emotional weight of death to have Withers be doing that all the time. That said, as much as I hate when fics feel beholden to the “only four party members” rule, I do kind of want Gortash telling Lee that nope, sorry, Orin can’t come on this mission, we already have four people, it’s just not possible to bring any more because of Reasons, sorry, I’d love to bring your freak of a sister along but everyone knows adventurers can’t hang out in groups of five.

(Lee: Well that’s all right, Orin’s basically just an extension of me so she’s a Summon actually--)

🌪️Is there a nugget of game lore that fascinates you, but you haven’t written about yet?

Hmm. If something fascinates me enough, I usually have to write something, just to get it out of my head. Although I would at some point like to write pre-game fic about Astarion’s siblings. Astarion too ofc, but there’s six other people here being horrifically abused and developing their own relationships and issues with each other and having their own terrible trauma responses. I want to dig into that and make things horrible for everyone.

🪐Who’s your favourite non-companion character, and why?

Orin Orin Orin my beloved baby girl who has done nothing wrong in her life, except for all the horrifying atrocities.

I will hold up my hands and admit that the reason I started liking her was aghsj Hot Evil Lady. But then I started really getting into exploring Durge, and Lee specifically, and goddd this girl is tragic. She’s my poor little meow meow who’s been groomed and abused by every family member she has, and honestly what fucking chance did she ever have to be a good person, or even a normal person? She’s tragic, and sympathetic, but has also, yknow, hurt so many people, and done shit that’s way too fucking evil to just be excused with, “well she’s an abuse victim.” Which ofc is a big theme of BG3 generally, but the game never fucking explored that fully with Orin, so now I get to do that. 

I’m loving writing her in No Highly Esteemed Deed, having her be very clearly Lee’s victim and, I hope, entirely sympathetic for her eventual decision to stab them right in the brain, but, well. She’s still clearly utterly fucked, she was obviously intending to rape Lee before they raped her, and it’s not exactly a spoiler to say that getting rid of her abuser isn’t going to suddenly fix her. Like, I’m currently writing Ketheric seeing an Innocent Victim and looking out for her, and you might notice that this is very much not the dynamic we see with them at the end of Act 2!! I love writing Orin destroying any positive relationship she has because she doesn’t know how to have a healthy friendship and is too disdainful and afraid of the whole idea to try.

I love putting her in Situations and have her fucking maim her way out of them and then voluntarily go back in them because she maimed everything outside her Situation too and now there’s nothing else left <3

[silvertsundere]

Silver Talks AniManga (07/04/24)

new season starting and a new serialization round on wsj too next week fun times fun times also there's some shows that I haven't started that should be on the list, those being: - Shinymas, which started on friday and CR supposedly picked it up but still hasn't posted subs yet 😒and there's no fansubs either - Jellyfish, dogakobo's new show that I posted about when it got announced. I wasn't sure about it so haven't watched ep 1 yet, but my buddy mega liked it and said it has promise so it convinced me to actually do it next week in one of my days with no shows - Girls Band Cry, similarly to jellyfish I posted about it when it got announced. I love the character designer and have followed them for years so I was curious about the show but learning that it was gonna be CG was a huge turn off. Since it came out I've seen some clips and the cg is actually really good so I'd like to check it out regardless of it being like that. There's just a huge problem, that it's not officially licensed anywhere and the subs fucking suck ass (whole drama thing around them I won't get into) so unless it gets proper subs in the next few weeks then I'll have to pass on it

BUT ANYWAY

green - new series/new to me blue - finale/completed

Anime

Mission: Yozakura Family Ep1

that was a good first ep. there wasn't anything impressive but if they keep up this quality throughout the whole run and just have some sakuga crumbs sprinkled in every now and then I'll be content. from the PVs the first few eps all looked good and it's been confirmed for a while that it's 2 consecutive cours so that gives me some hope. Also the whole voice cast is very good but that's to be expected from such a star studded cast but anyway yozakura is a very fun manga with a very likeable cast so I'll be looking forward to this every week

Blue Archive Ep1

well that was about as good as I expected, really good ep 1. TERRIBLE subs tho so I'll be hoping a fansubbing group picks it up soon. It's been a billion years since I saw these early parts of the story since I've been playing the game since launch but I still remember it p well. I'm assuming they'll cover the whole abydos arc and only that from what we know from pvs and stuff, so should be a fun time, especially when aru and the crew show up too. Looked really good, animation was nice too, voices were good too ofc and hearing the game tracks in the anime was nice too. I'll be looking forward to this while it airs for sure

Metallic Rouge Ep 13 (Finale)

MR was bones' 25th anni show so I had some good expectations and I thought the premise was neat too (felt like blade runner) but it turned out very lackluster. I shoulda known that the glut of bones' talent is allocated to mha but I still wanted to have some hope for the show. my buddy mega gave it a 4 and that's probably fair, the show is riddled with issues but I liked the performances enough to be a bit softer with it (miyamoto yume and kurosawa tomoyo [the two mains] especially) but anyway, animation was pretty weak all through the show, even having times where it felt off model. there were some crumbs of sakuga but never anything actually impressive like you'd expect from bones, even in the finale. the story was pretty hard to follow for a good while too cause they decided to start mid journey so there was a ton of stuff the characters talked about like everyone should know but we'd have no way of knowing and then also did a not great job of explaining things until way later on. also the finale was looking like it was gonna end on a sequel hook which made me ??? but it actually didn't so that's good the music was actually p good and I enjoyed a buncha tracks from it and the voice performances were good too anyway, not a terrible show but not worth the watch too, which is a shame for an anni project like this, oh well

The Witch and the Beast Ep12 (Finale)

well that was alright. I had higher expectations for it cause like I said on ep 1 I heard good things about the manga but it was alright. Doesn't help that the show didn't have very much in the way of animation. It had a lot of cool drawings but the animation itself wasn't much to talk about. The cast was good tho and the music was also nice albeit not that memorable. As for the story, I don't mind anthology series like this but all the world explanations and reveals that they did at the end of this finale shoulda been waaaay earlier in the show, cause it actually made me a lot more interested in the world, but maybe that's just me and my DM brain being like that and most people like how it was already. My favourite of the stories/arcs was the sword witch one, not just cause swords pog (tho it helps), but just cause it had some really cool moments and I liked the charas more Anyway, the finale ended on a sequel hook but there hasn't been one announced (at time of writting) and I don't expect to see one either but I also said that about wedding rings and chained slave and was wrong about those so who knows really. Dunno if I'll ever end up reading the manga but the anime didn't put it completely out of question and I did like the lore they gave this ep so we'll see

Bucchigiri Ep12 (Finale)

well that was nice. it's funny how I only learned about this show like a week before it started while I had been looking forward to MR for a while and MR turned out a lot weaker. it was a bit unfocused at times but it was still good. I didn't go in expecting much out of the animation cause it's mappa and jujutsu s2 had just ended and you know all the stuff that was being talked about it around then. and I was right not to, cause there was never anything impressive really, tho the few fights that did have coreography looked cool oh also it had the best OP/ED of the season like I said on this post show felt pretty old school too, not just cause of the designs but the general low tech (no smartphones or anything) so that was nice not really much more to say about it, it's not a show I'd recommend watching but it also wasn't a waste of time. it was just a way to spend some 20 mins having a fairly enjoyable time every saturday

Dungeon Meshi Ep14

man I've known kabru is a little freak from all the posts I've seen about him here but he's even worse than I thought. and worst of all is I could relate to him in some parts 😔 tho knowing some of the stuff that's coming I know there's more differences than things in common but still good ep tho, even if I'm not a big fan of him or his party (yet?) the new op is a banger tho like it a lot more than the first one, tho I prefer the first ed over the one so equivalent exchange I guess

Manga

MamaYuyu Ch29 (Finale)

I know it's weird for a finale to end of a cliffhanger like below but it's cause the actual final chap will be in the volume release. shame that it turned out like that but not much you can do about it. it was a good series tho, from the start you could really tell from the designs that the author worked as an assistant to horikoshi. their panelling is super creative and unique and the art was really good too. the action was clear and easy to follow for the most part and the power system was neat as well. I'm totally convinced that this author could have a hit in the future if they keep doing serializations. I've said this a billion times for the last handful of series that have ended but it's a shame that something like nue keeps trucking along and doing decent in the rankings while good series like this get axed. the 7 score is provisory cause we don't have the actual finale, but I doubt it'll be bad enough to make me downgrade it to a 6 so it'll prob stay like that. I'll be looking forward to whatever hayashi does next, like I said before they certainly have a lot of potential

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 569, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby

WORDS: 1173

“Hey there mama, Peter!” Ken Anderson greeted us during breaktime. “I was wondering if we could perhaps have the babies be in the final?”

“All of the babies or just some of them?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Some of them,” he clarified. “I was thinking maybe Baby Tommy, Baby Eve and one or two of the triplets, and of course, Elizabeth and Katie!”

“And little girl, too?” Peter looked excited.

“Only if it’ll be alright with their daddies!” he smiled happily as Trick or Treat Lament was being ran through. Elizabeth and Katie would be sharing the role of Shock the witch girl, alternating girl every night. The roles of Lock would be played by Ken Anderson’s nephews and the role of Barrel would be shared by two boys from separate ensemble members’ families.

“I’ll call up James after we get home, alright?” I asked him from my place on my husband’s lap. I had been pleasantly surprised by Peter’s strong acting talent, and had asked him about it.

“My mom had enrolled me in acting from the ages of seven until fourteen, when I started high school,” he shrugged modestly. “I only stopped because I joined football, but I oftentimes wish that I had kept it up- I’m a bit rusty I feel.”

“Just a tad bit, my love!” I giggled, tucking my head underneath his chin as he encircled his hands around my slender waist. “But it’s honestly nothing that can bring me to hate you!”

“I should hope not,” he snarled before baring his fang playfully at me and going to nibble and kiss my neck.

“And throw away they keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey…” belted out Elizabeth, playing the witch girl, Nigel Ben Anderson play the devil child and Tony St. Williams playing the skeleton boy. “Throw away the key!” The three of them burst into childish giggles after the song.

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!” grinned Ken Anderson. “And now, let’s run through the opening!”

The narrator stepped up and ran through his opening the show before everyone started to sing, really bringing the citizens of Halloween Town to life.

And before I knew it, it was one in the afternoon, and Ken Anderson ended the first day with a rousing round of cheers and applause.

“Tomorrow, we can start with the choreography, and I’ll also wrangle the rest of the production crew to come in and meet everybody!” he grinned happily as everyone began to pack up.

“Hey Ken? Do you want us to bring the babies tomorrow?” I asked him.

“Oh, yes please mama!” Ken Anderson begged excitedly. “I just love babies!”

“You and much of the earth’s population!” I teased him with a laugh. “But hey- if the babies are going to be here, then the sitter will need to come also to supervise. Also, my baby sister is staying with us do to some medical issues, so-”

“Bring them both- hell- bring everyone!” Ken laughed, bending to pat the top of my head affectionately before shooing me off.

I let out an excited squeak before scrambling to join my husband and two daughters before leaving the rehearsal hall, making an automatic beeline for my husband’s car, the four of us chattering and giggling as we quickly settled ourselves before Peter pulled out from his parking spot and quickly merged into the flow of traffic.

“Sweetheart, I think your sister and Isabelle will need to ride in a separate vehicle tomorrow,” my husband rumbled, breaking easily and slowing at the sight of a police officer with his car pulled off to the shoulder, the hood opened and smoking violently. “Jesus… hold on, sweetheart- I’m going to offer my help.”

“Go on, my love! Be someone else’s prince charming!” I laughed as he parked a little ways ahead of the cop car, then got out to lend a hand.

I watched as he tinkered around on the car for ten minutes, keeping up a conversation the whole while until a tow truck rolled up to take the car in, a second cop car pulling up for the police officer to reload an older man whose pants were around his knees, showcasing a hideously hairy ass.

“Ew,” Katie said, having apparently gotten an eyeful by accident. “Mommy, does daddy have a hairy butt?”

I burst into laughter at her words and the disgusted look on Elizabeth’s face- both combined was just hysterical.

I was laughing so hard that I was crying when Peter got back into the car. He turned to face me with a concerned look over his handsomely bearded face.

“Daddy, do you have a hairy butt?”

“Katie, don’t be rude.” The look on his face was comical as he very clearly had a midlife crisis, and I found myself unable to stop my laughter.

“Katie, you’re being gross,” Elizabeth piped in just then.

“Sorry Lizz Lizz,” Katie apologized meekly.“Dorogaya, u menya volosataya zadnitsa?” Peter asked me in Russian. “U tebya nemnogo putanitsy,” I shrugged as he turned off of the freeway and onto the road that led up to our house. “No u Josh na zadnitse boroda.” 

“Don’t I know sweetheart, don’t I know,” he chuckled, turning into our driveway and pausing as the garage door opened.

“Hey wolf moon, come cast your spell on me,” I sniggered as he parked and killed the ignition.“No ty lyubish' moy bol'shoy volchiy chlen,” he snarled, shooting a smoldering gaze my way. “Pravil'no dorogaya?” 

My panties were automatically sopping wet.

Dorogaya, u menya volosataya zadnitsa, sweetheart do I have a hairy ass, Russian

U tebya nemnogo putanitsy, you have a little bit of fuzz, Russian

No u Josh na zadnitse boroda, but Josh has a beard on his ass, Russian

Pravil'no dorogaya, right sweetheart, Russian 

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

[nerdieforpedro]

12/17/2023 Weekend Update

We’re halfway through December already! The year will be over soon, so weird but it does happen every year. Anyhow, let’s get started.

Nerdie, you’ve got some new graphics. It looks…the pickle is starting at me.

Is it? Eh, it probably feels like it. I’ve been playing around on Canva after looking through other people’s accounts and masterlists. I’ve made some progress. The lists I’ve updated so far:

Dieter Bravo Masterlist (Betty liked this one so I’m leaving it as is.)

Frankie Morales Masterlist. (I found a side profile pic that screamed Frankie to me, I made it the largest picture.)

Joel Miller Masterlist (He screams to me that he drinks whiskey so it’s on his page also I edited the middle picture because you gotta understand how broad he is)

Dave York Masterlist (The Dave I wrote is a sadistic man who might be softening a little. I might have gotten a soft pic or two in there.)

What else have you been up to this week Nerdie?

Session Three of the Sard’ika Sessions went up. We’re half way through Space Buddies. I want to thank everyone who’s been reading and following along. Your comments and reblogs are always very sweet and have some great takes.

We did a Fic Authors Self rec this week in the tag games and we all gave five of our own fics we would recommend to readers. If you’re a writer and would like to do some signal boosting, you can try it out as well.

I was in the mood for some Dieter Bravo this week. I read quite a few fics with him in it and I somehow forgot that I had written a second chapter of my Dieter Bravo series that I started a couple months back. 😅 Yup, too many WIPs and not enough focus will do that.

The series is revolves around Dieter and our OFC Maya who is traveling to her younger brother’s destination wedding. She meets Dieter and chaos ensues. I made Dieter a goat papa and Dee may have an issue with the man who plays Poe Dameron. I won’t say his name because Dieter doesn’t react well to it at all.

Both chapters are on the Dieter Bravo Masterlist. I am working on chapter three. No clouds were harmed in the creation of the chapter.

How do you forget you started a series Nerdie?

Well, I kept reading others people’s fics, starting WIPs based off of different ideas and it fell off. I have three other series that are “paused” too. I haven’t had any ideas for them.

Plus I have two different challenges to work on and that are due soon.

What are those?

One is that pickle staring at you: The Pickled Peña challenge. Open to all writers who wanna try it. Have some fun trying to figure out a Peña pickle. Instructions are in the hyperlink above.

The other challenge is, well, involves Pedro characters, we were assigned one to get pegged. It’s the Peg That Middle Aged Man or PTMAM 2024. Go big, go forth and peg on! I think, but I have an outline. So, yeah… 😭 Totally on goal there.

We should know by know not to ask, it never goes where we think it’s gonna go. What else?

We spoke in our group about astrological signs. We had a very good discourse led by @goodwithcheese who told us what our sweaty palms looked like and gave us more insight. Pretty fun actually, I pondered I pondered hard.

I started another WIP (because it feels like I start a new one every 3 days) about Joel and Layla from my Sugar series. Them at Christmas, Joel spending more time with her family, what happened when he met them the first time, where they are now. The nylons will make a return, because I’m not sure I can see Joel without them now when I write him. It started out being @morallyinept ‘s fault but it’s all mine now. I won’t shift blame on that one.

Is there anything else Nerdie?

Just one more thing, I made volume 4 of my fanfic author recommendations so please check out their work and make sure to reblog. 😊

Stay warm, hydrated and safe,

Love Nerdie ❤️

[softguarnere]

A Christmas Inheritance

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter One: Homecoming

Summary: After time away in Philadelphia for college, Zenie returns to her hometown for Christmas to collect an unexpected inheritance. Her only goal? To settle her legal business and return to the city. But what happens when she meets a handsome mechanic who throws a wrench in her plans? (The obligatory modern Hallmark au)

A/N: *takes a drag from a fancy pipe like an old timey professor* Okay so here's the deal:

I did that Hallmark poster maker earlier this month and could not stop thinking about writing a Hallmark au. "I don't like the holidays" and "I survive on cheesy Christmas romcoms" are sentences that can and do coexist within the Dove. 🫶🏼

We're only a few chapters into Like A Girl (Like a Man), but the holidays are ✨hell✨ Writing this every now and then when I'm blocked on other writing projects has been fun and kinda therapeutic. Does any of this plot really make sense? No! But that's the magic of Hallmark movies baby - all that matters at the end of the day is that they end up happy! And based on everything I'm about to put Zenie through in LAGLAM, she can be happy this time. Let's let them have this, shall we? (And if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, just let me know 🤗)

As usual, this is based on the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! 💕🕊️

Warnings: mentions of death, discussions of grief

The weight of the world already feels like it’s crushing Zenie’s lungs before she even opens the car door. Michael Bublé’s voice greets her as she tosses her bag into the backseat, and Bill is scrolling through the Ultimate Christmas Playlist that he and Babe made so long ago that certain songs inevitably show up in their Spotify Wrappeds each year. When her friend starts to recite the scores from the Flyers game the night before, her grip on the steering wheel loosens ever so slightly. It’s almost easy to imagine that they’re just driving around killing time instead of heading into a situation that has the potential to end with an all out McGlamery family civil war.

 Still, if she has to be plunging headfirst into all of this, she’s glad Bill is by her side. There’s a reason his friends call him Wild Bill, and it’s not just because of his driving – although that’s more of a joke, because even with a prosthetic leg, he can still drive better than anyone in their friend group.

There’s also the fact that Bill nothing short of insisted that he accompany her on the trip back to North Carolina. On the one hand, ever since she helped him with a paper on the epidemic of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, he or any other member of their friend group always seems to be right by her side, wherever she goes. On the other hand, if any family drama is going to break out over issues regarding the Will, Wild Bill Guarnere is a total wildcard who will not be afraid to fight back, grab whatever the lawyer says now legally belongs to Zenie, and then drive them back home as fast as his 4Runner will go – which is exactly what he has been telling Zenie for almost two weeks now.

(He also admitted that he wants to get out of the city for a bit. He and Frannie have hit a bit of a rough patch, and he seemed to think an adventure and a change of scenery would clear his head. Who is Zenie to judge?)

“You think your ma will like me?”

The question drags her out of her head and back into the present. “Huh?”

“Nothin’.” Bill smiles. “Just wanted to make sure you were still with us.”

“Sorry, I just – “ She blows out a breath. “I haven’t been back to North Carolina since this time last year. And even then I didn’t go all the way home; I stopped in Cherokee for the funeral, and then headed back to Philly the second it was over.”

Something feels strange about referring to the town she grew up in as home. For a while now, home has been in Philadelphia, referring to the apartment she shares with Bill, Babe, and Fran, when she spends the night. I’m heading home; I’ll meet you at home; You need me to bring anything home? How easily the words slip from her lips, even if Philadelphia itself still feels a bit like a sweater that your aunt buys for you under the assumption that she knows what size you wear even though she hasn’t seen you since you were twelve - it takes some getting used to.

“Well, Zenie Beanie, don’t you worry, because you’re not going home-home. Just to your hometown, not your parents’ house.” Her parents’ house, with it’s walls that always felt too close and too much like a heavy blanket that was slowly suffocating her.

“Did you book a hotel?” She raises an eyebrow, flips her blinker on as she merges. “It might be the country, but this isn’t exactly the time of year to go roughing it.”

“We have a house.”

“So like an Airbnb?”

“No. You’ll see.”

Zenie is nothing if not the youngest sibling, and her friend knows her well enough to know that she hates – maybe even despises – surprises. Inflating her lungs with a deep breath, she prepares herself to make this a very annoying road trip. “Bi-ill.”

She accidentally cuts herself off with a laugh when she sees his face. He grew up with a brood of siblings. He knows what’s coming to him.

“Zeeee-na!” He crosses his arms. “Nope! You just have to wait and see the accommodations yourself. It’s the first of many Christmas surprises.”

Many? It catches her so off guard that she almost slams on the breaks.

“What are you talking about?”

To prove a point, Bill turns up the volume and practically shouts along to Merry Christmas, Kiss My Ass, refusing to elaborate further.

Sometimes Zenie really has to ask herself why she’s friends with Bill Guarnere.

She shouldn’t really be surprised when they pull up at her Granny’s old house. Not the one on the Boundary, but the one in Zenie’s nearby hometown, not too far down the gravel road from where her parents live. It had been where she had chosen to live after Zenie’s grandfather passed, when she packed up all her belongings and bought the house as soon as it hit the market, shrugging and saying that if she was moving to be closer to her only daughter and grandchildren, then she was going to be close.

Granny’s house was nothing special, Zenie has come to realize as time passes. Not in appearance, anyway. It’s quaint white paint, large windows, and sprawling front porch don’t give it much distinction between the other houses in the valley, but much like a good book or a person with a kind heart, it’s about what lies inside that counts.

Except part of what made the inside of the house so special was that her Granny was in it. With her warm smile, a welcoming hug, and a pot of fresh coffee always at the ready, everything about the days she spent in her Granny’s house as a girl felt like magic. Especially around Christmas, when the decorations and Christmas stories lit the house up with wonder. Granny would drag out her old record player, and Bing Crosby would keep them company while they baked cookies and put stamps on cards that needed to be sent out to what seemed like practically everyone that Granny had ever met.

Now she’s gone. That Christmas spirit went with her when she passed. Hell, everything magical and inviting left with her. And her house stands in the valley, empty of that warmth and looking utterly lonely, as a testament to that.

Neither of them moves when Bill parks the car. Zenie is staring at the house and Bill is staring at Zenie as she stares at the house. She told herself she would not cry on this trip, under any circumstance, but now her eyes sting and she wants to turn the car around, but she also wants to say something, and she’s not sure if she wants to hug her friend for comfort or slap him for thinking that this was the Christmas surprise that she needed.

“I’m sorry,” Bill finally says. He reaches across the console, hand open with his palm up. Without looking, Zenie takes it, interlocks their fingers, and squeezes like she’s holding a stress ball.

It takes her a few tries to speak without bursting into tears. “Why . . . here?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Bill’s shocked face as he turns towards her. “They didn’t tell you?”

Her eyes are too watery for her to be snarky with him right now. Her expression is all the question that he needs.

“Zenie, your grandmother left the house to you.”

The house before them looms even larger. A year of her grandmother’s Will being dragged out, all for Zenie to drive all this way and then find out she inherited a house in a town she hates? What is she supposed to do – move back home and live in it?

“We don’t have to stay here,” Bill assures her, already gently taking his hand back so that he can crank the car. (That’s part of why she’s friends with Bill, she thinks, answering her own question from earlier. He does things instead of talking about doing things. Anyone else would say that they didn’t have to stay there while secretly implying that they had to, but Bill says they don’t have to, and he’s willing to drive away with no questions asked.) “We’ll go to a hotel.”

But just as he’s about to crank the car, movement from the front porch catches Zenie’s eye. She’s been so caught up in memories and emotions that she never bothered to notice that the lights of the house were on – because when was the house not lit up, both literally and metaphorically, when her Granny lived in it?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The next thing that Zenie knows, two little palms are slapping on the door of the car, and suddenly she’s climbing out the door and being enveloped by her niece and nephew, who are hugging her so tightly and squealing with such excitement that her heart feels full to burst and any tears in her eyes are from the pure joy of experiencing such unbridled affection.

“You’re here, you’re really here!” Jasmine cries, hooking her arms around Zenie’s neck so that she’s forced to bring the six-year-old up with her when she stands.

Sticky hands tug at her jacket as Jack vies for her attention. “Aunt Zena, is it true that you’re really going to stay for Christmas?”

Looking into her little nephew’s brown eyes, Zenie hesitates. A moment ago she had been willing to turn away from this place without a second thought. But now, seeing her niece and nephew and their excitement at her arrival, coupled with Bill’s fond smile as he watches them . . . Maybe a few days wouldn’t hurt. After all, her college is on break and she has someone covering for her at work. It’s not like she and her friends had anything better to do with their time off except watch cheesy holiday movies and sample Luz’s mixed drinks.

“Yes,” she says, if not a little reluctantly. “I’m staying, but I don’t know for how long.”

“Yes!” Jasmine cheers, the sound vibrating in Zenie’s eardrums. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever!”

Verbally, Zenie agrees, even though she’s not without her doubts, based on how family gatherings have gone in the past. And when she looks up and sees her older sister standing in the doorway, an envelope in her hands, Zenie repeats the sentiment like it’s a lifeline.

“I don’t know for how long.”

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 26

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 4.1k

IMPORTANT a/n: Hi... I said that if the Celtics won I'd post tonight so ya know! Here it is hehe. LETS GO CELTICS

Finally used the scene in Season 1 episode 5 of Narcos of Javi and Murphy in the car. There's a lot of perspective change in this one, this section will be like this most the time just because are characters are so far apart!

Ok bye enjoy

New Orleans 1988

“Do you remember being sixteen?”

You cackle, playing with the golden bee at your lobe, looking up at your student Chiron. He had been eating his lunch in your classroom for about two months since, the cafeterias ac is shit, his words. You dig into the cake your students bought you, they thought you would cancel their monday practice quiz with a little birthday celebration. They were greatly mistaken. 

Today you're twenty-four. Everytime you think of it your brain freezes.

 You remember being sixteen like it’s yesterday. You nod, washing down the store bought dry red velvety mess with water. “Yes. It sucked.”

Chiron laughs just the same, opening the pink milk box on his tray. “When were you sixteen? In 1950?”

You stare at him with your most deadpan look, shaking your head. “I turned sixteen in 1980. I was living in Laredo, Texas and I spent my birthday alone. I received flowers from my… friend and my mom took me dress shopping two days later. What was yours like?” 

You and Chiron talk every day. You know he lives in a group home, you know he gets excited when he gets asked about his own life and even more excited when someone shares stories about theirs. He reminds you everyday that you want to have a son one day, you guess you’ll tell him when he's older. Hopefully then you could introduce your son to him and have a laugh about it. 

Teaching has given you a purpose. Being away from home has given you a purpose. Knowing no one has given you a purpose. You tell him stories all the time, you’re going to sob when he walks across that stage in May. 

“I went to the arcade with Teresa.” Teresa has been his girlfriend since the ninth grade, she went to St. Mary’s. They met doing community service and Chiron knows that they're going to be married. “She bought me this chain with her paycheck from Rouses. Are you doing anything for your birthday?”

You look at the picture of your little sister and niece sat up on her desk. Little three year old Sol holding Frankies babygirl Annie. “I still don’t know anyone out here but my coworkers so I’ll probably order in, watch Dirty Dancing and wait for a call from my brother.” You think of Javier for a moment, wondering if he knows today's your birthday. 

You wonder if you have crossed his mind. 

You saw him in the paper when you went home for christmas, you didn't visit your mother. 

You went home to simply spoil the babies at Frankie's house. You drove right back to your third floor apartment in Nola. Cried into your pillow until you slept and did it all over again for three more nights. Chiron nods, you have told him small stories about your life because he loves to listen. You’re weary of sharing too much, only offering bits you know will make him feel seen. You let him cry when he said he tried to meet his father during Christmas break and he didn’t show. That's when you decided to tell him about your first trip to New Orleans. 

Chiron frowns and sips his milk. He just got a haircut, flat top style, he had been growing his hair out the whole year for it. “Do you think Javier will call you?”

You smile at Chiron. He had been trying to pry information about your former lover for weeks. It all started after Christmas break when he cried about his father. You told him that family can be found anywhere, that your only family for a bit was your best friend who happened to be your boyfriend. 

“Do you live with Javier now?”

You shook your head, “He moved away for work.” Nearly a lie, you didn’t feel it was appropriate to tell your seventeen year old student the painful details of your life. 

Chiron went quiet for a few seconds, his face going inward. Eyes shy and sad, it happens every time he’s asked about his parents.

“So who is your family now?”

Andrea drops her keys on her kitchen counter being greeted by tiny tweets. She grins from ear to ear, placing her purse down on the couch. Walking to her cage, the two birds chirped.

 “Are you singing Happy Birthday to me?” She gets on her tiptoes, offering her fingers to the babies, they take the chance. “Thank you, mommy’s going to watch Dirty Dancing because she’s lonely. Okay?”

She brings Jewel to her face in a phantom kiss while Harvey finds sanctuary on her shoulder. 

She always wanted pets but her mother never allowed it. The second Andrea put down her deposit for her apartment, she hopped in her car and bought two blue budgies. They nipped and scurried away from her each time she approached them but after two months of persistence they finally warmed up to her. They’re now her best friends. She’s become a crazy bird lady. Just in September she left a date abruptly because she realized she hadn't fed them in a day and a half. Its safe to say she didn’t get a call back from Mr. Henning.

She sits on her couch after loading the VHS and yawning. Her birdies flying back to their cage. 

That was the summer of 1963 - when everybody called me Baby, and it didn't occur to me to mind.

At 6pm she receives a call. Her heart sinks and for a moment she thinks, maybe.

But ultimately she knows not to be so silly, she knows she needs to be angry with him but she doesn’t have it in her anymore. She unravels herself from the nest she’s made on her couch and tip toes on the hardwood floor to her home phone. 

She spoke to Genie this morning, receiving a happy birthday song from her brother and their baby’s incoherent babbles. They say little Annie is upset that Tia Andrea lives so far. 

“Hello?” Andrea shushes her birds, they love to chirp when she’s on the phone. 

“Happy Birthday Andrea,”

 And she knows Don Chuchos voice anywhere. 

Andrea closes her eyes at the sound. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and she’s riddled with grief at the sound of his voice after nearly two years. 

“Thank you Chucho.” Andrea remembers the way he looked at her when she sat in the blistering heat on Javier’s wedding day. He looked at her knowingly, he could see that beyond the made up face she was on the brink of a breakdown. “How’s everything back home?” 

“You would know if you stopped by to see me last month.”

She winces. When Andrea came home for Christmas she made it her business to be seen by no one. Especially anyone who knew anything about Javi. 

She was finally feeling better. 

Everything was out in the open now, everyone knew their business. The scandal blew through town, she had to leave.

“I know, I'm sorry. I’m just still working through everything that happened. I knew if I stopped by your house it would bring up old memories.” Since Andrea moved to New Orleans she has gone back to Laredo five times. Two of the times she visited her mother, every other time was a straight shot to Frankie’s home. Calling him to make sure he takes Sol for the day so Andrea could see her too. She would spend two lovely nights on their plush couch and drive home the next day. 

Through the crackle of the receiver Chucho hums in understanding. 

In a twisted way Andrea always wanted him to be her father. She loved the idea of marrying Javier for more reasons than one. She wanted to officially be a part of his tiny family she loved so deeply. 

“Would this be a bad time to talk about him?” 

Andrea, the despondent girl. A girl alone, leaning against her lonely walls, a girl belonging to no one. Is a girl who cannot resist hearing about the one she loved. 

Loves. 

“Yes.” She allows it. He complies because she knows he must have no one to talk to about this. 

“He told me last week that he’s seeing a specialist—therapist, once a week.”

She smiles. She remembers the last time they had sex they talked about reaching out for help. She supposes it’s her turn. 

“That’s- I'm relieved to hear that. Is he doing okay out there?” 

Andrea has a reoccurring nightmare. She’s walking to work, the heat is brutal and her hands are full of groceries. In her nightmare, one of the bags rip open, fruit falling on the concrete. Every time, she follows an apple that rolls until it hits a news stand. And there—there she sees his face. There she reads his public obituary, the slain American agent. There she dissolves to nothing and wakes up crying harder than she ever has. She cried until she felt like dissolving into nothing. 

“He spares me details that would send me into a stroke but you know. It’s very dangerous work but he’ll make it back home in one piece. He’s too stubborn to die young.” 

Her eyes flicker to the ground and her chin quivers at his words. “Do you miss him?” Is all she can mutter. She cannot be alone in this feeling. She doesn’t like to feel this way. She liked to believe that she gets along without him well, but sometimes the wind blows and it reminds her of summer nights in his bed and she isn’t sure she could go on lying to herself.

Chucho sighs, “He misses you.” He doesn’t answer your question. He knows what you wanted to ask. “He doesn’t tell me because he’s afraid, but every conversation I can hear it in his voice. He is still grieving being away from you, still grieving being deceived. I know you are too. But I wanted to call to tell you that he is okay. I want you to be okay too, Andrea.”

January 1988 Bogota, Colombia

There isn't much work being done. Scoping out for a sicario in a hundred degree weather wasn't ideal but it left some time for beers and ramblings. Murphy dug his hand into the cup holder for another sip of Club Colombiano. “So what year was this?” Murphy looks over to Javi. It had been almost a week since he last saw Hertz. His next session is in two days. He found himself walking with less weight. He even finally told Murphy the name of the girl whose picture is taped on the corner of his desk.

“1986” Javier rasps. “I was driving to the church. I was with my buddy Frankie. He was my best man.” He nearly whispers the last bit. “We were late. It was fucking blazing, 110 degrees. The whole bridal party was there sweating their balls off I’m sure. Frankie is shaking like a leaf next to me, like he’s fucking getting married. Looking for a lighter for a joint he rolled. Mind you, we're been in my bride's car since she arrived in a limousine.”

“Don’t tell me you left her at the altar.”

Javier deadpans, “Let me finish my story.” Murphy chuckles, pressing the cold beer to his neck. “He opens the glove compartment and some papers fall into his lap. And boom, we hit a traffic jam. Frankie, my best man, being the nosy fuck he his opens up the papers. He goes, three months pregnant as of June 6th, can't believe we’re both having kids. I swear to god–”

“No!” Murphy gasps.

“Yeah, Lorraine, the bride, and I hadn’t had sex since February of that year. She was showing a lot, I never thought twice when she told me she was five months along.” Murphy is staring at him like this was the juiciest television worthy story ever told. Javier looks blankly into the rolling hills of Colombia wondering why this happened to him. “I had dropped everything in my life to rush into a loveless marriage for the convenience of a family that wasn't even mine.” His eyes cast low and he feels sick. “So I turned the car around. And Andrea was there waiting to watch me marry someone else. In the heat.”

Murphy rarely knew who Andrea was other than the pretty ex-girlfriend whose picture is taped on his desk; he didn’t tell him too much. The story is enticing, he supposes. Exhilarating from the outside.

Murphy grins, “Well, you saved her a lifetime of hell.” 

He knows it’s true, his inner monologue being spat right back in his face yet he can’t seem to swallow that reality. He's a weak man, he hoped that Murphy would tell him he was wrong, that he needed to get up on a plane this instant and find his girl.

He’s silent for a moment. “Yeah, she never spoke to me again, Andrea I mean. She’ll probably be married to a-a stock broker or some shit when I come home.” If I come home, he intends to say but decides maybe this wasn’t the moment. “Trust me, she’s better off.”

“I told my partner, Steve Murphy, about the wedding.”

“That's amazing, Javier.” She sits back down in her brown leather chair, sipping her tea from her small yellow thermo. “How did you feel afterward?” Javier went home to drink himself to sleep. He decides to keep that detail to himself, before reaching forward to sip water instead of fulfilling his urge to light up.

“I felt like I’ve taken some sort of step forward. Then I remembered how it was telling Andrea. Then I felt like I regressed once again, I didn't wake up for work the next morning. This Tuesday I mean.” She’s taking it all in, yet something i n her twinkles. He sees her satisfaction, she knows this is a shy way of telling her he’s ready to talk about it again. Things are changing for him so quickly.

“We were cut for time last week.”

“We were.”

“So,”

“So.” Javier's eyes jet to the plush rug below him. “I walked to her house the night I agreed to marry Lorraine.”

June 18th 1986

He stopped by The Tap before strolling his way into your neighborhood. Sitting on a barstool like he would do back in High School, eyes peeled to the door wondering if his mother would miraculously walk in. This time he doesn’t drink so much, he pushes three beers back and feels sad enough to see you. Sad enough to break your heart. Liquid courage? Is that what they call it? He feels a buzz in his spine.

Somehow he ends up at your door. 

 “Javi, are you alright? It's late.” You whisper, closing the front door behind you. It reminds him of the time he walked to your house after getting wasted. Catching you in Cabaret makeup, you turning bright red under white paint. 

This time you’re bare faced and so much more of a woman. Javier studies you in a buzzed haze, you’re concerned and it’s pissing him off. There you are, barefoot on your porch. Caught off guard and still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. You step down one step. He wants to drop to his knees and apologize. 

You sense his sorrow so you step back up to be near to his height, placing your hands on his face. Holding his face, “Baby, are you okay?” He knows your worried little face, he knows that somehow in that brain of yours—you’re conspiring what you could have done wrong. Yet it’s never you, it’s always him. You’ve never done wrong.

“Hey…” You whisper, attempting to soothe his quivering chin with a kiss. 

He looks away. Looking into your eyes will kill him. Rejecting your kiss all together. “I’m sorry.” Javier’s voice breaks, and he isn’t embarrassed but he wants to die. He wants it to end because he feels your body go cold without even having to look at you. He’s crying and hiding his face, holding you close and hard. Sobbing into your chest, staining your gray shirt like you did his when he left the first time. “I’m so sorry—I knew I wouldn’t be right for you—Querida, I’m sorry.”

----

He crushes your body with his. He’s muttering words about a wedding, a pregnancy and you’re being crushed. You’re losing air and you hope he squeezes you tighter, hope your eyes fog and you fall. 

Hope to wake up in a cold sweat, and it's all a bad dream. Hope to call him to hang out at the lake.  

He’s crying, and its the worst sound you’ve ever heard. Saying he didn’t mean to become a father. He doesn’t mean to hurt you. He doesn’t know why he hurts you. He says he doesn’t want to be married to her. Calling you sweet names and cursing his own. 

You tell him over and over that it’s okay. Yet you hope he crushes you until you disappear.

 “It’s okay—Javi please, it’s okay— I understand.” You run a hand through his hair and lower your bodies to sit on the steps. It’s 2 am. He’s drunk and unable to give you details without crying in your lap now but you know all that you need to know.

When you saw her—Lorraine. When you saw her wide nose and round little belly you felt fear running through your veins. And you slept with that panic, you dismissed it but your bones felt it. Your intuition told you that the two of you will never be the same. You saw him stare at her belly for a second too long and there—right there— you knew you were in the way of something. 

Eventually he feels okay enough to sit up straight. He still can’t look at you and you miss him in your lap when he does. You miss being able to hide yourself from him. You miss being able to shut your eyes in agony at each word of consolation. Now he can see you, even if he doesn’t look you in the eye he can see you. 

You’re able to understand that she’s five months, that they gave him a choice. To never see her and his child, child— his child— or get married. Through it all you tell him it’s okay. 

“I don’t think I have another choice— I can’t be.-“

“A deadbeat.” You finish for him and he doesn’t respond. The two of you have a million unspoken words between the two of you. 

Look at me, look at what happens when you abandon your child. Look what girls like me put up with. Look at me, you hurt me and I'm still thinking of ways to make it work in my broken little brain. 

He knows what his mother did, how could he ever? How? So you could never find it in you to be angry. 

“I’m sorry— I just can’t.” 

You shut your eyes and lean back into the steps of your home. The sky was bright that night, you couldn’t understand why the universe still presented its beauty during such a moment. 

“When will you get married?” You suppose maybe you like to hurt yourself. 

“They said two weeks.” 

You drop your head into your hands and let out a sob. Heart slamming against your ribs, drowning in it. You fear that you’ll become one with earth, a puddle seeping into the grass ahead of you. You feel his panic next to you. He’s whispering your name, and tearing against the back of your head. Your shoulders wrack and you try to speak.

But you decide silence is all you can handle.

So you stay like this for a few minutes.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” You ask finally, pathetically. 

And he’s quick to nod, “Yes—please.” His deep voice sends a vibration down your spine. And the two of you walk into your home, without fear—no room for such a silly feeling. 

He undresses and you do too. 

He faces the ceiling and you fear neither of you will catch any hours tonight. You still curl into his chest, for the last time. Feeling his warm tan skin below your ear. You count his heartbeats for minutes at a time. You count your own, attempting to make it stop on your own. Your stomach hurts so badly, you may cry just from that. But you think that you’re a twenty two year old woman who is somehow all cried out. You think of the sun coming up and him getting up to leave, you wonder what the next two weeks will look like. 

You’re sure that if you could you’d stay just like this, together and avoidant until it’s time. Just like you planned a week ago when your only fear was him leaving to Colombia. 

You know he’d do the same because the two of you love pain like no other. You stay in your inferno of a brain for nearly an hour. You know he can’t sleep. 

“What are we going to do?” He asks and you frown. 

“Go our separate ways.”

“I don’t want to.” He’s quick to respond, angry.

“I know.”

“Do you want to?”

“No. But I have to. You have to.” 

“As long as I know you, I'll want you, Andrea.”

You shut your eyes and breathe. You hope he forgets you. You hope you can. You suppose you have to try. 

“After the wedding, I don’t think I’ll ever want to speak to you again.”

You feel him intake a shaky breath. Your heart breaks again. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

His chest rises, “It’s okay. I understand.” You nod, the post of the earrings he bought you scraping his skin. “We probably shouldn’t see each other after today.” He admits and you know he’s right.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I could be a bridesmaid?” You attempt to joke and he doesn’t laugh. You can’t tell what he does but he shivers. 

“Not funny.” 

“I’m sorry.” You exhale. And there the two of you are pensive. Already missing each other. 

He sighs and it's silent once more. “I really love you.”

You sigh just the same and you love him more. You decide you couldn’t say it out loud this time.

Colombia 1988

His elbow is rested on the arm of the chair and his mouth is pressed to a fist. Eyes closed for a few moments. He thinks of the silence of that night, how he hasn't heard you say I love you since. The words that kept him going, but fuck it, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He made their life such a mess, over and over again. Again his brain regresses to that of a child, of his own head when he was eleven, when he tore up his mothers room and stained her poetry with his tears. 

He has spent two years suffering, he knows there will be no winning. He lost you. He came here prematurely hoping to win in some way. To bring some good, save some people but he realized there's no winning here either. Just suffering and corruption. The longer he watches people die he swears his faith chips slowly with it.

So he looks over his shoulder once or twice when he leaves his session. There were very few words spoken by Dr. Hertz but what can you do when his story silences so many?

He wishes it could silence his own thoughts but instead it festers and crowds his brain in the most crucial moments. Like when he led a raid in a bar in Medellin and swore the woman who sat at the bar with a gun to her head was you. In genuine panic he freezes, the casualties raised from 24 to 25 at that moment. All because of you—him—all because of his thoughts of you, plaguing him.

And he thinks of you in the most insignificant moments. Insignificant like burying himself deep in the cunt of a woman who’s being paid. He thinks of you and can't keep it up from the guilt. What a curse it is to feel so deeply about someone. 

He remembers once, you lie beside him half asleep and mumbling like you did after sex. You said that sometimes love scares you so much that for a time you wished to never feel it. He thought of you so crazy, he fears he understands you now. 

[shop-korea]

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WOMEN - USE - 2 - GET - THEM

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HISTORY - 19 FEET - IN - HEIGHT

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EARTH - WAS - FLOODED

DEMONIC - SPIRITS - CAN NO

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ENTER - GENTLE - MALES

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JEWELRY - YOUR - CARDS 2

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AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN

BANKS - ALL - CARDS ARE

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BUT - TRACES - WHO - IS

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LAW - OVER - 300 YEARS - 2

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DEMOCRATS - TONGUES

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TONGUES - ONLY

SINGERS - ONLY

BARBIE - WORLD

ALL - 3 - PROVIDING

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WESTERN - ASTROLOGY

ME - APRIL - ARIES

YOU - WILL - HAVE - NEW

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AUTHORIZED - GIVERS

NEW - SOCIAL SECURITY NOS

EVERY - YEAR - ALL - ISSUED

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ILLLEGAL - YOUR - BOSSES

EMPLOYERS - LANDLORDS

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IDENTITY - THEFT - 2 - KILL

YOU - AND - TAKE - YOUR

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PHOTOS - BUT - DIFFERENT

WE'RE - ISSUING - PAPER

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4 - SOCIAL - SECURITY TO

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THEY - WANT - 2 - FORGE - THE

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KIDNEY - BLADDER

$9,000 - EACH

TENTS - CAN - B - RUN OVER

BY - LOCAL - POLICE - 2 KILL

FEMALES - AND - PREGNANCY

USA - ILLEGAL - MISOGYNY

HARM - ABUSE - AND MURDER

OF - SMALL - BREASTED - YES

FEMALES - HARM - ABUSE

AND - MURDER - OF - GIRLS

NO - VISIBLE - BREASTS

HARM - AND - ABUSE OF

LARGE - BREASTED FEMALES

THEY - DIDN'T - KILL - THEM

'MILK - THE - COWS'

SAG - THEIR - BREASTS

NO 1 - NON-VIRGIN - MEN

NO 2 - NON-VIRGIN - WOMEN

ILLEGAL - MISOYGYNISTS

WILL - TELL - PRUNE BAG

LISA - LOOKS - LIKE - AGE 175

I'M - OLDER - WILL - GIVE HER

CASH - AS - WE - HAND - OVER

KEEPING - SOS - RADIO - THAT

IS - COAST - GUARD - WILL YES

PARK - VEHICLE - REAL - EASY

UNDER - OPENS - AUTO BRIDGE

THEN - STEP - THAT - EASY

MIAMI RIVER - LANDMARK

FOLLOW - SOUND - JUST

ATTACH - 2 - FENCE - LOTS

OF - FENCE - IN - MIAMI FR

PARKING - LOTS - THEY

HEAR - SOUND - BECAUSE

100 MPH - WINDS - FOGGY

GRAYISH - NIGHT - TIME ITS

FOGGIER - AS - THEY HEAR

SOUND - SEE - RED - LIGHT

LESS - THAN - 10 MIN - 2 FIND

ME - SW NORTH RIVER DR

AND - SW 2 ST - HISPANICS

AND - BLKS - SCREAMING NOW

IN - PARKING - LOT - 7:!7A EST

AS - COAST - GUARD - GETS ME

MY - THINGS - BUT - THEY - YES

RETURNS - US - UNLIKE POLICE

SPORTS - STADIUMS - THEY

HAVE - THOSE - FOLDABLE

SO - MANY - SLEEPING THERE

AS - THEY - STEAL - ALL THEIR

THINGS - CORRECTION - WHITE

AND - BLK - MALE - FINALLY

WOKE - UP - THEIR - TARPS

SLEPT - ON - SIDEWALK SO

THEY - WOKE - UP - STREET

BELONGS - 2 - NEW COMERS

PUBLIC - NUISANCE - 7:!9P EST

BUS 77 - JUST - PASSED - BUT

WHEN - ALL - SCREAMING AT

EACH - OTHER - 5A - NONE OF

THEM - NO ONE - WOKE - UP

2 C - WHAT's - GOING - ON

PUBLIC - NUISANCE - SHOT

2 - DEATH - IN - EUROPE - 4

DANGER - 2 - KIDS - AND

PREGNANT - FEMALES

SCENARIO

DEMOCRATS - NEW - IDENTITY

IF - THEY - DESTROY - BAGS - 2

SO - U - CAN - SIGN - UP - FOR

T-MOBILE - 5G - PREMIUM

PLAN - WE - WILL - REIMBURSE

YOU - BY - DOUBLE - TAX - PAID

ALL - THOSE - EXPENSES

SO - AS - THEY - CALL YOU

ANOTHER - NAME - WE'RE

PREPARED - AS - UPS STORE

AND - POST OFFICE - NEEDS

YOUR - PAPER - DEMOCRAT

VOTERS - INFO - CARD - TOO

WE'RE - PREPARED - 4 - USA

PEOPLE - WORLDWIDE

PAPERWORK - IDENTITY

WE - GIVE - AWAY - FOR THEY

ARE - DOING - IDENTITY THEFT

2 - KILL - U 4 - YOUR - MONEY

DEBIT - CREDIT - CARDS - TO

GET - YOUR - BANK - MONEY

JESUS - IS - LORD