#no tags because i got angry at the wasted years

[ginrise]

I think Old Xian deserves an award for the most successful edge-r in human history lol. The potential 19 Days had that disappeared into thin air as soon as she made the side characters the main ones is so disappointing.

Have been following the Manhua since 2015, TWO THOUSAND AND FIFTEEN, that's nine years ago. No development whatsoever for the sweet ol' main couple. I thought she'd eventually get back on track oh I don't know after a year or two or three or four or five, I was gravely mistaken. It started out so well now it's just a ???? Wrapped around some ¿¿¿¿.

Here is a message to Old Xian, please give me some closure before my fiftieth birthday. I beg you. We were all rooting for you I swear lol. I have very very little rooting left to give but please, get it together.

PS: my 50s are still a bit far but not sure I'll make it with all the smoking.

[laudthingcat]

JJK// Your top lifts up while you sleep pt.2

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Choso Kamo

Tags: nsfw content, somnophilia, cnc

Part 2 of the series!! I really loved how the first part turned out so i want to continue it 💕 You can read part one here ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

Note: it’s been over a year since i posted this and i am growing tired of all the comments from blank blogs and blogs that belong to minors attacking me for making a fictional character fuck another fictional character in their sleep in a fictional story. Grow the fuck up and learn not to fucking read a story if you dont like the tags?? To everyone else who knows how to differentiate fiction from reality, i love you pookies <3

Masterlist

Gojo: After another week away from you because of his work, he was finally excited to get back home to you. It was past midnight when he entered the apartment so he tried his best to be as quiet as possible since he was absolutely sure you were already asleep, and he was right. Entering the bedroom he saw you peacefully sleeping while hugging his pillow. He smiled to himself knowing that you missed him as much as he missed you. Making his way towards the bed, he could see you better, easily noticing this time that your top was almost completely rolled up and that you were not wearing any shorts at all. His face lit up since he really missed all of you. Taking a seat on the bed next to you, he leaned in and started leaving soft kisses on your exposed shoulder, slowly moving lower and lower, until he reached your thighs. God, he loved your thighs. Everything about them was perfect. Giving them a soft bite, he chuckled the moment you squeezed your thighs together. It was always a sign that you were getting horny and he knew it.

He had to check it so he slightly moved your panties aside, just enough for his hand to make its way inside of them. Using his middle finger he caressed your pussy before inserting it and a second one inside of you. Just as he thought, you were already wet and ready for a good pounding. So not wasting any more time, he got rid of his clothes and placed himself on top of you. After stroking his already erect cock a couple times, he lined it under your pussy. Grabbing a hold of your hip, he started moving. In between soft whimpers, he quietly laughed because he knew you’d get angry at him if you were awake since you absolutely hate being teased. You took him by surprise when you squeezed your thighs together once more, making him almost cum on the spot. Embarrassed, he cursed the fact that he was so excited, so he quickened the pace, knowing for sure that he won’t last for much longer. Not much longer after, he entered your pussy and pushing as far in as possible, he came inside of you.

Leaning in once more, he placed a tired kiss on your forehead. "A little warm surprise for tomorrow morning"

Choso: Waking up in the middle of the night isn't something uncommon for Choso. He's been struggling with insomnia since he can remember. What he'd usually do is stay in bed and watch you sleep while waiting for the morning to come. This particular night tho it was a bit different. When he woke up you were no longer in his arms. You were sleeping on your back, with your legs conveniently opened and your top no longer covering your abdomen and chest. The sight made him hard on the spot and there was nothing he wanted to do more than touch you. He hesitated at first, thinking that it wouldn't be ok for him to do so, even tho, as he clearly remembers, you did talk about this before, and you ensured him that you are absolutely fine and actually looking forward to that happening at some point. Making up his mind, he changed his position, now sitting next to you instead of laying down.

Being sure that you want that as much as he does, he went straight for your chest. Still very careful with his touches so that you wouldn't wake up, he cupped one of your tits and started squeezing and playing with it while devouring the other one with his mouth, all while rubbing his knee against your clothed pussy. Your tits were so soft, he could never get enough of them. But there was something he was even more excited about. The thought of filling you up with his cum from coming inside of you as many times and he wants without you even knowing was getting him on a whole different level of excitement.

He did just as he said. He came inside of you until you were full. He made you come multiple times too. He even managed to fall back asleep, too exhausted to actually stay awake as usual. When you woke up you were very excited to tell him about the dream you had, to which he paid full attention. He's found something else to do from now on when his insomnia kicks in.

Note: I haven't wrote anything in over a year so i dunno if i still have it but oh well what never stopped was me being horny so i hope you enjoy it 🫶🏻

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Prompt by anon + Idea for reader's nationality by anon

Synopsis: After more than 10 years with the same hairdresser, Melissa Schemmenti must change salons.

Tag list: (Since this is my first time writing for this character, I thought it best not to tag anyone. So if you want to be tagged just let me know.)

Warning: MELISSA AND Y/N ARE MAaaaD *in Ava's voice*

Words: 4k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Enjoy!

Link on AO3

Chapter 1 - Changes

Barbara Howard's friendship had a transformative impact on Melissa Schemmenti's personal life from the beginning.

The religious woman's friendship at the beginning of the redhead's career made the Italian woman rethink many things about herself. Regardless of their moral differences, how their individual relationships with religion are almost opposite, or even their small disagreements, one thing right at the beginning turned Melissa's world upside down.

The once chaotic and disorganized woman discovered the calming practicality of being hostage to well-established standards with a Christmas gift from her black coworker in her second year working at Abbott Elementary.

A schedule with a small calendar.

The year she received that gift, the redhead was furious with what was left written between the lines.

Disorganization.

After all, Melissa had absolutely everything under control.

She always had.

In her own way.

And Melissa also thought it was stupid to waste precious time that could be spent working by just planning to work, but after a terribly inconsistent semester (with more art, music and physical education teachers being fired than she can count on one hand), the redhead decided to give it a try.

So, 22 years ago Melissa started to use a schedule and a calendar every year faithfully and never looked back.

As she got older, the certainty of her upcoming appointments and how easy was to change what was needed on that sheet of paper to make better use of her time kept Melissa calm even during all the chaos that continued to live in her head and in her classroom every day. But everything changed when the spaces on pages that were reserved especially for her monthly visits to her family's hairdresser were now blank.

Rationally, the redhead knew that the hairdresser who had taken care of her grandmother's hair for the last twenty years of her life, two of her aunts out of town, washed and cared for her mother's hair every week, and three of her sisters periodically couldn't last long. But Melissa couldn't help but feel fooled and betrayed when Andrea Rossi announced her retirement.

The redhead hadn't been Andrea's client for her entire life, after all, the older hairdresser's regular clients had always been her priority. However, Melissa began to be part of the select group of Schemmenti women helped by Andrea when her former hairdresser (the one who had a Greek accent and many opinions that she hated but didn't discuss because he was her brother-in-law's friend), decided to call her Melinda, even after having her as a client for over three years.

Melinda.

Even though it was seventeen years ago, Barb still remembers the angry redheaded hurricane that entered the teachers’ lounge that week and still manages to make jokes about it whenever she gets the chance.

Monthly visits to the older woman had started with a simple hair color, but unlike her old hairdresser, Andrea had become much more than that for Melissa.

It was a ritual, a moment of care that for a long time brought her joy and confidence. It was talking animatedly with an Italian woman who showed her affection and care, something neither of them would admit out loud but was lacking in the Schemmenti family when it came to recognizing Melissa’s efforts and personal victories.

And now it was over.

“Ragazza (girl), don’t be like that… I’m old now, my hands hurt more than I can handle after a busy weekend,” Andrea tried to justify, stroking Melissa’s head with a tender smile as she finished coloring her hair that day, but which did not hide the weight of the decision.

“And what am I going to do now? Let the gray hair give me another 30 years in less than 6 months?”

“Don’t be silly! I’ve already transferred all my clients to hairdressers that I trust. You included! So stop it now!”

“I don’t want someone new.” Turning uncertainty into resistance is like armor for the redhead, even though she knows she has no choice, her brain still tries to break the meaning of Andrea’s retirement, “It’s going to mess up my entire schedule, Andrea! Two classes and now with you gone? I almost went crazy with the first semester of the year alone, now I know I’ll as soon as classes start after winter break!”

“I know that, Melissa. That’s why I talked to the hairdressers I know, and the best choice for you is Y/N, my last trainee. She’s great, hard-working, very talented and was willing to easily change her own clients’ schedule to see you at the same time I see you every month, she also works just five minutes away from here. You’ll like her.”

“But I don’t know her.” Even though she didn’t admit it, the idea of ​​a stranger touching her hair disturbed Melissa deeply, and the murmur that left her mouth made a point of emphasizing this.

The change came too quickly, and with it, a wave of anxiety took over Melissa's heart. This feeling was temporarily drowned out by her more than exhausting end-of-year routine. She was the hostess of the Schemmenti family's Thanksgiving dinner, and this, along with the end of the year, drained her ability to think about her other problems. But when the following month arrived, and along with the return to school after winter break, her colorless hair also started to show again, so Melissa swallowed her pride and went to the salon that Andrea had recommended to her.

Riverfront Roots.

The name was silly, a clear reference to the Delaware River that Melissa preferred not to think about too much as she looked at the large letters printed on the facade of the place. As soon as she entered the new salon, the smell of hair products and the sound of blow dryers buzzing caught her attention. The place was modern and well-decorated, but Melissa couldn't feel completely at ease. The smell was different, the decor was different, the voices were different, and the redhead hated each of these things.

She wasn't so reluctant to little changes in her daily life, but that week was so exhausting. The two classes together made a point of actively getting on her nerves, Gary also changed some of the lemonade brands in the vending machine and none of the new ones lived up to the taste of the old ones. The man made a point of telling the redhead that it wasn't done on purpose, thanks to the end of their relationship, and she genuinely believed him, but even so, such a change in such a tiring week only made the teacher's discomfort that Saturday morning turn into a gratuitous and deep antipathy towards the new place.

The woman of Italian descent approached the counter, where a receptionist graced her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, how can I help you today?", was the question that greeted Melissa, with a kindness that, in the redhead's mind, was completely unnecessary.

The teacher hesitated for a moment before answering sharply, ignoring the hello offered to her.

"Schemmenti. Melissa Schemmenti, please. I have a coloring booked here. A recommendation from Andrea Rossi." While the receptionist checked her information, Melissa looked around, trying to get used to the new habitat, but she barely had time to do so because, in less than thirty seconds, the receptionist escorted Melissa to a chair in front of one of the largest mirrors in the salon.

The chair that was chosen for the redhead was a little isolated from the other people present, who were laughing and talking without worrying about the noise, but if the redhead was being honest with herself, she actually preferred it that way.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Y/N and it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you fell welcome and comfortable here with me. Andrea has told me wonderful things about you and I have her notes in my hand to make sure you leave here satisfied.”, a younger woman with a thick accent appeared out of nowhere, vomiting the words at Melissa with a smile and a sweet voice that were already starting to give the redhead a headache.

The speech seemed rehearsed, still genuine, but her voice seemed too practiced to instill comfort in the redhead. And if that wasn't enough, the younger woman was enthusiastically waving a note in her hand like a triumph, making Melissa even more insecure about Y/N's talent than she already was.

The teacher knows she's not an idiot but… This hairdresser wasn't even thirty years old. This Y/N was clearly in her early twenties, with rich hair and a quick smile that probably lit up the room more than those stupid ringlights that surrounded the chairs in that place.

Not to mention that she was beautiful. Very beautiful.

A part of Melissa, hyper-aware of her own age, felt the bitter taste of envy take over her tongue as she looked at the younger woman's reflection in the mirror in front of her, but another part, even more recklessly, awakened a dormant desire in her mind.

However, even with that spark hidden behind Melissa's eyes, their initial interaction couldn't have been worse.

Y/N seemed excited, first asking Melissa for permission to touch her hair – something the redhead almost said no to, just to see if that smile would die on her lips – but quickly the hairdresser started discussing ideas for Melissa's hair, something that forced the redhead's voice to sound cutting:

"I just dyed my hair red for years.", Melissa made sure her voice sounded as sharp as she intended, "Get those ideas out of ya head and just do what Andrea used to."

The lack of niceness caused Y/N to feel strange, but the hairdresser tried to remain calm despite the discomfort.

New clients were always a little insecure, so the Brazilian woman would just prove to the one in front of her that she had talent.

Y/N always had magical hands. When she was still a girl, on the hot afternoons in her hometown, she would have fun braiding the hair of her school friends. Long locks of hair shiny thanks to the summer sun and strands yellowed by the chemicals of several women in the city often passed through Y/N's hands as if she were an artist molding a sculpture.

Her friends loved the hairstyles she did. At first, they were not at all sophisticated due to her young age, but they were done with so much love and dedication that they always seemed to transform any hair into something unique. For Y/N, it was more than just fun.

It was a passion.

When she reached her teen years, that passion became something more serious. Y/N was not satisfied with just doing the hair of her friends and family. The Brazilian woman wanted to learn, she wanted to master the art of transforming people's hair into something even more special.

That's why when she graduated from high school, Y/N started studying, and within a few months, she was already working professionally at a salon in her city. It didn't take long for her to be recognized for the quality of her work. Her skill with scissors and dye made her quickly stand out among other professionals. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to transform people into more beautiful versions of themselves, she knew what her clients wanted and, most importantly, she knew how to make them feel good.

Little by little, Y/N began to stand out even more and her life began to change.

She knew that her talent could not be limited, and so, when some close friends who had already moved to the United States began to encourage her to try her luck in Philadelphia, Y/N was scared at first. But if the chance to start over in another country meant more opportunities, she couldn't let this pass, even if the exciting idea had the power to scare her. But even though she was frightened, she was soon embarking on a new chapter in her life in a plane.

It was hard to save money for the travel, it was hard to get all the necessary documents to enter the USA legally, it was hard to leave loyal clients behind, and it was even harder to leave her country and its traditions. But the youthfulness of her soul and the hope of a new life embraced her heart and the hairdresser decided to give herself this chance.

Wen she arrived in Philadelphia, Y/N felt, at the same time, small and full of possibilities. The city was big, the competition was powerful, and she was seen as just another foolish immigrant.

But she was determined.

The Brazilian woman knew that her skill could be the key to a promising future. She just didn’t expect that her future would be shaped by Andrea Rossi, an older and more experienced Italian hairdresser who worked at a well-known salon nearby.

The story happened by chance. One of Andrea’s regular clients mentioned that her son had gotten a haircut from a really new Brazilian hairdresser.

“It was something very different… Like those stupid things we see on TikTok, but it was exactly what James wanted, and we had never found anyone willing to do it. What this young woman did perfectly and without thinking twice, and my son loved it!”, the woman commented in admiration before giving the older woman an idea, “You should meet her!”

Andrea was curious and, figuring she had nothing to lose, asked for more information about the Brazilian woman. The client was enthusiastic and told the Italian one everything she knew and, even though she was skeptical, Andrea let her curiosity get the best of her and decided to see it for herself.

The next day, she went to the salon where Y/N was working and, observing closely, immediately noticed the young woman’s skill. The Brazilian woman had the touch of someone who knew what she was doing, an eye for beauty trends, and the needs of her clients, but she also had more than that.

Y/N had a natural connection with people, a charisma that, combined with her smile and strong accent, made any client feel at ease, and Andrea saw that.

So the Italian woman wasted no time. She called Y/N for a chat at the end of her shift and, soon, took her on as her last pupil before announcing her retirement.

Normally, hearing Andrea Rissi's name made Y/N happy. All the advice, recommendations, affection, and wisdom shared by the older woman were a pleasant memory for the Brazilian woman.

But there, while she tried in vain to be nice to what was Andrea's transfer, having her work compared to the older woman's began to annoy her.

First, the owner of those pretty green eyes began to verbalize her dissatisfaction with the work tools Y/N used, telling her how much she preferred Andrea's work tools, which were always on display for her clients to see. Then the redhead started rolling her eyes at Y/N's coworkers, who, since they had no clients, were chatting spiritedly while planning to get their nails done at the end of the day, muttering how much she would appreciate some peace and quiet.

But the first sign Y/N gave that she was definitely not the type of person who would just ignore or shrink from Melissa's bad mood was when the redhead made a point of directly comparing her work to Andrea's before Y/N even started dyeing her hair.

"Andrea, don't part my hair like that. You'll leave my hair full of spots!"

Trying to preserve the good mood she had woken up in that morning, the hairdresser chose to be sneaky and ironic. Y/N looked around theatrically and curiously, as if she was searching for something important, and Melissa, unable to contain her fear and confusion, made her voice present.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking for Andrea Rossi since you want to talk about her so badly.”

Receiving only silence as an answer, and thinking that the unhappy attitude of that client was over, the hairdresser continues her journey. Y/N measures the dye with all the care in the world, making sure to double-check on the scale in front of her that the weight is correct when compared to what Andrea gave her over the phone before applying the dye accurately, fearing giving Melissa another reason to complain. The Brazilian woman divides Melissa’s hair locks with the focus of a professional with much more experience, doing everything she can to not lose a single gray hair, and when she goes to wash it, she does so with a gentleness that surprises Melissa.

But the teacher doesn’t want to admit it, so she continues to stare sullenly at the mirror, even while Y/N gently untangles her wet hair.

When the redhead’s hair is nice and completely ready to be dried, Y/N looks at her hair curiously before turning once more to Melissa’s reflection in the mirror.

“I usually do this before dyeing, but what do you think about maybe cutting a few inches? The ends are starting to lose their shape.”

“I don’t want to cut anything.”, the words are said low enough for no one but the hairdresser to hear but Y/N, but with a hint of anger that surprised the young woman, “And stop talking, your voice is too annoying for the kind of mediocre work ya deliver, kid.”

It was insensitive. Even to Melissa.

The redhead knows that Andrea would never send her to a bad hairdresser. She knows she is being harsh and critical to someone who gave her no reason to do so, but before she realizes it the words have already escaped her mouth.

But the teacher simply has no idea what was coming.

The hairdresser’s eyes widened, large pupils full of rage meeting the teacher’s gaze through the mirror, shocked by the words said by Melissa. And, before Melissa's mind can even work on instigating any remorseful reflexes, Y/N grabs a large chunk of hair from the redhead's bangs and takes a pair of scissors out of her pocket with her free hand, quickly placing them right on Melissa's forehead, exactly where her hair grows, like a more than concrete threat.

“Listen to me Philadelphia's beauty, I don't know what kind of hairdresser you expected when Andrea transferred you to me but as long as you sit in my chair you will respect my work and listen to my fucking suggestions.”, it is said as a whisper, but the hairdresser's anger and her thick accent along with the slight pull she gives the redhead's hair make the whole interaction sound indescribably scary, even to Melissa, “I've been nothing but polite and respectful to you, but I'm starting to regret accepting someone so unfortunate in my char that they think they can criticize my work without even knowing me.”

There, locking eyes with Y/N ​​in the salon mirror, Melissa understood how much she had crossed the line.

Melissa took a deep breath, filled with adrenaline at the thought of losing the top part of her hair, before nodding her head, causing Y/N to put down the scissors and let go of her bangs as she returned to work normally.

And then silence.

Dead silence.

The silence between the two women was so thick that it seemed to fill every corner of the room, making the sound of the dryer and the conversations around them sound muffled and filling the air with a corrosive feeling.

The scene from minutes ago was still boiling in Melissa's mind, repeating itself like a scratched record. Now, as if Melissa had finally come to her senses, the redhead wanted to disappear. She wanted to jump out of the chair and run away from the mirror which reflected her own guilt and shame. But she couldn't. Her anxiety combined with the idea of ​​leaving now, before the end of her service (something that could be even more disrespectful than her words), did a magnificent job holding her body in place, like an invisible chain that kept her feet on the floor and her mouth gagged.

With her fingers drumming on her apron-covered leg as the Brazilian woman prepared to style her hair, the teacher wanted to believe that it hadn't been so bad, that maybe Y/N had already forgotten what was said. But she knew that wasn't true. The weight of the moment still hung between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Y/N doesn't cut her hair or even mention the idea once again. The hairdresser just dries her red hair perfectly, but now with a serious gaze and a hurt look on her face. The Brazilian woman vehemently ignores Melissa's green eyes throughout the entire process, and the teacher stupidly decides too late that she prefers the incessant smile that remained on the hairdresser's lips minutes ago.

Melissa thought about apologizing, but the idea of ​​speaking made her breathing quick and shallow, along with the fear of seeming too desperate.

It was then that her eyes fell on the small ceramic jar in the corner of the counter next to her chair. It was decorated with hand-painted flowers and had, in crooked but legible letters, the words: "Tips for Y/N" next to a QR code. Even with the virtual possibility of compensation, the jar was open and with a significant amount of dollars, coins, and two lollipops, which Melissa just knew had been left there by a child.

And so, an idea formed, hesitant but clear in the teacher's mind.

A good tip seemed perfect, silent, indirect, but still meaningful. As the minutes passed, anxiety whispered again in Melissa's mind, wondering if Y/N would believe that she was doing this because of the guilt she felt at that very moment and not because of the regret that was now eating her mind. But the alternative of doing nothing was simply unbearable for Melissa.

The redhead knew she couldn't leave without at least trying, even if in her own way, to make amends.

When Y/N finished applying a light-smelling oil to the teacher's hair and walked away, silently letting her know that her work was done, Melissa tried to meet the hairdresser's eyes and give her a small smile, which she knew would be nervous, but which could give her an idea of ​​what was going on in Y/N's head.

But Y/N didn't look at Melissa.

When Melissa got up from the salon chair, her racing heart didn't stop her from taking two generous bills from her wallet — much more than she would usually give for just an appointment to dye her hair— and walking over to the pot. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but before anything could be done, she was interrupted:

“I don’t want your tip.” Before the two hundred dollars could enter the ceramic pot with the Brazilian’s name written on it, Y/N placed her own hand over the top to the object, successfully blocking Melissa from doing what she intended.

“M'kay. Now you’re being ridiculous!”

With those words, the hairdresser's eyes finally focus on the green ones again, still filled with an anger that Melissa rarely sees in people who have a disagreement with her (too used to the regretful and submissive ones) and the redhead was shocked by this when Y/N actively chooses to ignore her accusation by saying:

"I'm willing to give you the exact coloring mixture that Andrea developed for your hair so you can find a hairdresser who is like the silent imitation of Andrea that you are looking for.", and before the redhead even has a chance to answer her with an apology that would apparently be necessary, the hairdresser quickly collects everything that was used in the teacher's service and directs Melissa a few more words before walking away without looking back, "Call the salon when you want the measurements and the receptionist will share them with you with pleasure. Have a good rest of your day."

[generalluxun]

Chloe goes back in time AU Premise

UPDATED: 12/30/24 So I never really did a 'Master post' of how this AU started, and I figured I should while I work on it, since I'm probably not going to do an 'origins' fic, though the details of how it began will likely come out over time.

Post S5 Chloe has been thrown back in time into her own body just prior to Origins. She knows where she is, she knows when she is. She does not know HOW she got here.

What she does know(she thinks) is what's coming, the next year looms before her, one giant failure after the other. She'll end this year broken, defeated, abandoned. She knows everything that doesn't work. Being like her mother doesn't work. Listening to Hawkmoth doesn't work. Trying to be a hero doesn't work. Listening to Lila doesn't work. NOTHING works. She knows every way to fail and no ways to succeed.

She is angry. She is angry and the people who left her. She is angry at losing, she is angry because she can't think of a way to *stop* it all from happening.

This leads to instant and immediate shakeups from her first morning. What is the point in stepping on the peons at school? They'll win in the end anyway, waste of time. Who cares about Adri-nobody? He'll leave her. Sabrina? More like ... .. trai- rr tor--brina. Yeah! Chloe is a ball of wire and nails. Less a presence, but twice as sharp if jostled. It might gain more notice if it weren't for the first akuma and the appearance of Ladybug and Cat Noir.

Paris is treated to a handful of Akumas in a fairly canon format before Hawkmoth notices the ball of rage that is Chloe Bourgeois and knocks on her mental door. Imagine his surprise when she interrupts his monologue, tells him he's ridiculous and she knows how this works better than he does, then demands a 'better' power of her own choosing. Still new to all this, Hawkmoth goes along with it.

She's out to beat LB/CN, not for Hawkmoth, just to WIN something. Cat Noir gets to Chloe first and the combination of his inexperience(he's taking it a bit lightly) and her bloody mindedness means she gets the ring off of him.... and that's where it all breaks down. He's... Adrien???!! He's always been Adrien?

Shocked, she breaks the akumatization and bolts with the ring. Leaving a stunned Hawkmoth with the knowledge that his own son *was* Cat Noir, and that the ring was right under his nose. also... people can break out of his akumatizations??!

Ladybug shows up to find a dejected Adrien who explains what happened but leaves the *identity* of his opponent out of the story. He feels horrible for failing Ladybug and hopes he an get the ring back from Chloe to prove himself to her. For her part Ladybug is shocked too, shocked and concerned. She feels terrible for Adrien, for Cat Noir, for her partner.

About round here is where the actual posts and asks and fics for this AU start. If I have time (or someone else does and wants to help!) I'll try to dig back and organize some for a list here.

Here is Chloe when she has the Black Cat! UPDATE: I went back and found the tumblr post that happens after Chloe gets the ring but before the first fic in the series! Gabe had a good idea for once, but it didn't work.

Here is the first fic in the series!

Here is a second 'fic' that is actually just three scenes that I posted here on Tumblr too. The Third fic is here! This one introduces a trio of new heroes! Nino!

Alya!

Adrien!

FANART! my AU has FANART! I'm Dying!

Purrge, by @nionom-art

The tag for posts for this AU is 'Chloe goes back in time AU'

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 36

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: 4.8k

A/N: This is part 2 of my double update. Here is part 1. This is our 2nd to last chapter my loves. Tell me how you feel!

The sky is dark. Javier has spent three and a half hours negotiating and haggling. He was not going to give up on this place but he was not going to pay six hundred dollars for two nights. Ultimately the women caved and offered him a room for four hundred dollars only if he checked in after ten pm. Apparently some hotshot frequented the place and was giving it up for a day but they were very loose on check out time with the man so he picked up a nasty habit of leaving late each of his stays. The poor lady figured he wouldn’t accept because it seemed like a day wasted but Javier jumped at the opportunity. 

  His conversation with his father lasted for only ten more minutes before he hugged him and shoe’d him out of the room.

 He arrives at Melissa Diaz’s home at 7:15 pm. You're at the door with your belongings. A smile isn’t on your face the way his is, your eyes are dark and you barely get hello out. Your mother and Frankie wave you off while Javi loads the car. The weight of his coat pocket feels heavier. 

The two of you are on the road at 7:20. He looks over at you, taking note of your uncharacteristic quietness. Javier’s eyes scan your casual outfit of jeans and a blue t-shirt, he thinks you look lovely. You always do. He can tell you haven’t slept much, still he wonders how he got so lucky. But not even his desire for you can outweigh his discomfort at the state of you– the circumstance. 

When Javier received your call asking to be picked up from your mothers home instead of the hotel he hadn’t really thought twice. It’s the holidays, it’s only normal. Javier hadn’t batted an eye at the request but given your brief hello and silence he wondered– “Is everything all right?” Your body entirely turned away from him like an angry child. 

Your eyes part from the window and lock with his for a moment before he has to look back onto the road. “Yeah. Why?” It’s blunt and a bit cold and Javier wonders if he’s done something wrong. 

He clears his throat, looks at his rearview mirror at a Subaru riding his ass and fights the urge to scoff at the asshole behind him. “Uh–” He uses his signal and switches lanes. “Just because you were at your moms house and you’re kind of quiet.” And you reek of wine, which is fine but all things considered, Javier is worried. He can’t see your change in face but he feels it. You face the window again.

“Me and mom are making things work out. She apologized to me, I didn’t really accept it but y’know I'm giving it a try.” It’s mumbled, and Javier frowns for a moment.

 He thinks of the comments he’s heard. He remembers bringing you food on holidays, he held you while you cried speaking of her. His protective bone is alert when it comes to you, and even if it’s an over step he can’t help himself from being skeptical. “That’s good—great actually. How do you feel about it.”

“Good.”

Javier resists the urge to chuckle, you’ve got quite the mood going. “Are you sure? She hurt you quite a bit—”

“Good lord.” You cut him off and shift farther away from him and his heart clenches. You murmur something under your breath and it makes him a little mad. His cheeks heat and he’s officially out of Laredo now. 

“What Andrea?”

“What?”

He exhales, a bit frustrated. “What did you say under your breath?” You pivot your body toward him the best you can and your eyes are wild. Javier figures that maybe this has to do with more than your mother.

 “Sometimes it feels like you want me to be a mess. That’s what I said.” You snap. 

His chin quivers in confusion, hurt. He does his best to look at you then at the road. It hurts him in a spot untouched. You’ve argued, sure, but what's always been clear to each other was your intentions. Or so he thought. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be okay. Although it comes to him as a slap to the face he decides it can’t be what you really mean. Still, he barely can make any words out in his disbelief, you continue, “I just told you that I’m actually getting along with my mother and the first thing you do is question if that’s good for me?!”

You’re nearly yelling and he realizes this is what we’re doing. Arguing, starting off their New Year just right.

Javier brings his free hand to his jaw, scratching the stubble there. He clears his throat again, “That’s a fucked up thing say and I don’t think you truly mean it. Forgive me then for trying to look out for you. Let’s be done with this now, we’ve got five hours on the road. I rather not waste it arguing.” Javier dismisses. Because no, they weren’t going to be this couple. The one arguing the entire trip. The couple being hurtful to each other for no reason. He glances over at you again and your face is hot. 

“No—no. We’re going to talk.” 

“Talk sure, go ahead Andrea—where is this coming from? What happened at your moms house?”

“Nothing Javi. Nothing happened, it was good. I had a good time and it’s working for me. Are you okay with that?” It’s mocking, your tongue is molten with anger. He’s really wondering what he’s done wrong. He’s been trying really hard.

“Of course and despite whatever spiral you��re obviously going down none of that’s true. I don’t fucking want you to be a mess. I never saw you as a mess, you’re talking to me like I’m some creep you just met that wants to fix you, all I ever wanted was to be with you.” It’s jumbled and heated and he can’t believe he’s saying this right now, ten minutes into your drive. He can’t believe he has to say this, “I thought you knew that.” The second part is whispered and now you’re at a stop light. He looks at you now, you’re facing forward, cheeks stained and lips red from whatever you’ve consumed at your mothers house. He hates it when you cry, he truly does it hurts him bone deep. 

The silence is pregnant and he hopes the light never changes. But it does and he’s back looking out at the stretching roads ahead.

“We shouldn’t sleep together tonight. Just be friends while we’re in Houston.” Your voice is shaking, you're trying not to let your tears get in the way of your speech. Javier feels like he’s in an alternate universe. He stays silent not only because he has nothing to say but because it’s given him whiplash. Like a knife digging into his ribs with a pop. 

We laid on my bed twenty-four hours ago and spoke of a good time together. Did I misread you? My mouth on your cunt hadn’t felt friendly. 

Then it settled in his chest with a light of anger. He debates for a few minutes, he hears you sniffle and he wonders if it’s worth it. But he must speak his mind or it’ll be another six years of these games. 

“I feel a bit tugged around by you.” His nostrils flare, the two of you haven’t argued, not like this. He has experience in these sorts of things, the more time they spend in silence, the bigger the blowup. 

“H-how?” It’s said in a way that wants to be curiosity but is laden with discomfort. 

“I—Andrea. The first night we saw each other I fucked up. I made it seem like I was out living this life of happiness and pleasure when I was really just self destructing trying to cure my loneliness. And—you made your rules—our rules. I wanted to follow them, I wanted to prove— fuck I want to prove to you that I’m ready, that i’m working on myself. And you changed them on me, and I still didn’t—don’t care that you did-” He exhales, knuckles white against the steering wheel. His thumbs flex and unflex. “Well I do care because I want to kiss you and I want to fuck you. I do want to call you pretty in front of your family. I want to spend too many unhealthy hours together, and I want to take you out on dates but I know that we’ve got to take it slow. But then you strip naked in my bedroom or climb in my lap and lay with me and then you tell me we should go back to being friends. It just isn’t fair.” 

His voice is steady yet his heart is racing, slamming against his ribcage and he still has four and a half hours left on the road. He looks over at you for a moment, and your face has gone pale. 

You’re biting at your lips, and avoiding his eyes. “I’m just trying my hardest to protect myself.” You whisper. 

Javier’s brows crumpled, “From me?” He waits with bated breath. Afraid of the answer and it seems like you are too. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What are we doing then?”

“I don’t fucking know Javi!” You shout and he really can’t believe you’re doing this right now. 

“Well you knew a lot five minutes ago when you accused me of trying to keep you a mess, so please tell me what you meant by that?” His hand is flailing, and he’s trying his best not to raise his voice at you. He’s not that sort of man. 

Something has gotten you riled up, “You—you know my father left me, you know what it did to me and you always leave me—because you know that when you come back I'll have no choice but to fall at your feet. You always keep me at arms length. You keep me burning for you.” 

Those were the words of Lorraine, not you. Not you.

You’re stuttering because you can’t believe your own words.

It’s bullshit, it’s all bullshit. You can’t mean any of it, he knows you can’t. It isn’t based in reality, it isn’t the way any of this went down. Yet it hits him in that deep space of insecurity, where he feared. When he would wonder if he was only adding to your damage, if his mistake is making him into his mother and in turn, your father. 

“I left you once. Ten years ago, I tried my hardest to make that up to you but you left me too.” He keeps his voice steady, he feels desperate. You weren’t the only person hurt.

“You didn’t want to see me— then we don’t talk and I come back here and we fall so easily into this cycle of hooking up and being sweet and—fuck.” You shout, “It doesn’t fucking matter we just hurt each other too much.” 

Javier lets it stay silent, he wants to reach over and wipe your tears away with the rough pad of his thumb. It’s a sort of quiet that lasts too long, long enough for him to think of his future. Scraping snow off a windshield, cooking in a kitchen that is yours— ours. He sees you bitten by the cold air of New York City, he sees himself placing his warm hands on your cheek when you’ve come home from work. You’d lean against his palm and kiss him, you’d have dinner together. He’ll bother you about how badly he wants a baby, you’ll wave him off. Then you’ll sleep in bed together, he’ll work the next day. You’ll both come home around the same time, exhausted still you’ll take off your socks and dance around the kitchen with him. Then you’ll tell him you want a baby too. He would write in his journal about it, about his fears but none of it will include you. You’ll kiss him, a real kiss, every day before work. You’d argue over stupid shit, then apologize and work through it. You’ll be married by July. And neither of you will ever need to want anything else, anything more.

“So do we stop trying?” Please say no, he begs. We can fix this. 

“Maybe.” You reply.

I don’t know why I can’t stop hurting myself, You think. I know that none of this is me, I know I’m afraid. Anger is the easiest emotion to release. 

Before you left, your mother tells you not to rebel against what you’ve wanted just because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Maybe you’ll do it yourself and save yourself from this feeling of trepidation. 

You don’t talk the entire car ride. The road is dark and you rarely pass through a town, just some homes scattered, small cities and the sound of a truck so old you can’t believe it’s running. You spend the first hour of silence looking out the window, regretting every word out of your mouth. You spend another twenty minutes wondering if he’d accept you if you just apologized right then. If you told him that you’ve never been so afraid, that you’re self destructing. You weren’t yourself, you’ve never yelled at him before. You cry 3 hours after the fight, quietly.

 Despite the way you’ve acted when he inevitably hears you he doesn’t hesitate to place his cold calloused hand at the back of your neck. His thumb rubs at the top of your spine. You lean into the touch, and wonder what you’ve done to deserve him.  You sit farthest away from him, your body angry at him and your heart wanting to reach over. His fingers stretch into your scalp, you turn to look over at him and the sight is awful.

You get the breathtaking view of the side of his face, your favorite part of him. His strong brow bone, the strong arch of his nose and the soft curve of his lips. His eyes are wet and his cheeks are stained too.

You turn your head back toward the window. You try your hardest not to make any noise when you cry much fiercer than you have before. What have we done to each other? Why did I do this, I didn’t mean any of it. 

He eventually moves his hand and settles on the gear after he wipes his cheeks furiously. 

He pulls into the drive-thru of a 24 hour Dairy Queen. It’s the first time you've spoken in nearly four hours, “I’m not hungry.” You murmur, and he lets out a sigh.

 He still orders you food, and you lick your fingers and share a coke, music plays to fill the silence. You eat the pickles off his burger, he doesn’t ask, he just opens his sandwich for you and you pick them out to eat. It’s like when you were kids and he’d open his McDouble and you’d shift a few feet backwards and he’d throw the pickles into your mouth. In turn you offered him your ice cream and he dipped his fries in your vanilla sundae. 

When all is done you ask, “How much do I owe you?” Wiping crumbs off your lap. Javier coughs into his fist and narrows his eyes. Face laced with such disgust as he turns the truck back on.

Once the evening lights of Houston illuminated the car the dread ensued. You prayed you’d be so tired that once you reached the room you’d crash and feel everything tomorrow but as he pulls into the strip of hotels and clubs you feel like a live wire. Ready to burst into flames. 

Yesterday you had those thoughts, those baseless fears. Everything's coming together, you are moving on from your father. You are relearning your mother. Your brother accepts you for all that you are. 

Then there's Javi, so willing, and open for you. So you punish yourself, you tell yourself you can't have it all. Your twisted brain tells you that maybe he won’t want you when you’re a whole person. Those were the rotten thoughts that plagued you while you were alone on a mattress that wasn’t your own. Having thoughts that don’t feel your own. 

He parks in a parking structure attached to an extravagant building, The Auditorium Hotel. Your brows furrow and it comes back to you. When you were eleven your mother took you and Frankie to Houston for the weekend. You remembered this trip clearly– simply because your hair was braided in two french braids that your taxi driver called chic, which made you grin hard. You remembered passing this building, on the corner of Texas Avenue, four blocks from the dingy place your mother rented. She placed a hand on your shoulder, it was a rare touch from her and she leaned over, Rita Moreno stays here sometimes, she whispered to you. Your child heart fluttered, you had completely worn out your mothers copy of West Side Story by age nine. It was a delightful moment, one you couldn’t hold close because the bad outweigh those small moments with your mother. 

You wished to stay there, like a celebrity. Like Rita Moreno.

You had a small clipping of the hotel from the paper on your mirror for years. The mirror that had pictures of Rita, Madonna, Hepburn, Stevie Nicks, your lacrosse team, The University of Miami, wedding venues from your mothers Bridal Guide magazine and in that top corner The Auditorium in Houston.

An afterthought by the end of your adolescence, yet still a tiny dream of yours never expressed to anyone. Of course, Javier paid attention. He’d been in your room hundreds of times, passed your mirror many times and sometimes he’d just look at the pictures around it. 

It was so like him to make every moment special for you. He held your bags and spoke to the desk worker while you basked in the reality that you were really here. Foreboding being sad in such a beautiful place. Guilt rising to the tongue at the thought of Javier being excited to take you here just to dimmed by your outburst. You looked up around you, basking in the chandeliers and the beautiful ceiling design, eyes panning to the signature velvet carpeted stairs. You had a picture of Rita Moreno on those stairs. You turn to look at him while he converses with the woman at the desk, she laughs at a comment he makes and he smiles, it causes your heart to skip a beat. The  prospect of someone making him smile when it’s been long since he has. A bellhop grabs your bags from his side and Javier smiles at him as well. 

You observe the expanse of him while he slides his card to the attendant. It’s the first time you've gotten a full look at him today, he’s wearing that brown worn jacket you love and his favorite pair of dark blue jeans. He looks so handsome, it stirs the dread in your belly. 

He gives a parting smile to the woman and catches you staring with a pressed lip smile. Holding up a key, he says nothing and beckons you with his head to follow. You do so, in a daze, a haze of loving him so dearly and wondering how to fix this. You can't help but to feel like you’ve really spoiled it all when your elevator ride isn’t filled with kisses and close proximity but a clenched jaw and a frown. Once your shoes are on the lush carpeted hallways you begin to remind yourself of all things that you loved that seemed unimportant to everyone but him. You found it jarring the way truly listens when you speak, you find it heartbreaking the way he tries to learn you without asking. The way he pays attention to things unspoken. 

The room is 507, when he turns the key you’re brought to a brightness you weren’t prepared for. The room is far more beautiful than you could have dreamt. 

First of all, it’s a suite. You approach a living space with sage green walls and beautiful grey couches, a breakfast nook with a window facing the city. Your breath is caught in your throat, your bags are placed delicately in a corner.

 A bottle of champagne placed over ice in a silver bucket at the dinner table. Standing still in the middle of the living room, he walks past you, placing his duffle bag on the table and unpacking a few items. 

“I'm going to get ready for bed.” He murmurs before walking past you to shut the bathroom door. It’s nearly a slam and you’re on the verge of collapsing.

 You felt as if you were on the cusp of sobbing the entire night away, so you hurried to grab your things for bed. Hoping to be tucked away, so he couldn’t see. You undress in the living room, pulling a t-shirt and sleep shorts on in a rush. You’ve been avoidant before, but you fear you're reaching new levels. Your hands shake as you fold your clothes and place them right back in your bag. You hear the faucet and him coughing, once you walk into the arch leading into the bedroom your stomach flips at the sight of two beds. 

You had no choice but to hide from him, to cry into your pillow while he stared at the ceiling. I do want to try, I don’t know what's gotten into me. 

With a heavy heart you unravel the blankets and settle into bed. Your head pounds and you know you’ve ruined it all. You can’t cry, no, not until he falls asleep. 

Out of the corner of your eye he comes out of the bathroom, he looks at you for a moment. As his gaze roves over your form, under those layers, you watch his eyes look pained. Shortly afterward he gets into his bed. 

 You shut your eyes but your heart is beating in your ears. You feel warm all over, the wine left your system hours ago so this was new. A sense of panic. 

How could it be, that when it's all said and done it was me who got in my own way?

Your chin quivers and it starts off silent because you remember the feeling of sleeping next to him when you were kids. Many feet away, turning over your shoulder to see if he’s fallen asleep yet just to see that he was awake staring at your back. You’d blush and he’d make a face. Then you remember yesterday, your head leaning on his shoulder while your feet touched his low slanting ceiling. How he ran a hand up your calf and made you cackle so hard your legs dropped. You banged your ankle a bit. Beyond his laughter he crawled to your ankle to give it a kiss. You pictured– no you felt– the panic you subjected to yourself when you realized that maybe this will all work out. 

A panic based on nothing but the fear of finally being happy. Then you pictured his face, with tears down his cheeks after you pulled the rug out from under him. After he planned all this, after he fought tooth and nail just to have you– and not even that you’ll give him.

You let out an awful sound, no longer silent. Your shoulders shaking, you cover your mouth with your palm. Everyone knew the way you cried, that sort of tear wiping sob that truly felt embarrassing to still do at this age. Never, no matter the argument or how fed up with each you had been. There was never a moment where the two of you were avoiding each other in the same room. Tears stain your pillow, pooling and irritating the skin at the corner of your eyes. It reminds you of the nights you spent after the wedding, those first few months in New Orleans when you just wished he was there. 

And now he is, and you’ve ruined it all. 

“Andrea, could you please just come to bed?” It comes out as a rasp and your heart sinks at the sound. You blink a few times, wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. You don’t move and he speaks again, “I know you're angry at me but just come lay with me.”

Your heart flutters. Sitting up your hair falls to your shoulders and you look at him through the dark. He’s looking over at you from his empty bed and you can make out the crease in his brow. 

You stare at him for a few seconds longer before it begins, the string of words. “I–I’m so sorry, I don’t want to fight with you– I didn’t mean any of it.” You cry, “I don’t know what's gotten into me. I just got in my head–” He’s at his feet with the soft creak of the bed and he’s got you, his hand in your hair while you wrap tightly against his stomach. You wet his shirt the way you did the day he left you, “I ruined-”

“You didn’t, I know you—I know you Andrea. Just come to bed.” His hand runs from your hair down to your back, like he’s ready to gather you in his big hands himself. You move with him and he takes you by the hand, onto his bed. “Please don’t cry anymore, querida.” He whispers while he lifts the sheets to let you in. He follows suit and immediately pulls your body into his.

You disobey his request because you can’t help it, because it’s so like him to give you another chance. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck while he engulfs you in his strong arms, you feel a light kiss at your crown. 

“I’ve always known what I want.” You admit. You feel him shift against your body, his hands abandon your waist and come to cradle your jaw, he takes a good look at you with a creased brow and red eyes. “I’m scared now that I’m getting it. I’m sorry I hurt you, you aren’t like my father. And I know you want what's best for me. I fucking ruined this trip” The last part comes with a defeated laugh, it’s late and your head is spinning.

His lips twitch in a frown, “You didn’t ruin anything. It hasn’t even started yet.” Javier’s thumb brushes away a tear of yours. “For what it's worth I didn’t believe anything you said–besides– the part where you said that maybe we should stop trying.” He says it reluctantly, he’s just as scared as you.

“I didn’t mean it,” You rush, “And you’re right, I’ve been a mess since I first saw you on Christmas eve. I keep making these rules I can't seem to follow. It must have been confusing for you.” You knew, somewhere inside that these rules weren't attempts to protect yourself but attempts to get in the way of what you really want. 

He looks relieved, “We’ll just be us then, we’ll be careful but we can be us. We’ll figure it out in the New Year?” You nod, your migraine slowly fades every moment you look into his eyes. “I want to have a good time, I want to show you around where I stayed back then.” You brighten up a bit,

“That sounds lovely,” Exhale, you take in for a moment the way it feels to be held by him.

I’d bleed for anyone if they only held me the right way. No, you think, not anyone. Just you. 

“This place–”

“I fought that woman at the front desk for hours for this room.” His mustache is a bit overgrown, it bleeds into his smile in a way that is endearing beyond belief. 

“I would have been happy anywhere.”

“I did it for you. I do everything for you, I don’t care if that scares you.” He’s unapologetic. You can't help but grin. 

“I never told you about this place.” You look down at his chest, you place a hand there. 

“You didn’t have to. I passed by that picture for years. I passed by this hotel on my way to work for even longer, I thought of you everytime.”

“I didn’t really know anyone ever noticed that sort of stuff.”

“I do.” He admits and he keeps it at that. You bask in those words and he allows you. You move farther into his chest, all you could smell is him. You wish there was a way to be closer. Be smothered, will have to do.

He whispers something you can’t quite catch. Falling asleep is easier than it’s ever been. 

Just the two of you burning. 

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 3 – Rebirthday

I had the appointment. I passed the test. I’ve got the little package that will change everything.

I hold it tight all the way home. Part of me is still angry at my contact for messing with me like that – and the rest is in something like stunned amazement that I actually have it.

Now I’m home. I open it up.

There are two kinds of pills. First there’s antihominidone. That’s the humanity blocker, the one that lets my body change and stops it trying to change back. People transitioning to lots of different species take this one.

Then there’s the other one, the one that does the hard work of actually changing me. ‘Shifterising hormone’, it says on the label – they don’t even have a scientific name for it. There’s a little instruction book with doses – one of each a day – but it doesn’t say a lot about side effects or timelines. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, going DIY – this isn’t stuff you’d get from a doctor, after all. Almost no one’s been through this before. It’s super experimental, and I’m the experiment. The whole process takes two to three years, but what to expect when is pretty vague.

This is when my anxiety kicks in. Experimental treatment? Becoming another species? What am I doing?

I take one of the hormone pills out. It’s a clear capsule full of liquid. I turn it over, and the liquid slowly drops from one end to the other. It’s thick and gooey, which makes sense, since I’m going to be gooey. It looks a bit like the fluid shifters are made of, but without the life of the real thing. How do they make this stuff? Do they distil it from their own bodies or something? It’s not made of dead shifters, is it? Geez, I hope it’s not made of dead shifters. —Nope, nope, not thinking that way. Lots of other things are gooey. It could be anything. It could be literal magic, for all I know.

They’re so secretive, since they don’t want anyone else figuring out how to make it. Maybe I should save some and smuggle it to the other groups who are trying to? No, who am I kidding, this is for me – I’m not wasting a single drop.

Stop. Focus.

Changing species is much bigger than changing gender, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite as scary as that did – because this time, I’ve been through something like this before. I’ve sat here, scared and desperate, staring at pills that might as well be magic, before. Looking back, it doesn’t feel like I ‘changed’ gender at all – I just stopped pretending to be something I wasn’t. Sounds easy. Sounds obvious. Hopefully, one day, I’ll look back and this will feel the same.

I trust myself so much more than I did back then. I was right the first time, and that makes me confident I’m right this time, too.

And my friends and family? We’ve been through the fire together once. The ones who would leave left then – that’s what I tell myself. But I don’t really know how anyone will react to this. That’s a problem for another day.

The first two pills are on the table in front of me. Here goes.

* * *

It’s done. I’ve taken it. I feel all tingly, though surely it can’t be having an effect already. I think that’s just the excitement and the fear and everything.

I call the day I started estrogen ‘Rebirthday’, because that’s how it felt. I never thought I’d have another day like that. Now I have one birthday and two rebirthdays. I am a shifter. Even through all my doubts and fears, I can truly say that now, for the first time. I want to laugh. I want to cry.

I am a shifter. I am me. I know the next few years will be hard, I know there will be pain, but I can’t wait.

This is what I am.

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[unculturedmamoswine]

Fiddauthor Recs

Ya want a Fiddauthor rec list??? You got it. This is just some fiddauthor I have in my bookmarks, in no particular order. I’m not adding warnings, so pay attention to the tags and such. If a fic is a WIP, I’ll let you know. And please DO add your own recs in comments or reblogs, especially if you know of fics that aren’t on AO3!

 If you read these fics, please consider leaving kudos and comments for the authors!

We’re Still Here by hellmandraws

Not fic, but a fan comic starting with college fiddauthor and going all the way through post-series. So great and really worth a read!

rumination: a guided tour by gesso (1.9k words)

Author’s summary: For all the words, expressions, languages he knows; for all the intelligence, experience -- sometimes it's just easier to show, rather than tell. And maybe that means using the mindscape to just pull up very specific memories in a certain order. Because Stanford Pines would much rather take the most convoluted route possible, especially if that means he can avoid plainly talking about his emotions (past and present). [Unlike the other drabbles in this series, this is not complete, and cuts off kind of abruptly at the end of the draft I have]

This fic is sooo worth a read. Technically a WIP, but don’t let that dissuade you.

Somnus Idigus by Abyssalzones (2k words)

Author’s summary: It's hard to sleep, still, nearly a full year after Bill's defeat. Ford manages to be coaxed to bed by kind words and gentle hands, and wonders just what he did to deserve this kind of understanding. (AKA: Ford has nightmares, keeps trying to put off sleep, Fiddleford manages to lovingly wrangle him to bed.)

Sooo sweet! The exact kind of post-canon snuggly Fiddauthor fic I need in this world!

Intricate Rituals by HazelnutofFortune (1.5k words)

Author’s summary: “Fiddleford,” Ford says. He hates asking for help. 

“Mmm?” Fiddleford asks, looking up, scalpel still raised. 

“ Um, could you show me how to get at that big clump next to the Aorta?” How humiliating. Why did he even ask. Except-

“Well, sure,” Fiddleford sets down the heart and takes Ford’s a little gingerly. My heart is in his hands, Ford thinks. Fuck. 

Extremely cute! A WIP! College Fiddauthor and Ford is soooo smitten.

Jersey Boy by Fordtato (110k words)

Author’s summary: Ford does not want to be at Backupsmore University. He should be in California, at West Coast Tech, showing the world that he's more than a freakish waste of space from Jersey; showing the world that he's more than the scrawny, brainy half of a dynamic duo. He's angry, sure, and he's sure-as-fuck tired of being just one-of-two-Stans.

But who isn't angry right now? The world is in turmoil, they're sending our boys to Vietnam and if it wasn't for this stupid school, Ford would have probably been sucked into the draft himself.

But then he meets Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and everything is different now.

A slowburny fic that really digs into the historical side of college Fiddauthor. It doesn’t shrink away from the tougher, uglier stuff that being a poor, gay, Jewish college student in the seventies would mean for someone. Features an angry, confused Ford who is having a Hard Time. Also has a whole host of interesting OCs! Also a WIP. This fic takes a turn or two that I really didn’t expect and I’m very excited to see where it goes, as the author is on record saying that they WILL finish it.

if you love me, come clean by Athgalla (105k words)

Author’s summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.

Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!

iylmcc spans Ford and Fidds’s first meeting through post-series. It’s so interesting, and so sweet, and has so many wonderful details! Just a great take on their relationship that you deserve to read, dear reader. Treat yourself!

Maybe It’s Not Too Late by GinAndShatteredDreams (main fic is 82k words, whole series is 110k)

Author’s summary of the main fic: Overall: A post-weirdmageddon asexual Fiddauthor fic in which revelations occur, a confession goes awry, some unfinished business reemerges in the form of a raging pterodactyl, and chaos ensues. (vaguely romantic - hugs/hand holding/cuddling/comfort, no kisses - just adding that so I don't disappoint anyone who's hoping for it - or maybe for the sake of people (like me) who sometimes like to read something without ;))

(Edit - No romantic kisses. There's a forehead kiss between family members at one point.)

*It would probably be good to mention that most of this was written before the journal came out and even after, I tried to keep true to the ideas formed before reading it with one exception that is noted later.

So as you can tell, I linked you the whole series. A both super angsty and very sweet fic with wonderful asexual post-series Fiddauthor! I’ve never read anything quite like it, totally check it out.

Romance is Overrated and Living Confusing by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat (25k words)

Author’s summary: Stanford and Fiddleford started out as college roommates and over the years grew into something more than friends but just to the side of what others would consider a "normal relationship." But honestly, is it really anyone's business what they are as long as they care deeply for each other?

Scenes from Stanford's life as he tries to figure out where he fits in a world built for romance and traditional family dynamics.

This fic is restricted– you need an AO3 account to read it. Also, it’s part of a series, but the other fic is Stan-centric so it’s not a part of this rec list. Aaaand also it’s a WIP. Okay, with that out of the way, this is another Ace!Fiddauthor fic, which you know I’m all about! This fic is more about college and research-aged Fiddauthor, and it’s as delightfully fraught as you could hope. The author also does a cool thing regarding Fiddleford’s time in Oregon, while still keeping it canon-compliant. My hat is off to them.

To Struggle For Dreams And To Hunger For More by Voidfish (8k words)

Author’s summary: “Am I gay?” Ford reads the quiz out loud, before clicking to begin. To his frustration, most of the questions are simply asking him if he has had sex with men (he hasn’t), if he wants to (he isn’t quite sure), or if he ever will (the jury is still out). Nothing defines attraction, no one clarifies if the burn in his stomach is love or gastrointestinal issues, and nothing leaves him feeling any better on the subject.

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Stanford Pines has never loved a woman but, he realizes with a painful jolt, he can’t say with certainty he’s never loved a man.

Aaaaaa I love this fic. I love it sooo much. Post-series and Ford is trying to figure out his sexuality and his feelings for Fidds. Plus a scene where he comes out to Stan! Just a delight.

And Shifty Makes Three by Sarelle (13k words)

Author’s summary: Ford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket deal with the ups and downs of relationships and parenthood in 1970s Oregon. A task not much aided by the fact they have to keep secret the true identity of their shapeshifting alien grub son, from friends, family and the Feds.

Based on WDW's Shiftyverse, can be read as a standalone.

I fucking LOVE this fic!! Aaaaa the little details about Ford and Fidds and their relationship! Their alien son!! This fic is so up my alley it’s bonkers.

queer clan in the middle of the woods by toosolidcuuj (series is 23k words)

Author’s summary of the series: *to the tune of "our house" by madness* queer clan in the middle of the woods, queer clan in the middle of the

Canon-divergent AU in which Stan and Ford make up, adopt an alien, and gradually amass an extended queer family.

This is ALSO a Shifty-adopting fic! With Fiddauthor! This one also has Stan, and focuses a lot on Stan and Ford fixing up their fraternal relationship in addition to the Fiddauthory bits. I haven’t reread it in a hot second but I remember it being very fun but also taking Shifty’s trauma quite seriously, which I thought was interesting and cool to read.

(There's a) Half moon rising in southeastern skies by orphan_account (17k words)

Author’s summary: A series of memories, all compiled in convenient cinema-reel format. It’s all here, folks, the good, the bad, the sexy, the emotionally distressing. Next to nothing left out.

Sad that this fic was orphaned– I love it. It’s in second person, and I’m all about that! Fiddleford looking back at his fractured memories post-series and also reconnecting with Ford. Absolutely wonderful characterization. Author, if you’re out there, I love this fic!! I hope you are happy with it in your heart!!

Syncing Phases by toosolidcuuj (5k words)

Author’s summary: Stan has gone his whole life never imagining he had a twin, let alone an android twin who can shoot cannons out his hands, makes money appear out of thin air, and has a close relationship with a werewolf named Fiddleford McGucket. Even more surprisingly, FORD needs Stan's help erasing a world-ending computer virus. But BILL has allies in many places, leaving the Stans uncertain who they can trust.

WIP. This fic is SUCH a fun and interesting concept!! Only child!Stan, Werewolf!Fidds, Robot!Ford??? Yes, please! A totally unique fic that is so fun to read!

[rampagingfanfictioner14]

relativity falls, but... (Part 3)

And then we come to the crux of the matter. What happens next?

Well, Bill makes good on his promise and talks to Candy and Soos. He'd like to limit the number of people involved in this project, but he needs Soos's hands and Candy's brain to make this whole thing work, so he's just going to have to put up with it.

Candy excitedly accepts the proposal, not even thinking twice. Sure, Mason sounds a bit weird, but maybe he's just caught a cold or something. She's a curious person at heart, and a brilliant one too. After college, she'd moved away from Gravity Falls to somewhere in California, selling some junk like personal computers and whatnot. Still, at "Mason's" insistence, she drops everything and moves back to her hometown anyway, already thinking about all the discoveries they could make through such an ambitious project.

Soos... doesn't. He apologizes, but he's got family to take care of now, and he can't dedicate himself to the project like asked. Bill is angry by the refusal and almost starts shouting at him, but eventually settles on slamming the phone down and forcing himself to think that it's better this way anyway. That fat oaf wasn't good for much other than his strength. He'd make do somehow.

The main task was drafting the equations for the portal. The thinking. It required brains, not brawn.

The actual portal construction was a problem for later, he decides. This Candy better be as smart as Mason had made her sound.

...And yep, she definitely is. Her relationship with the anxiety-ridden Mason is... similar to Ford and Fiddleford, but not quite. Mason's adventurous, very much so --- but whenever she tags along he's quieter than usual, almost always worrying over something or the other, unable to focus (a side-effect of Mabel leaving; his anxiety roams unchecked and his social awkwardness is worse than ever without her to be his rock).

---Unless he sees something cool. Then he's bolting off towards it with that journal of his, and leaving Candy in the dust.

As they work, they form a close friendship. It's always been there since their college days, really, but... Candy likes Mason, for all his quirks. Maybe likes him a little too much.

But Mason is far too distracted by Bill. Maybe in some other time, if they'd done this a year or so ago, they could've been something more. It's too late now. He's not always even there. He tries to keep up with Candy, but his main concern is the portal, and besides, Mason doesn't like social interactions much anyway.

He scrawls his notes in his journals to keep records of his findings, and spends all of his free time either with Bill, drawing up equations, or with Candy, poring over paradigm theory and other complicated jargon. Sometimes he drifts off and unconsciously allows Bill to take over, waking up to fully completed drawings and a new couple of stacks of equations to check.

His obsession with that portal eventually gets quite tiring to deal with, honestly. It's like their college days all over again. The one thing that Candy doesn't appreciate is having to constantly nag at the man to eat or drink something. Did he not feel his body shutting down? At this rate, he was going to waste away.

It's a pretty nice life, though, ignoring Mason's occasional, inexplicable "personality switches" (she can't think of anything else that would make him act so strange and off-putting; she'd searched the whole house for any evidence of drugs but never found any. Either Mason's upped his hiding game, or he's gone and developed some mental illness, but she doesn't have enough evidence for that and she's not going to confront him while having no proof).

She doesn't understand in time. The time comes to test the portal, and everything goes wrong.

Brief summary, 'cuz I can't be bothered writing it all out:

Candy gets chucked through the portal (whether that be because of canon reasons or some other universe-specific one is up for grabs).

Mason manages to pull her back, but she's knocked completely off-kilter; shellshocked and terrified; stuttering, spewing gibberish, before abruptly running away from the house and quitting on the spot.

Mason's... confused. He realizes that he was being insensitive by demanding to know what she'd seen through the portal, but surely it wasn't anything too bad, right? Bill told him so. He reaches out to her after a few days of radio silence, but she brushes him off, almost seeming to have forgotten the whole thing entirely. This makes him kinda angry. Why was she being so dismissive when it was clear she'd something terrible? Why wouldn't she tell him? He goes to the only friend he has left, Bill, for answers.

Bill convinces Mason that Candy's just another betrayer, like Mabel, taking advantage of him. Still, Mason can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Bill tells him to focus on the portal. It was his only priority.

Final tweaks to the portal are made. Mason realizes that Candy's starting some sort of cult, having disregarded his advice to get rid of her memory gun, running around town and erasing the memories of everyone who'd seen something strange.

That does it. He knows something's wrong. Candy never acted like this. There was something terrible behind that portal and he needed to have a very serious chat with Bill.

And whatdya know, surprise surprise, Bill's a professional backstabber in disguise. Womp womp, Mason, his monsters are gonna invade your dimension, and it's all because of you! Because you trusted the wrong person... again.

Mason goes full panic-mode. Like Ford, but worse, because he's Mason, and when he gets paranoid, he gets paranoid. He locks the doors and buys like fifty different deadbolts. He locks the windows and the skylight and even the entrance to the roof, and spends his nights in the basement still, huddled up in the darkest, most hidden corner with only a lamp to keep him company. Every shadow makes him flinch, every sound as loud as a gunshot in the silence. Every time he accidentally drifts off he wakes with like a dozen serious injuries and angry, bloody scratches and scribbles on the walls from Bill's unsuccessful attempts to break into the retinal-scanner protected portal room.

Mason's not in a good place. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

---

My brainworms have taken a break for now so I'll have to sum up the next plot points:

Mabel receives a postcard from Mason, agonizes over it for a minute or so before promptly dropping everything and rushing to Gravity Falls.

Mason doesn't open the door, too paranoid to move from his spot in the basement. Using a secret code from their childhood, he'd encoded the instructions on how to get to him, hoping that Mabel would remember (and besides, the man's running on about ten shots of caffeine and hasn't slept in over a month; cut him some slack --- he's definitely not thinking clearly).

Thankfully, the universe aligns properly and Mabel does remember the code, hurrying down to the basement and instantly tripping an alarm, about three traps, and injures her wrist.

Mason's wild eyes meet hers. The estranged twins exchange a brief moment of absolute, utter shock: Mason not having expected Mabel to actually turn up, and Mabel not having expected her brother to look like a dead man walking.

Same stuff as canon basically happens: Mabel and Mason haven't learned to communicate well due to their less than ideal childhood, and both of them are tired, traumatized, and tactless with their words. A fight happens: although with a lot more hair-pulling, slapping, and shouting than punches.

Mason doesn't believe he's better than Mabel, so there's no talk about doing "the first worthwhile thing" in her life and whatnot. But still, there are some pretty damn hurtful words thrown about. Mabel gets branded by the symbol next to the control panel. Mason almost dies from sheer exhaustion.

It doesn't really matter, though. In the end, the results are the same. Mason is still thrown through the portal and his first journal still ends up in Mabel's hands, the constellation shimmering on the cover almost tauntingly; the only real thing she had left of her brother.

At first, she almost doesn't believe it. She waits for him to return, frozen, her shoulder burning as the brand sizzled on her skin. Then reality sinks in, and she's horrified. Had... Had she just killed her twin?

Then that famous determination sparks. Mabel vows to bring Mason back home, even if it's the last thing she does. Even if what's left is only a few specks of dust, even if he hates her for it. She's a terrible person, she knows, and Mason's got every right to despise her. But the thought of him asking her to just leave, like she couldn't care less about him... Well. Frankly, the mere idea pissed her off.

She stays at Mason's house, unwilling to leave until she finishes her mission. And over time, she begins to recollect more details that she'd missed in her blind anger. She remembers Mason's distraught face, the dark liquid (blood?) trailing down his right eye, his pale skin. Something terrible had happened to her brother, she thinks with a rough swallow, looking down at the crimson staining the bathroom, red constellations etched almost mockingly in the unkept place. Something absolutely terrible. Horrible. Unspeakable.

She knows she needs food to continue her mission. Restarting the house's water and electricity would be nice too. And someone needed to pay off the mortgage. So she does what she does best: puts on a show.

The Dream House (this universe's Mystery Shack) begins as a simple Sparkle Hut. Something nice, something pretty, something that would catch the eye of wandering tourists or townspeople. But mere glitter isn't enough. She starts flipping through her brother's journal and complies a mismatched assortment of various creatures, creating a sleepy, almost hypnotic atmosphere to the shack--- and what better name for it than the Dream House?

>>>And that's it, peeps. My version of relativity falls is over (at least, the backstory part). I've speedran this whole thing over an hour, so some details are still rough --- but tell me what you think! It's funny that this whole thing was sparked by a lil conversation between me and my friend.

In short, Mabel and Dipper are not perfect twins. I think people underestimate just how much their decisions and experiences and attitudes was shaped by their summer in Gravity Falls. Remember, Stan and Ford were thick as thieves until they became like, 15 or something. A lot can change after you enter high school, especially when you've got your parents arguing 24/7 and terrible communication skills. Mabel and Dipper are not going to hug and be nice to each other after thirty years apart --- thirty years to stew in anger and regret and pain and sadness. They're not going to be as close as they were as kids, and that's okay. Don't be afraid to give them flaws in this au. It's absolutely wonderful to explore :)

---Thank you for reading.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5(prev)

[hughiecampbelle]

Survivor's Guilt (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Character/s: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roman, Logan

Word Count: 1,356

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I had these thoughts after my dad died, I still do, so I thought I'd put it into writing. It was how I found out, like the show, and it felt like a punch in the gut. I could not stop crying watching that episode. It only seemed fitting that Baby Roy would feel the same. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Was there anything you could have done differently? Was there anything you could have said to make it better? That day plays on loop in your head, before your eyes. In fragments. Broken pieces. Bits and pieces of conversation, of crying, then nothing. Others talking around you, but you were in a daze. It hadn’t sunk in then. The reality, the forever of it. It still doesn’t seem real. Someone holding you. Panic on the phone, incoherence, someone is saying something, but you’re not understanding. It isn’t making any sense. Someone screams, you think, but that detail is fuzzy. You think you imagined that part. They wanted you to come along, but you wouldn’t move, you couldn’t. Hands on you, guiding up on your feet, out the door. Your brother beside you. Your sister taking the front, being asked to say what no one else can. She’s crying. When was the last time you saw her cry? Forever ago. She tells him. You turn away, not wanting to see his reaction. Arms around you, holding you, all of this unreal. You say something. You still don’t know what, but it comes out in a choke. What had you said on the phone? Does it matter? You’re in a new room. People are apologizing. Connor doesn’t leave your side. He speaks softly, saying nice things, but you’re so cold. You’re cold and scared and you want to wake up from this terrible day. You want to wake up and laugh and call him because he’ll be there soon. He said he would. But he’s not. You’re in shock. Its the only reason you’re still breathing. Shock is saving you.

You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He’s in your dreams again, but they feel more like nightmares. You’re scared to see him, to hear him, to hear his laugh. You fear if you hear him and see him then you’ll never want to wake up. Whatever your relationship was like before, it doesn’t matter. All those messy years, years you spent angry at him, it all feels like a waste. Selfishly, you want that time back. Selfishly, you want the world to stop. You want the sun to stop rising and setting. You want the galaxy to freeze in the moment you found out. If your life had to stop, then you want everyone to suffer with you. It’s not fair that they’re smiling, laughing, enjoying themselves. It’s not fair that others got so much more time with him than you did. It’s not fair that they expect you to keep going like you’re not half-dead. There is a line in the sand, a Before and an After. Everything in your life can be split between this. Before and After. You want to go in the Before, for just a second longer. You want to breathe the air of Before, you want to see him again in the flesh, you want to hear his voice, you want to crawl back in time and settle in where no one will ever find you, but you can’t. There’s no going back. You’re trapped in the After for the rest of your life, for the rest of time. It is lonely here. It is quiet here. Nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, your own cries. He’ll never know this version of you, any other version of you. Whatever you do, whatever you accomplish, he won’t be there to see it. He won’t know. He never will. These thoughts consume you. They overtake your mind until you can’t breathe, sobbing, choking, screaming.

If he can’t sleep in a bed, why should you? If he can’t live, why should you? They call. When they can’t call, when you don’t take their calls, they visit. You’ve been sleeping on the floor for a while. It helps. It makes you feel small, in control. If he can’t eat then why should you? If he can’t be here, what’s keeping you? There are pillows and blankets stacked on the floor, between the bed and the wall. You stay in that spot more often than not. They come by. Sometimes they are gentle. Connor helps with laundry, he makes sure you’re eating, sleeping, showering. He is easy. He is kind. He understand that your grief is all-consuming. Sometimes they are not. Shiv is angry. Angry at him, angry at you, ordering you to get off the floor, to pick up the pieces of your life, and carry on like the rest of them. She wishes she could rot, but she can’t. There are important things and important people looking to her for guidance. It doesn’t matter what she says, you feel like you’re under water. You feel like you’re the only one drowning and everyone is watching. Roman does his best to coax you from your cocoon, but he can’t get you to go out, to get dressed. Hes not sure how to help, what to do. In the end he tucks you in on the couch, figuring its better than the floor, calling Kendall for guidance. You don’t move when he’s around, he doesn’t expect you to. He just wants to talk. Talk about Dad, his death, processing things by talking, hearing it come from his own mouth. You want to push him away, just another reminder, but he’s trying to help, so you must be kind. He pats your head. He throws another blanket on top of you. He has to go. They all do. They’re helpless in this, with you. Scared of what you’ll do, what you’ll try.

When you can pick yourself up again, when you can get dressed and make it to the office, everything is a reminder. Not just his name or his desk, but everything, everyone. It enrages you, the thought they they got together and talked about it and moved on like it was nothing, like your father wasn’t dead. Your eyes were red and watery, they could all see it. They say nothing. You’ve been named sensitive, implosive, delicate. They are to leave you to do what you want, per your siblings orders. Each of them checks on you through the morning, the afternoon, all day you spend at his desk. Sitting at it, but touching nothing. Shiv brings you coffee, Kendall lunch, Rome a car when you’ve had enough. Only Gerri is the one to notice you’re wearing one of his sweaters. It still smells like him. It feels like him. You’re not sure who brought it over, only that you’ve been wearing it since he died. After, when its dark, they call. They text. They email. Connor sends you pictures, but you can’t stand to look at them, at him, because it’s not him. That’s a body, but he’s not in there. Not anymore. You smash your phone. Then you check it, looking over the last texts you ever sent him. You should have told him you loved him. You should have told him what he meant to you. But you didn’t. And now you wouldn’t get a chance to.

How can you explain this to them? This immense guilt sitting on your chest. It should have been you. It doesn’t work like that, you know that, but you can’t help it. It should have been you. It should have been you. It should have been you. He had more time left, he had more of an impact. He had grandchildren and children and people who relied on him. You? You don’t have any of that. People don’t need you like they needed him. If you could trade places with him, if you could have been the one, you'd do it in a heartbeat. Everyone would be better off, you truly believe that. When you voice this to Connor, in a moment of defeat, he's quick to tell you you're wrong. You're wrong. He would be lost without you, they all would, but you know better. You believe better. If there was any possible way, you would have tried it already.

You would have done anything to get him back.

[lilithliliam]

Between two lovers

Shoto Todoroki v Bakugo Katsuki

Tags: fluffy, soft Love/Jealousy

please do not copy or modify my work. Thank you and enjoy reading 😌💜

You have been friends with Izuku for a long time, and therefore, when Shoto signed up for your team, you accepted him with all your friendliness. Of course, your best friend's friend is your new friend. At first, Shoto looked at you very strangely when you laughed, told jokes that everyone laughed at for some reason, although they did not seem funny to Shoto. You always seemed to glow like the sun. And you liked making people happier. And mistaking Shoto for a new friend, you wanted to make this gloomy boy happier too. But he didn't seem to be amused either by your jokes, or by your smile and your laughter, which everyone called infectious. He always looked at you as if you were crazy. But you did not lose heart. You took care of all your friends, including Shoto. Shared lunch. She hugged him when we met. She shared an umbrella with him if for some reason he did not take it, or forgot to take it with him. She took care of his minor injuries, showed funny pictures. And one day he seemed to thaw out, and became much more willing to take your attention and even said how he likes to communicate with you. He even bought you snacks, justifying it with the fact that "you always eat such snacks, and I thought you would like this too." You finally became friends, because there is nothing impossible in friendship, right? Then why do you feel like his touch is getting hotter? More often. And as if ... intimate?

Katsuki has known you almost since kindergarten. Always so friendly, sweet and kind, even with this useless Deku trash. But it didn't suit him. And he said then that a tough girl like you shouldn't waste time on this quirky loser when you have him. But for some reason you preferred Deku. And his humiliation towards Izuku became more frequent from that moment on. Once when he hurt Izuku a lot, you wanted to protect him and used your quirk on Katsuki. Back then, of course, she was still weak, and Katsuki escaped with only a small bruise, but damn it, who else in his life spoke out against him so openly? (Not counting his mom🌚) You protected this "idiot" from him, from Katsuki. She always waited for him after school, although she herself studied at another school so that other boys would not offend him, supported him and instilled in him faith in himself. You thought then that Katsuki was just a damn egoist who just needed to mock someone, you were angry at Katsuki, called him names in response, but ... You still didn’t understand that he did it all for your attention. For words of encouragement from you. For a drop of your love. One day he got tired of everything, he gave up everything, from stupid insults in childhood, from idiot friends from school to ... the first, stupid love for you. Now he will focus entirely on becoming a hero. But, god, and after so many years you reappear and again prevent him from focusing on his studies and his goals. All so, so, so ... annoying, nasty, so ...cute. Damn cute. So charming. And you became even more beautiful than he remembers as a child, even more in line with his taste. And when you saw him, you did not get angry, as he expected, you ... smiled. For the first time in so many years. That smile that Deku used to give. Aaah, you're such a damn... Then something clicked in his head. No, no, no. Not again. But as you understand...again.

It took a lot of effort for Shoto to overcome some of his fears, but Izuku helped him. They became friends. And along with Izuku was... you. Really a strange girl. He had never met such a person in his life. Seeing your smile, laughter and undying optimism, he wondered if you had been dropped in childhood. What he asked by the way, and you seem not at all offended by his words, you laughed and laughed even more. Did he say something funny? He really meant it. Oh, he got it. You were so friendly and nice to him because of his father. It must have been his father who told you to be friends with him, or you yourself wanted it for the sake of his father's influence. It doesn't matter. How hypocritical. Shoto didn't like you. But as it turned out later, you were not a fan of the Endeavor. And in general, among the heroes, you had no idols. You communicated well with everyone, without any reason. This attracted Shoto. And also the fact that such a daring girl during serious dangers changed dramatically and became serious, helping civilians and heroes in any way she could. He saw how versatile you were. And Shoto increasingly began to catch himself thinking about you. And his gaze at the lesson was always looking for you. Shoto, to his own surprise, was in a hurry to get to class to see you as soon as possible. Talking with you on various topics and marveling at your broad outlook. Helping with lessons, in training, or if you need to open something, get it. Anything he can help. He wanted to be alone with you more and more often, so that you would communicate and joke only with him. Always asked to have lunch with him. And he even learned from you to share food. Mochi that his sister made, especially for you, because Shoto has been saying for several days in a row how much you love them. He liked to look at you, at your profile. On this beautiful face, kind look, sensual lips that always smiled and he thought how soft and sweet they must taste. Damn. When did he have time? Shoto is not stupid, although it took him so long to realize and accept his feelings. But the answer was obvious. Shoto liked you. Very, very strongly.

Bakugo looked at you and Todoroki and fumed. But this anger was not the usual anger that Katsuki usually experienced 24/7, but something else. Quiet, seething from the inside, but more dangerous. Even the air around him seemed to become much heavier. Even Kirishima, who was the most immune to Katsuki's explosive nature, was afraid to anger him and just sat quietly by his side. Katsuki saw the half and half looking at you, instinctively felt that a new opponent was nearby. And this rival is not as simple as it seems. Although Izuku pissed him off because of your attention, he understood that you had a different relationship. But the way Shoto treats you is different from how Deku treats you. Shoto treats you with love, just like Katsuki. Along with anger, pure excitement played in his soul. He accepted the terms of the game and was ready not just to defeat the opponent, to destroy. So that he will only have to swallow the dust behind the two of you when Katsuki takes his prize (you) and proves to everyone again that he is the best man, he is the winner. However, do not assume that for Katsuki your love is a game. He is very serious about everything that concerns you. But Katsuki loves to win, and if you will a win, then the victory will be much sweeter. He lost to Izuku in this regard over and over again but this time he will win. And Todoroki, for whom everything was always easy, by right of birth, because you yourself know who his dad is (only Bakugo thought so) will have to know the true bitterness of defeat. Just wait, his princess, he will certainly make you his.

"Hey, little one. Let's train together today like in the good old days?" Katsuki asks to spend some time together, because you are almost never alone with him. And to his surprise, you agree, giving him one of your smiles .

It just so happened that you injured your hand in training, nothing serious really. Iida's technique didn't go according to plan, as a result of which he hit you. But you put your hand in time and everything worked out. But Shoto treated this as a real tragedy. He sat in the living room next to you all the time looking at the floor. And he looked like a guilty kitten.

–I'm sorry, it's all because of me. I couldn't protect you.

–What are you talking about,Shoto? It's not your fault and you see everything is all right with me - you answer him, taking his cheeks. When you smile at him, he shudders. This does not lessen the fear that one day he will fail you again, that he will not be able to save you, that he may lose you, but it brings the mind into a slight ecstasy of love. He enjoys your touch and smile.

–Listen, I am- Shoto begins, but he is abruptly interrupted by another voice.

–Hey little one, how's your hand? It was with great difficulty that I didn't kill that bespectacled nerd. To see what he's doing. Tch.

- Oh, Katsuki. Everything is fine. Please don't worry and... don't get mad at Iida, okay?

- Pf, whatever you say. You love to defend all sorts of idiots. Katsuki says as he puts his hand on your head. Your hair felt so good on his hands. As well as the anger engulfing Shoto. No way Katsuki will leave you alone, because not only half and half lost his head from you.

–You bark but don’t bite, right, Bakugo? Empty talk is your calling,-Shoto says. It is difficult to resist anger, the fiery side makes itself felt. Shoto senses the danger that comes from Katsuki. He sees that the explosive guy is not indifferent to you. Always seen. The way he calms down at the sight of you, the way he screams at everyone but not you. He can't let Bakugo take you. Not in this life, and not in any life at all. He loves you. Because he never loved anyone like this.You are the only happiness in his life, and be damned if he misses his happiness.

Katsuki looks at Shoto, hums. And taking you by the chin with a hungry bite-kiss kisses your lips. He kisses you as if he has the last oxygen on earth and he is in a hurry to share it with you. It's like he'd been starving for you all his life, because it really is.

–Only you make me so weak and crazy, little one. Made me this way all my life. So take responsibility for this. Be with me, be fucking mine.

Your flushed cheeks from the kiss and Bakugou's confession hurt Shoto in the heart. He doesn't want to lose, he doesn't want to give in. He won't back down. Shoto abruptly but gently grabs your good hand and pulls you towards him. And then also gently kisses you on the lips. His kiss is much softer, but no less insistent. He hums and moans into your mouth with pleasure. His body trembles weakly.

–I'm glad to be your friend, really. But I'm also a man. I want to be something more for you. I love you, much more than a friend.

There is a distinct smell of rivalry in the air. Two guys passionately in love with you, ready for anything for you, look at you with all love and adoration. But neither is going to give in to the other. You better hurry up and make a choice, otherwise they will drag you into this. They will do anything for your consent, even forbidden things, because in war all means are good. It's hard not to be with you, not to be yours. It drives them crazy. And even if you choose someone, it’s not a fact that the other will accept the loss.

[tj-dragonblade]

NEMO NEMO NEMO PLEASE

also academic conference AU if you're feeling generous xD

Ahh, Nemo. Previous snippets tagged for convenience! Still don't know where this will end up but I am literally just sifting through the lyrics and drafting whatever comes to mind for this line or that with the barest bones of a set scene behind it. I am sure you can clock the lyric in this one, lol.

Here, he thinks, bitter and contrary, here is something he wants: rain. The reflection of his moods in the weather of the Dreaming had been a boon of validation; the intensity of his feelings was often imprudent to act upon, as he had tragically learned time and again, and letting them scatter and reflect into the vastness of his realm allowed him the management of himself to the benefit of all involved. And now even that small kindness is beyond him. Hob's small balcony is bathed in sunshine, bright and warm, birdsong weaving brightly through the trees; it is idyllic, a perfect late spring day, and he. Resents it. He wishes, desperately, to stand on his own balcony (not his) off his chambers (not any longer) soaking in the pouring rain, letting the worst of his overfull feelings wash away that he might. Find new clarity, in his thoughts. But the weather remains belligerently cheerful, unmoved by the strength of his distress; he whirls from the railing and sweeps back inside. Even his dressing gown (Hob's dressing gown) is a pale substitute for the flowing robes he had favored, lacking the presence and drama that he had preferred. Nothing is as it was, Before. But this is as he had decided it should be. He must find. Other ways, to cope. He considers crawling back into bed (depression nap, old pieces of collective memory supply), but Hob's note had said he would be home by eleven. Which is…soon, he decides, after studying the clock. And Hob would be… No. Hob would not be disappointed to find him back in bed, nor angry, but. Hob would worry, for his emotional well-being, and he has given Hob enough cause for concern already. He appreciates that Hob cares. But he does not wish to burden him more than necessary.

The Academic Conference AU is a long-term beast that started life more than a year ago as a quick smut fill for the prompt 'bed sharing' and turned into an anticipated four chapters of hooking up and relationship development. Assuming I can see it all the way through. I've got pieces of this scattered all over; here is the tag for that and here is a pre-spicy snippet from the second chapter:

He texts Dream, because he's gotta do something with himself in the interim. They exchanged numbers on day one and it's occurred to Hob that Dream might waste precious moments waiting for him outside the panel Hob's supposed to be attending once his own lets out, unaware that Hob skived off. Hey ;) Meet me back at the room, soon as you're able I'll be waiting for you He debates a moment, unsure if sending a pic is too much, whether or not it would be appreciated, especially while Dream's stuck in a presentation. But he's sitting in his hotel room [buck naked]* and waiting to get fucked; if this is not the appropriate time for a spicy pic, he doesn't know what is. He's tasteful about it; he snaps a downward-angled shot of his chest, hair damp from the shower, neither his face nor his dick in frame. Discreet. Just in case. He hits 'Send'.

WIP Title Ask Game

*I am reminded I need to find out if 'buck naked' is a particularly American term and seek a British replacement of comparable tone, if so

[sciencelings-writes]

My tLoZ and LU Masterlist

UPDATED 11/19/2023

Of Dubious Sophistication: 6/? posted chapters, Wild meets the chain on a day when he has to act like an important person and decides to fuck with their initial misconceptions of him. Mostly formatted to give each of the Links to come to their own conclusions about Wild, a Compilation of oneshots with a vague overarching plot.

Another Second Chance: 2/? classic Wild gets pulled into the AOC timeline and is tasked to help prevent the calamity. But he looks different enough from his counterpart that he doesn’t reveal his true identity. He accidentally parallels Astor in the whole mysterious sorcerer/ seer vibes as he both knows the future and popped out of nowhere in a dramatic cape and ancient technology. Lots of interaction between Wild and the champions and there is both angst and hijinks. There’s also stuff about the new champions as most of it follows the plot of AOC. Also Wolfie is there because I thought it would be funny for him to bop around the baby egg guardian.

The Silence of the Knight: BOTW pre-calamity fic that’s mostly an introspective fic about why Link went silent and how everyone around him reacts to his lack of outward emotions. I just saw the concept of people seeing him as not quite human because of his refusal to show any emotions and wanting to catch a glimpse of how/ if he reacts when tragedy strikes, just to see if he has the ability to feel anything at all.

Heavy in Your Arms: Wild hated getting his memories back. They could be triggered by seemingly anything, they forced the entire group to stop or have someone stay with him until he got over it, which mostly ended up being Twilight, and he tended to end up feeling terrible. Even the good ones were bittersweet, when he saw glimpses of a family that was long gone or a fleeting moment when his life wasn’t destined to be a nightmare, only to open his eyes a century later having lost everything.He knew it was starting to become a hindrance on their quest and the last thing he wanted to be was a burden. (part of a series focused on the Wolf Trio)

I’ve Seen Hell (But This is a Bit More My Style): BOTW Fem!Link fic focused on how being the first female incarnation of the Heroes Spirit would be treated with a little bit of Zelink as a forbidden relationship. Link is angry and all of her past lives are just as pissed as she is. She’s seen as a harbinger of the calamity rather than the hero sent to stop it. And she’s seen as a mistake of the goddess and proof that the 10,000 years of peace was now at an end. General woman problems you know? (Sequel incorporating LU in progress) also please mind the tags.

Swordcrossed Lovers: Fluffy oneshot of the above au, Link and Zelda go to Gerudo Town and flirt while sword fighting. Zelink Week 2022 prompt: Sparring. 

Champions Possessing Wild Oneshot Collection: The champions possess Wild sometimes, it leads to some shenanigans 

The Unironic Magical Properties of True Love: totk role swap, Zelda find where Link has been hiding since being stuck in the past.

*NEW* Forever Changed: post totk zelink, where they both come back a little differently and have to deal with the immediate aftermath of... everything.

Requests/ short oneshots:

The Idiots of the Wind: Wind makes friends with the spirit of Revali and they team up to mess with Wild, mildly traumatizing him in the process. 

A Waste of Pretty Faces: Wild and Warriors bond over something they didn’t expect (mind the warnings and tags)

To Kill What’s Already Dead: Set after sunset pt.7, Wild deals with not being allowed to see Twilight and with the very real possibility that his mentor is dying.

A Mosaic of Broken Glass: Link has a lot of scars, they don’t like them very much. Zelda is determined to help them work on loving themself. Non-Binary BOTW Link and I accidentally made Zelda asexual.

On Top Of The World: Day 1 prompt for Zelink week 2022- One Last Look, Link and Zelda reunite after the final battle with the calamity. Idk what to say it’s just pure fluff. 

Frightful & Delightful: Wintery LU fic that is Hyrule-centric for a secret santa. Hurt/comfort, but mostly fluff. 

3 Sentence Fics: Lots of short fics in one place, including LU, botw Zelink, and my own AUs!

The Many Duties of the Princesses Appointed Knight: Fluffy pre-calamity zelink hair braiding, not me basing a whole fic off of a vague idea... 

The Caretaker of Holy Things: OC fic made for a zelda creators collab, the Priestess of the Temple of Time remains at the great plateau while the calamity rages around her, unfortunately, she’s due to have visitors. 

Whumptober 2022:

Prompt 2: Nowhere to Run: Aryll from my priestesses AU meets the Fierce Deity for the first time.

Prompt 5: Hypothermia: Link and Zelda from my Golden Priestesses AU journey up to the Temple of Nayru to the spring of wisdom.

Prompt 9: Caught in the Storm: Zelda spends one hundred years fighting the calamity, even though he’s slumbering in the shrine of resurrection, Link still finds a way to help her keep her head above water.

Prompt 10: Whipping: Wild from my Fem!Wild AU has to reveal some things about her past after having a panic attack post-battle. Kind of a rewrite of part of the comic where Wild throws himself in front of Wind during a fight, you know the one. 

Prompt 15: Emotional Damage/ New Scars: Wild visits the forgotten temple after the events of LU, he mourns. 

Zelink Week 2023: 

Day 1: Yearning: All In Good Time: Fem! Zelink AU during the events of LU, Wild misses her Princess. 

Day 2: Forbidden: The Ballad of Frost and Flames: Fem!Zelink AU, pre-calamity while Link is still in hiding, they meet at a masquerade ball. 

Day 4: Hand in Hand: The Fable of the Dragon and the Phoenix: MAJOR TOTK SPOILERS, Zelda makes and eternal choice and Link learns to rise from the ashes.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Foilies

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me WEDNESDAY (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Anaheim, and more!

This marks the 10th anniversary of the Foilies – awards given to the public agencies responsible for the most egregious, absurd and outrageous defiance of freedom of information requests:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024

The Foilies are awarded by EFF and Muckrock. This year's honorees are an entire Coen Brothers movie's worth of bizarre excuses and shenanigans. Top honors (the "Not-So-Magic-Word" award) goes to Augusta County, VA:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#augusta

The staff at the Augusta County Sheriff's office somehow got the impression that if they wants to make an official communique immune to a public records request, all they had to do was add the words "NO FOIA" to the memo.

Needless to say, the law doesn't work this way. When a county employee anonymously tipped Breaking the News off to this practice, the organization quite naturally filed a request for every county document containing the phrase "NO FOIA." Given that the county's employees had thoughtfully tagged every document they suspected would get them into trouble with these words, it's no wonder that the request delivered a bumper-crop of news stories of incompetence and corruption:

https://www.breakingthrough.tv/post/augusta-foia-nightmares-sheriff-slams-county-growth-amidst-challenges-managing-department-s-payroll

These scandals come from just 140 of the 1,212 "NO FOIA" emails the county admits it has on hand – the remainder have been illegally withheld. Breaking Through News and The Augusta Press sued the county for the remaining emails and won – though the county has indicated that it might waste public funds appealing the decision:

https://www.newsbreak.com/@breaking-through-news-1615604/3304349127261-augusta-county-weighs-options-after-foia-defeat-mulls-appeal-reporter-demands-production?s=mp_1615604

There are so many great – by which I mean terrible – stories in this year's Foilies that it's hard to pick just a few to highlight, but boy oh boy, does the Chesterfield, Virginia Police have a doozy this year:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#lapd

The police of Chesterfield County, VA claim that the names of every police officer on the force should be kept secret, because one or more of those cops might someday work undercover. As EFF writes, "It’s not at all dystopian to claim that a public law enforcement agency needs to have secret police!"

Now, I don't want to give you the impression that all this nonsense stems from small-town-Deputy-Dawg-Barney-Fife-type dimwits with harebrained schemes. Big, important statewide offices are also in the mix. Take Arkansas governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders, who spends millions in public funds for her family to travel around America accompanied by an Arkansas State Police detail:

https://www.arkansasonline.com/news/2024/jan/12/six-months-of-protecting-sanders-family-costs/

Governor Huckabee Sanders's relentless waste of public funds generated a steady, humiliating drumbeat of news coverage. This made the governor both sad and angry, prompting her to attempt to block FOIA requests for her travel spending, and when that failed, to call a special session of the legislature to enact sweeping limitations on Arkansas's sunshine law:

https://www.ualrpublicradio.org/local-regional-news/2023-09-08/sanders-calls-special-legislative-session-on-tax-cuts-foia-changes

The governor's farcical wish-list of anti-transparency measures didn't just put severe limits on the disclosure of her use of public funds. It also contained a raft of administrative changes, like an end to the practice of FOIA plaintiffs being able to recover their legal fees if they successfully sued the government for illegally suppressing disclosures.

In the end, Governor Huckabee Sanders was defeated – a torrent of opposition to the bill removed its most odious clauses, though, as EFF notes, it's a near-certainty that Huckabee Sanders will try again in the next legislative session.

The military got in on the act this year, too: the USAF's FOIA portal was altered so that filers had to swear that their request pertained to "clearly releasable" records – then failed to define "clearly releasable." After a PR fiasco, they walked the changes back:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#usaf

Now for the Mississippi goddamn moment: the Mississippi Justice Courts obstruct access to two thirds of the public records on search warrants:

https://www.propublica.org/article/no-knock-warrants-missing-mississippi

A lawsuit by the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal is seeking to force the state's courts to obey the law:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#blindfold

Now: on to Wyoming! Wye not? Democracy may "die in darkness," but culture war bullshit thrives in the absence of sunshine. When (former) Wyoming Superintendent of Public Instruction Brian Schroeder and Wyoming Department of Education Chief Communications Officer Linda Finnerty decided to waste public money on an private "Stop the Sexualization of Our Children" event, they correctly judged that secrecy would be key to pulling off the scam:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#wyoming

When Wyomingans sought details about the pro-censorship event, Schroeder and Finnerty manufactured "misleading statements" about the event and its funding:

https://trib.com/news/state-regional/education/wyoming-department-of-education-lawsuit/article_0d87ae52-1c18-11ee-b541-b75142a9d1d5.html

Schroeder also illegally withheld his text messages from a public records request, ignoring state's attorneys' advice (instead, Schroeder took bad legal advice from his friend, a private attorney named Drake Hill, who told him he didn't have to follow the law):

https://cowboystatedaily.com/2023/09/14/under-oath-former-wyoming-education-chief-admits-lying-about-political-event/

The resulting lawsuit turned up 1,500+ texts and emails – enough damning evidence to discredit Schroeder and Finnerty, and to set important new precedent for sunshine laws in the cowboy state:

https://cowboystatedaily.com/2023/11/02/texts-show-schroeder-made-wyoming-dept-of-education-staff-feel-icky/

When you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bills. That's the strategy of both the Baltimore Police Department and the Richmond, Virginia Police Department. Baltimore's cops told Open Justice Baltimore that they would need to hand over one miiiiilion dollars if they wanted to see the department's use-of-force records. The Baltimore PD argued that the public interest fee waiver didn't apply to use-of-force records, because there was no public interest in knowing about how the only people in the state legally allowed to hit, kick, choke and shoot other people used force:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#baltimore

Baltimore police eventually dropped the ask to a mere $245k, which a court totally rejected, saying it contributed to the impression that the BPD had "something to hide":

https://law.justia.com/cases/maryland/court-of-appeals/2023/20-22.html

Meanwhile, back in Virginia, the Richmond police told Open Oversight VA that they would have to pay $7,873.14 for a copy of the police's 151-item list of procedures – $52.14/hour for a pre-release review of each of those procedures (most police departments just post their procedures to their websites):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/03/foilies-2024#richmond

I opened this highlight reel in Virginia, and that's a good place to stop it. I hope you'll go read the rest, I've barely scratched the surface. And once you've read these all, I hope you'll try it for yourself!

As EFF and Muckrock say:

It's easy to feel powerless in these times, as local newsrooms close, and elected officials embrace disinformation as a standard political tool. But here's what you can do, and we promise it'll make you feel better: Pick a local agency—it could be a city council, a sheriff's office or state department of natural resources—and send them an email demanding their public record-request log, or any other record showing what requests they receive, how long it took them to respond, whether they turned over records, and how much they charged the requester for copies.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/11/no-foia/#id-tell-you-but-then-id-have-to-kill-you

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/files/banner_library/foilies24_webbanner-b.png

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/

[crackers4jenn]

First lines of 2025

I was tagged for this by @wanderingcas - thank you! It's a snippet from the third (and final) chapter of a story I haven't touched in almost a year, that I'm ✨determined to finish.

When the first hint of sunrise starts turning the edge of the sky yellow—when people start wandering in intentionally for breakfast—Cas looks for the waitress again.

There must’ve been a shift switch sometime in the last two hours because she’s gone, but another waitress notices him looking.

She comes over, already carrying a brewed pot of coffee, careful of the steam curling out the top. She’s younger, with braids dangling halfway down her back and hooped earrings that are so big, they catch on the lapel of her uniform. She gives him an easy smile.

“Good morning! You need a refill?”

“No thank you. Just, uh. Your lumberjack slam. And the check, please.”

“You got it. And your eggs?” When Cas cocks his head in question, she clarifies, “Poached, over easy, sunny-side-up—”

“Yes,” he answers.

“Taking them to-go?”

“Yes,” he says again.

“It’ll be just a couple minutes, then,” she assures him, grabbing his empty mug and taking it with her when she goes.

Cas doesn’t know what makes this breakfast a lumberjack one, but it was on a menu when he first sat down and—well, of all the people he knows, Dean suits the name best. Besides, he knows Dean will want to eat before they leave and this way he can do so without feeling like they’re wasting time.

The atmosphere still feels unsettled from Billie, like a ripple lapping through the room.

Maybe he shouldn’t have instigated her. He could’ve let her believe he was on board with her plan, and then spoken to Dean and Sam to determine their course of action. But it’s too late now, so he waits and hopes that, with any luck, Dean will still be asleep when he returns, that he can be spared an interrogation for the time being.

+++

Cas did get lucky.

When he made it back to the motel room, Dean was in bed still, sprawled on his stomach. Cas’s eyes had raked up and down Dean’s body only once, at the inviting shape he made, before he got ahold of himself and woke Dean up.

Now, they’re back on the road, sludging through more rain. The sky is darker than it was hours ago, and Cas can’t help but feel it’s an ominous connection to his conversation with Billie. Which he has yet to tell Dean about.

He looks over at him. Dean’s hands are gripping the steering wheel more stiffly than usual, to compensate for the slick road. His jaw is tense, too, and Cas can see that his lips are pursed in concentration.

“So,” Dean says after a while, turning down the radio. Usually Dean doesn’t trust the random stations they drive within range of to cater to his musical tastes, but he has yet to touch the box of cassettes at Cas’s feet. “This is gonna sound like a line,” Dean warns. Cas tilts his head at him, not understanding. It makes Dean’s gaze flick back to the road, to the rear view mirror, like a nervous habit. He chuckles, but it’s an awkward, forced thing. “What, uh—what makes a guy like you happy?”

As if summoned, Cas’s unease returns with force. “Dean,” he says, but it’s without any idea what he’s going to follow it up with. He’s already told Dean he doesn’t want to talk about it. That hasn’t changed since last night.

Dean’s eyes land on Cas briefly. Long enough, though, to catch on. “I just mean. In general. I didn’t even know that was a thing for you.”

“Happiness?” Cas asks back, starting to feel something else—upset, maybe. Hurt. Angry. “You didn’t think I—?”

“I didn’t think it was some kinda—” He blows out a noise and says, “goal. Didn’t know you had, I don’t know, a meter. I figured you were more Team Spock on the feelings wheel.”

“Team—? Dean,” he says again, voicing his disbelief.

“You know, like—”

“I know what it means. I’m just insulted you think that.”

“Well,” Dean says. And then leaves it there, like trash on the street, with the expectation Cas will sweep it aside.

“Are you being serious?” Cas asks him. He means it, too. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean implied something about Cas he was totally off base about.

Tagging: @norahastuff @glamrockcas @dollsome-does-tumblr @so-much-purple @cockymclaughlin @queenofattolia

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! oh my goodness. i am SO sorry i didn’t say anything earlier. i did read everything a couple days ago, and i Have been chewing on it, rotating it in my mind, etc etc…..and the graphic has been my phone lockscreen since i first read it!!!!!

frankly i am obsessed and have also been a little frazzled this month lol. saw your post late because of the general whirlwind that is december and then couldn’t quite get my thoughts into sufficient words n got worried “oh no would it be weird to say something now…..” which is incredibly silly in retrospect, so sorry for that. 

i’m relatively new to hockey fandom and the Narratives don’t always quite click for me (yet, at least :)) because i don’t know all of the lore for a lot of the popular pairings haha, so it means a lot that you’ve taken time out of your day to break things down for me and share your own thoughts <3 tysm. again, super sorry for the delayed response. i’m very sorry if you felt as though you’d wasted your time or something along those lines :’) just wanted to let you know that i really appreciate you and the time it took you to get everything down and make the graphic!!!! and like i can’t overstate how much your tags both over here and on your other blog have helped me to Get It since the start of this season, so thank you.

but now the house is quiet, the in-laws are gone, and no new work stuff until january :) so i can finally get some stuff down. every point you brought up hits in it own way but gosh you are very incredibly right the mcstrome of it all…..that’s sort of the lens i’ve been listening to the song through since you mentioned it.

the golden boy and the “draft bust” and the ever present notion of “isn’t it all about old friends? like everything? all of it?”.  like idk looking back on a bestfriendship from when you were a teenager that was Super intense and the lines were blurred and maybe realizing (if you hadn’t had the words or the “guts” or awareness or wtv to put a name to it at that point in your life) that y’all were a smidge more than just friends. 

best friends forever until you just aren’t! growing up and growing apart. it’s just the way things go but it can and will ache for a damn long time! you think you’re over it until their birthday or the holidays roll around and you wonder in a distant sort of way who they’re spending it with. what you would’ve hypothetically gotten them as a present if you still spoke. what do they even like nowadays, anyway?

maybe having the friendship end subtly. going from playing and traveling together and living in one another’s pockets to 2,080 miles of distance? (i may have my timeline/details confused here so sorry in advance) texting as much as you can at first but he’s a phenom he’s mcjesus he’s the next in line he’s expected to win the cup with his new team and end the drought for Canada. and they have him now but he was yours first, wasn’t he? but it’s fine. because you’re busy too. you’re captaining the team now. you’re gonna get the memorial cup that he couldn’t. it’s fine. you’re fine. you don’t even have time to worry about it anyway. 

one conversation a week turns to one a month turns to once in a blue moon turns to stale words until it goes cold. these days you can’t quite seem to remember who ended things, but does it really matter all that much now?

or maybe it doesn’t end like that at all. maybe it ends in a flurry of angry words and digs in some or other of the endless hotel rooms you’ve shared together over the years. who knows!

and that’s not even getting into the rest of the 2015 draft class. or the ld19 of it all! ooh hoo hoo. you grew up with him but he’s not your waiting room. he grew up with you but he’ll grow “old” (end his career) with someone else. and isn’t that just something! 

i don’t think it’s totally them, but sort of the sentiment of “I hope you get everything you ever wanted and I hope I never hear a word about it.” I want one ticket off of your carousel!!!! merry christmas, please don’t call!!!!!!!

dylan being sent up and down and traded around until finally landing in washington, a place where he is clearly at home and LOVED for the guy and player he is!!!!!!!! watching a game and seeing all the strome jerseys in the crowd……..wagh.

all that said. some other songs that are mcstrome to me in various ways: hot & heavy by lucy dacus (lol kinda the whole song). before the world was big by girlpool (“i just miss how it felt standing next to you wearing matching [jerseys? sweaters?] before the world was big”). happiness by Taylor swift (“i guess it’s the price i pay for seven years in heaven”), cut your bangs by radiator hospital (maybe? possibly? unsure. i like the whole dog thing there). i’m so glad i feel this way about you by insignificant other (!!!!!). there are so many THEM lyrics in there……..waough.

anyway. other things off the top of my head: 2015 connor specifically saying something like “hey let’s wait a minute so we can see this” to stand by the stage when dylan was getting drafted after him. MAN. you reminded me of the fact that they couldn’t even make eye contact at the handshake line!!!!!!!!! they didn’t go to each other’s weddings!!!!!!!!!! (do you think once upon a time they ever thought they’d being each other’s best man?). just a couple months ago dylan liking the tweet of connor getting that goal during the playoffs!!!!!!!! makes you wonder if he texted him………..

lol this was all over the place and i was probably wrong on some things and there’s SO much more that someone else could say way more eloquently, but i digress. i dunno everything about them is so nuts to me!!!!! needless to say i will be incredibly sat for the game january 21 🙂‍↕️

thank you again for your time :) hope you have a good one and a happy rest of the holiday season! <3333333

what a lovely message to receive 🥰😭🥹 i had to break it up into chunks because i couldn't sit down to read all of it at once without just. bouncing right back up and shrieking. i am also at heart terribly shy so i understand the struggle but it is never too late to say something <3 you are always welcome here

first!!! i love sharing!! i think most of hockey tumblr loves to see people finding out the Lore for the first time and the wonderful thing about hockey is that. it keeps going on. so there's years and years and generations and generations and always something new to learn about. i've learned to just not be afraid to ask!!! between different teams and players i'm always discovering new narratives (learning about the sharks old man yaoi rn... cbj rarepairs...)

no... to my heart's despair... you have the timeline right. i think in the best most tragic sense there's a mcstrome narrative where it is truly that nothing went wrong. the love was there. we couldn't do enough to save it because we didn't see it slipping away. i didn't notice when you didn't call until you never did. i don't know you now but i still remember when i did, do you?

HE'S NOT YOUR WAITING ROOM?? passing out. i do see "i hope you get everything you ever wanted and i hope i never hear a word about it" as them because!! they didn't go to each other's weddings!!! i don't wish you harm but i'm not going to put myself through that!! i hope you're happy and i'm never going to look on purpose.

i love dylan strome so much and the best part is that they all love him so much too. he wore a cool vintage ovechkin jacket!! and got slapped in the face with a tortilla!! he loves to gently rag on the rookies!! it just takes some time, everything'll be just fine. you're only on the middle of the ride.

OKAY WHEN I READ THIS PART I SCREAMED BECAUSE I DO HAVE A MCSTROME PLAYLIST AND!!!! HOT & HEAVY BY LUCY DACUS IS IN FACT ON IT!!! SO IS CUT YOUR BANGS (BUT BY GIRLPOOL SO DOUBLE JINX)!!!! i have dorothea by taylor swift on there but i don't know happiness so i'll have to give all the other songs a listen. mostly i just shrieked because i was like NO YOU GOT THE VIBES EXACTLY

🧠〰️🧠 truly the mind meld happening here. the handshake line. the mutual wedding non-invitations. i won't block your number or your name on twitter i just hope i don't see it come up on screen!! i do think that we got confirmation the last time they played each other that dylan did text him to say congrats on a milestone but i would have to check the archives

p.s. i think you said it perfectly eloquently :) what matters is that you said it at all and i was delighted to read it 💕

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 8 Javi's Chapter

whats playing: Self Control by Frank Ocean

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: 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: 9.2k

Javier had picked up on a few habits. Nail biting came first when he loaded into his truck when he left in 1980. He tried to keep from looking at you after you stained his shirt a deeper shade of blue with your tears. Biting his nails for the first time, right hand, his left hand was patting down the mark on his shirt. Lorraine in the back talking off his head as Don Chucho drove. Chucho always knew, he knew, so he rested his right hand on Javi’s shoulder as he drove into and out of town. Javier's hands flex as he imagines your back under his palm. 

And the apartment in Houston never felt like home. Not for a second. Immediately he felt like a lost little kid. He gave himself time to inch back tears alone in the bathroom as his estranged girlfriend frolicked around the home. Lorraine was thrilled, she had genuinely thought that her cheating was behind them. Javier never got over that, never got over his time being wasted and in turn allowing her to waste more of it. 

He spent June and July finishing his GED, living off the temporary money his dad had given them. Lorraine was the same, living off her savings and money from her mom until she started school in August, and until he was of age to work at the precinct.

One week in, Javier found a new habit with tobacco wrapped in white. Heading to cop bars with his older colleagues who would sneak the eighteen year old in. Lorraine was stressed with school by week one and Javi took her study time to ring your house yet you were never the person to pick up. “Oh, no she's out right now.” Javier’s brow would crease, wanting to ask,  with who? Where at? He would still tell Frankie to relay messages of hope everything is good although he had other words he wanted to say but that was for your ears only. 

Climbing out the hole that is their room, Lorraine, “How is everyone?” Her eyes tired from stress. By mid september Javier had started to sleep in the bed with Lorraine. They had shown good face for their friends before they moved but the second they were confined to this space, all of their grievances were revealed. Just in the first week, you are a lousy boyfriend, you never tell me how you really feel, Javier would dig back but his weren't low, he would just repeat over and over that she should have some sort of decency to break up with him before she jumped onto someone else. Even in september he was angry but an argument ended in them fucking so thats when sleeping in the same bed made its debut. Very healthy. 

“I only spoke to Frankie, he’s working. So is Genie, still cleaning up that office space.” He left you out because your name was brought up in those arguments with accusations of leading the poor girl on, Lorraine's words.

 Lorraine liked you, a lot, but she was very weary of you. Maybe she didn't have the right since she had cheated on Javier, and truthfully you hadn't crossed any lines when they were together. You had just suffered in silence, if anyone was crossing lines it was Javi but even that… you wouldn't call crossing. The lines were blurring and he nearly tripped over. The line disappeared when she cheated and Javi moaned into your soft mouth. 

Lorraine walks behind Javier as he smokes out the window, her hand skating his shoulder in a hold he didn't want. Not when he lit his cigarette to ease his worries of you.

Her cheek resting on your shoulder, “And Andrea?” 

Stay cool, any incorrect phrasing and Javier was done for, back on the couch. 

He flares his nostrils out of sight of his blonde girl, “Nothing new, just started school. She wasn't home.”

“And you asked for her?” Her voice was slightly unsettled and threatening. Javi sighs knowing where this was going, flicking his cigarette. Lorraine hated the habit, being in school for health care and all, also hated kissing him with the taste. As much as he wanted to be angry with how Lorraine had become with you after they had gone away he sort of understood her. Although he had the looming knowledge of Lorraine kissing someone else while they were deep in- he still had a grasp on what you must come across as. Less of how you came across, more-so how he responded to the call of your name.

Javier shakes his head before looking down out the window making sure the coast was clear before dropping the stick off the ledge. “No, Frankie just told me”. The conversation ended there and Javier served her dinner. 

He would call once a week to your house and still you just never seemed to be home. He would get small snippets into your life that fall. He heard you cut your beautiful long hair off. Javier’s eyes wide at the thought of how the short hair would look on you, he knew you could pull any look off. He felt it might've been weird to ask for a picture from your brother but Javier got lucky when he received your school picture in the mail from his dad. 

You are missed at home. Here is Andrea’s school picture her mom gave me, and a picture of me and Frankie at Genie’s salon

See you at thanksgiving. 

Love,

Your dad

Javier traced a hand over the image of his father and best friend in front of the pink lit sign. His slow breathing at the sight of you for the first time in forever. Biting the inside of his lip when he sees your bright eyed smile and short hair. Fuck, he wishes he was home with you, with his dad and with everyone. 

Javi tucked the image in his wallet and headed to work. He thought about you that whole day.

After two weeks of internal struggle and eye contact avoidance with his girlfriend Javier came to a silent conclusion. He was a selfish person, it wasn’t a trait from his father, probably from his mom who selfishly abandoned him at too ripe of an age. An age he denies he remembers but he knows it all. 

He knew kissing you, taking you to his home, asking to make him stay, he knew all of it was selfish. His self control just wasn't there. Not when you trusted and adored him so much. He flicks his cigarette outside the precinct next to his favorite co worker, Thomas. Javier decided to call less and although it wasn't you on the end of the line he knew him reaching out so often would just continue to hurt you for his own selfish gain.

You deserved to have a normal high school life, boyfriends and friends, not tied to the phone calls and subliminal flirts hoping you know he still feels deeply for you. He was envious of your ability to be so absent. You must have been finally getting a taste of the simplicity of a life without him. The time just isn't right for the two of you.

 Javier makes his last call in December. 

That day in December Javier had been drinking, alone as Lorraine stayed out with her classmates. His beer on his right and ashtray on his left. He almost chuckles at how mortified you would be at this image. He looked at himself a few times in the mirror and could see that boyish look leaving him more and more everyday, and it wasn't just his new killer mustache and stress lines growing. It was the way he was carrying himself, eighteen and assumed to be pushing thirty. Just great. A grown little man.

Donny Hathaway playing through his record player, he just keeps aging himself. 

He rings the house, sort of figuring it’ll be Melissa or Frankie telling him he just missed you. But it's your squeak that he hears for the first time in seven months, his blood running cold and his hand hurrying to put out his cigarette like you were really there to scold him for it. He decides against it, keeping it burning between his fingers. 

“Andrea, haven't heard your voice in awhile.” He breathes out in a pathetic hurried way. His own cheeks burning in embarrassment. You hum over the phone at his words and Javi looks to his lap hiding a smile from no one but himself. 

“I’ve been busy, keep missing your call. I don’t want to bother ringing your house either.” Javier laughs at the irony, just last year you had been passing his house to see if he was there and now it was him trying to get a glimpse of your life from miles away. He thinks of how nervous you used to be when he smiled, how you would run a hand through your hair, your hair. 

“Busy doing what? I saw the picture your mom sent by the way-Hair looks nice, looks pretty on you” He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, feeling like anything he says to you crosses a line he doesn't want to cross anymore. It will never be fair for you. Selfish . 

There's a small silence before your angelic voice quips again, “Thanks Javier Peña. And busy with school-and you? How's everything?” His name, so smooth from your lips. How did he get this bad for you, how did this happen. Javier feels sick for a second, say it again. He thinks but logic precedes him, be normal. He draws his cigarette again, fearing you’d yell at him over the phone (although he would kind of like that) for picking up on such a habit. He hums remembering the times you would put him in his place, “Hmm.”

“Started officially working, all the other cops speak spanish which is nice. There’s a cop bar just a few blocks from my house, we hang there.”

“and your girl?”

Selfish, nosy, like him. If you were in his shoes, he’d ask the same question. Javier would want to know every detail of your relationship just so he could find something to  be upset about. 

Javier scans the room devoid of Lorraine, they weren't good. How could they be?

“Hm. We’re good, she’s staying with a friend tonight at her dorm. Just in very different places right now-she’s in that college mood and i’m just work and sleep. She gets real mad at me-“ Javi stops himself then sighs, a shaking breath escaping as he realizes he's crossing another line. “M’sorry, not supposed to talk to you about these things.”

You sigh and he can imagine the crease of concern between your brows, he’d pass a thumb over it and smooth it over if he could. Another thought that shocks him. 

“It’s okay, you planning on coming home anytime soon?”

“Uh-not sure. Would love to come down for your birthday but this law and order shit is real rigorous, thinking i’ll just send you some birthday money over there”

A classic bratty scoff sears through the static, “Don’t do that.”

Javi rolls his eyes, missing you so bad. “Told you to take care of yourself before I left-are you, querid-” Javier fills himself up with unnecessary panic as he nearly calls you the name he reserved just for you, the name he called you before- “Um-aren’t you… taking care of yourself? Avoiding Daniel and whatnot.”

“I am. Funny how you left and suddenly I have no more boy troubles.” 

Javier is breathless and reminded of your face. Not the smiling one he saw almost every day but the one blotchy with red marks of tears when he so selfishly asked you that question, how your chin quivered at him. The cigarette dying in his hand, vinyl record needing to be turned, “I’m sorry, i’ll keep apologizing-”

“Javier-”

“No, I'll keep apologizing until you believe it, I'm sorry for putting you in that position. It was unfair." Javier's eyes fall to his lap, feeling like it was you sitting across from him with that red and whining face he left you with.

But the door opens and reality sets, and he says his goodbyes to you abruptly.

Cutting off your small bye and he decides it isn't fair. He was done being selfish. 

Train. It doesn't matter of his body fucking hurts, train he let everyone go for this, he pushes himself.

He sleeps four hours a night and works the rest of the day, meals meticulously planned to keep him in check. Turns down a beer, only one habit at a time, he’ll smoke in the bar instead.

He calls, only his father, twice a week. He stops asking for you-not because he means to but because worrying about you would kill the routine-it would kill the numbing cycle. He keeps a space in bed for Lorraine and maybe they would fuck if he found the energy. When she wakes for class he’s already gone, at his desk, wondering if this whole DEA shit is worth it-if it’s promised.

If Javier finds time, if his estranged partner finds the will, they will talk about breaking up. Both thinking its the best but Javier’s concern for her well-being-considering that he provides for her-ends up overruling. You're right, but once I get my residency then… well then we can figure it out. 

Javier wonders when will they assign him, fuck he had turned 21 three years ago and from the research and tabling he’s done, they all knew that Escobar was reigning hell in Colombia. When Javier asks with a hand on his hip, his superior says they are still weighing the risks, “We send you out there and you get killed, fuck, 23 year old southern boy American boy killed by narcos, the optics of it all”

Javier bites back the urge to tell his gringo boss that the story would be flipped into a discussion of his citizenship before he hit American soil for burial. But he doesn't, he just nods and almost responds before the boss speaks again, “But, we are working on arrangements to send you out there… safely.” 

Technically, Javier and Lorraine had been separated for 3 years by 1986. They lived together, and promised not to sleep with others since raw sex was all they enjoyed. Javier still provided, not because Lorraine couldn't but because at that point he was making too much money for his own good. He sent money back home monthly, fighting the urge to maybe send you something, that would be weird, he hadn't even heard your voice since you were sixteen. 

Fuck, you were what? 21 turning 22?

Javier knew general things about your life the past few years. He knew your mom got engaged, Melissa head over heels for a white guy named James. Javier knew that Frankie and Genie were engaged as well, living on their own with two successful salons. He heard that you got a boyfriend, that was news for Javier. News from Lorraine this time, over take out on a rare night where Javier laughed in the presence of her. His chest caving in a jealous fit that he thought he had gotten rid of long ago, something in his chest chipping away. Right then he decided that he couldn't go back if it meant seeing you with someone else.

And imagine his surprise when Lorraine says the boy's name was Xavier. So he knew about you and Xavier. He also knew you attended UMiami, smart girl. Knew you were farther from him now, that comforted him a bit. Knowing that you did well for yourself, that you were experiencing something outside the torment that is being home.

He remembered you joking that your mother hadn't ever wanted a daughter, it stayed with Javi, every time he looked at you he thought of you feeling like you weren't a good enough daughter. 

Javier knew that you probably hated him. You could ring her but she probably won't pick up. It was Genie who said that to Javi on Christmas over the phone. Javier had your new number the three years you attended school in Miami but was ultimately too distracted and scared to call you. 

In January of 1986, a few days before your birthday, Lorraine was given a residency  match at a children's hospital 30 minutes north of their apartment. I found an apartment, I was just wondering if you could be a reference.

And that's how they broke up. Not an arm flailing argument like they had twice a month, the relationship died with grace, Javier hadn't seen that coming. Javier told her he was proud and that he would always be around to help her. She was to move out by May. 

In February Javier goes home. 

Well, he drives home for a day, has dinner with his father and drives back in the morning without running into anyone from his past. Javier’s eyes burned for almost a second when his eyes fell on a picture of you in a cap and gown on the wall next to his own police academy picture from 1981. Your smile is bright like always, with a soft curve of your lips with your long hair tucked behind your ear.

Ears large, you hated your ears, Javier thought they were cute. Was that a nose ring? Melissa must have fainted at the sight. Javier packed and exited at 8 am to head back to Houston. Fuck all of that. The image burned in his head anyway and he shut his radio off when Juan Gabriel blared through the speakers. Fuck— that. 

Javier returns home after his day trip to Lorraine half packing the heading out to her friends house. Javier returns to work, training, tiring, stretching, writing, printing and thanking god he doesn't go on patrol anymore. God he never felt like less of a hero when his first work assignment was watching his patrol partner asking homeless folk to move their tents. He thinks of that moment and thanks god he was working on detailing and research for the DEA instead. 

In April Javier walks into his office with a loud yell and confetti in his face. He flinches then grins at all of his colleagues dressed in cowboy hats-mocking him as his nickname around the building was Vaquero , the big city Texans found Javier's tight pants and belt buckles amusing. Unsure of the occasion or if he was the right person for this party his deskmate Felipe shakes his shoulders, “You're going to Colombia.” 

Javier scoffs in disbelief as he's surrounded by music and hugs and congratulations with a few “you’re making history fucker.” Youngest guy they're sending out to Medellín. Javier learns that day that it was his last week in Houston before he gets a six month break before he starts his first day the embassy in October.

Polaroid pictures and cheek kisses from the desk women who Javier had unintentionally flirted with throughout the years, Javier’s work finally paid off. 

His boss, Townes, poured him a drink and handed him a pile of mail. Javier was bad at collecting from his mailbox. Townes laughs at Javier's shocked expression, it sure did pile on. The entire office was in fits of conversations and dances. Javier made note of how close his deskmate Felipe is to the front receptionist Gina. He fucking knew it, her face bright red when Felipe would walk in and place a light tap on her desk. Javier narrowed his eyes at him while he obviously bit back a smile when they walked to their own desks. Felipe had a hand flat on her back. 

Townes cleared his throat. “Opened this thinking it was mine, you should really head to that man. Seems like you're missed in Laredo.” He grips Javier's leather shoulder. Javier frowns and stares at the ripped envelope before digging his own fingers to fish out the card. Javier’s eyes bounced between letters, as they circled in his head quickly and with panic. He felt his superior smile from behind him, probably proud with his mini retirement suggestion. Javi traced his finger at the bump out lettering.

You are invited to  Genie and Frankie’s Wedding 6-20-1986

Javier gave a thinned lipped smile to his boss, it was time for Javier to come home, he knew it for a while, but he was sure of it now. 

Javier dusted his desk off with a shaky finger, his father at the doorway watching his every move. Rubbing his fingers together and flicking the collection away. The slightest frown on his lips, regret piling in his throat. He hadn’t gone home in so long. He could feel his fathers eyes burn on him as he watched the room he grew up in turn into a place of visitation, vacation, no longer his home.

His bed made, the childlike posters staring back at him and the teddy bear Lorraine had given him on valentine's day during their first year. Javier walks over to pick it up and inspect the thing. Feeling it’s fluffiness being a bit matted with age. Javier then looks at the picture of him and Lorraine on his night stand. Seeing his old smile and lighter brown hair. What an idiot he had been to shave his mustache that was itching to come in back then. 

He knew he had changed a lot. Taller, slimmer, more lines when he smiled, hair curling at his neck and a mustache that wasn’t needed to prove he was a man but a thick one nonetheless-made him look unrecognizable. 

His bear still in hand he hears his dad step slightly closer, “She’ll come around papa.” Javier’s eyes drop at the sentiment. Javier hadn’t really specified why they broke up-Javier never really told Chucho anything about Lorraine unless it was positive. He didn’t want to complain about her, he promised himself he wouldn’t be that sort of boyfriend or ex. Chucho had only ever been with Javier's mother but he respected her enough to relay that piece of advice to never speak down on your partner, even if they were an ex. You dated them for a reason, those reasons don't disappear when you split .

He hums an agreement although he knew there was no coming around, they had been over since 1981. 

The dust can be seen in the sunlight from his window. Circling and never falling. He had been home just for one day 4 months prior, and he hadn’t stepped into his room. He hadn’t even left his childhood home, he just stayed in the living room with his dad, silently watching tv as if this was normal, him being around, like that was normal. As if his dad didn’t have to face sending his only child away to a new dangerous career venture. Javier also knew you weren’t home then, not like he’d dare to stop and say hello after writing you off for so many years. His stomach flips at the thought of seeing you now.

The heavy hurt he just knew he instilled in you, would you slap him when you run into each other? No, not Andrea. You would never put your hands on him. Would you be so surprised to see him that you’d forget his absence? Would you smile out of instinct or frown in realization? 

He hadn’t seen a picture of you since you were a senior in high school, it’s been three years since then. Did you have an apartment in Florida or do you still dorm-would you even have to stay all summer or could you just stop by your brothers wedding and settle back into your home so far away. You had mirrored him but decided to make it a competition. Your thousand miles and his three hundred. 

Somehow he was able to tuck away the thought of you, for those first two years in Houston the thought of you not being okay consumed him. Lorraine had come home with takeout laughing about some chisme she heard from her friend in Laredo about you getting caught piss drunk on top of some guy in a bathroom. That led to an argument, Javier asking Lorraine to quit gossiping, which then developed into a screaming match about you and Javier’s obsession. Javier just asked her to table any conversation involving you, that he rather not know. So he pushed the thought of you and everything that came with the wallet image he tossed away with a heavy heart. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose when he would receive unsolicited updates about your life from your brother or Chucho. This would be far easier if people didn't adore you the way they did. 

He remembers when Chucho called him that July after helping you pack up your room. If he had stayed, god he couldn’t bear it be you leaving. That was the first time he was glad he had left first. “Javi.” Chuchos voice brought him back to earth, back to Laredo. 

Eyebrows shooting up Javier turns to face his dad, “Yeah?” 

A look of sympathy crosses over the wrinkles on his face, “Today is Tito’s 13th birthday.” His dad frowns, knowing what he was about to ask. Javier was stuck for a bit, confused at the sudden statement. Then more floored by his little cousin turning 13 when he was only 7 the last time he had been home. “Everyone is expecting you.” 

Javier feels a bubble growing in his chest at the thought of curious eyes and awkward hugs. “Who is everyone?” A hand falls to his hip, he knows. Everyone is everyone, there’s no damn party in this town without at least a hundred people walking out drunk regardless of the age of the birthday boy. 

Chucho chuckles and tips his hat at him before leaving Javier in his old room. 

Despite Javier’s protests and complaints of being tired he’s dressed in a flannel and patting his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Rehearsing in his head how to answer stupid and overbearing questions. Closing his eyes at the thought of getting a lot of Lorraine heavy questions. Thank god for the cigarettes in his pocket. 

Javi was a passenger for the first time in a long time as his father drove them down to the venue and it’s like the second coming of Jesus when a 23 year old Javier walks through the doors. 

Chatters in Spanish about how he’s grown, cheek pinches, kisses a bit too close to his mouth from girls from school that he doesn’t remember. Alejandra, according to her, Javier’s first girlfriend. “Tengo que decirle a la gente que mi primer novio fue un agente de la DEA.” She grins and kisses his cheek again, Javier’s nose scrunching.

After the small encounter Javier he sees the same little face on an elongated body. Little Tito, tall giving a sheepish teenage hug as another girl his age hangs behind him. Javier has a knowing smile remembering having a girl - friend at 13. “You’ve gotten so tall, who’s this?” Javier tuts his chin at the young girl whose face lights up in a blush, her eyes shifting everywhere but on Javier. Tito laughs in the only way a crushing pre-teen could. 

A brace-face smile, “Oh, my friend Adriana.” The girl smiles at the introduction, hands behind her back shyly. Javier raises his brows at his little cousin, and gives an approving frown. Familiar name. A mirror of his own childhood with you. Javier leans down to whisper in the birthday boy's ear.  

“Be nice to her, keep up the Peña reputation.” He advises, a firm squeeze on his bony shoulder before waving the two of them away to go back with the kids of their age. Standing straight Javier rubs his jaw and straightens up his going out top. Scanning the room for his dad who had parted the second he was swarmed. The same local mariachi band performing at the blue and red themed birthday party. 

Instead his eyes fall on a woman with blonde hair tied in a neat bun, thick brown brows and an aging smile that shrinks at the sight of him. Mrs. Smithfield in all her southern-belle glory staring at Javier with conviction. Javier blinks a few times before attempting to wave before she turns her back to him and walking away. A nervous shaking breath is exhaled from Javier’s lips, he regrets coming home. 

In the midst of Javier’s growing panic a slender hand grabs his shoulder and his knees weaken before he turns at the possibility of it being you. Instead, it’s your mother, your face on hers with more age and a stoic smile-you must’ve gotten your gleam from your father-he’d never know. Javier’s heart races at the sight, just your mom, after years. A few wrinkles included but still beautiful-still graceful and articulate. Hair moussed in curly scrunches, the smell filling the entire space, a long floral dress and a rosary flat against her chest. She grabs at Javier’s face and he looks away in embarrassment. “Javi! My goodness, didn’t know you could grow facial hair.” Her hand cupping his chin and manhandling his face like he was still fourteen. Her thumb brushing on the outer corners of his mustache. Javier chuckles and just allows her to examine him-“was so worried the academy would turn you useless and old, not even being a cop could break those Peña genes. Que chulo.” She jokes before slapping his shoulder, she loved thy neighbor, you know, unless they were cops. Javier nods a yeah, yeah. 

His chest rising and falling as the possibility of you being here increases by a million. His eyes dart around the woman in front of him but fall back on Mrs.Diaz just as quick. “How's everything?”

“Oh please, Javier, how are you? The DEA? That I could at least respect you know, is the salary good-it better-sending you to a war zone, I pray for you papa.” She looks over his shoulder for a second, then tightens her grip on his bicep. “My god-Frankie is going to freak out when he realizes you're stronger than him, he’s here!” Javier lets out a chuckle fueled by nerves at the thought of seeing your brother. Your mom had a new glow, one quite foreign to Javier. He remembers Melissa as just a nice lady, nothing more, nothing this enthusiastic. 

“Well, he’ll be even more angry when he sees that my mustache is better than his Ms. Diaz.” Javier jokes with a light squeeze to her arm. Her brows furrow and then settle in realization. 

“Mrs.Warden now Peña” She corrects. Javier is struck with even more confusion, forgetting she was engaged. “I married Mr. Warden, you know the middle school teacher?” She gleams as Javier’s face spreads in a smile, ah, right, Ms. Diaz got laid. Javier hugs his best friend's mom while uttering congrats and prying information out of her to take some of the heat off of him. She quips, smiling with every detail before waving him off to the table where he spots a grown man who is apparently Frankie. 

Frankie unknowingly dug into his food while Javier stalked the table to wrap his arm around his best friends neck. Frankies arms flail to grip Javier’s hold as Genie squeaks at the sight of Javi. “What the fuck-” Frankie groans through coughs as he slaps Javier’s hold. Javier loosens and kisses the cheek of Frankie who is still disoriented as his Fiancee giggles at his side. “Didn’t tell me your mom was taken, I was finally going to make my move.” 

Frankies eyes finally widen and he turns to fully see Javier’s face before letting out a little girl shriek before wrapping his arms around him, a hold Javier didn't know he missed this much. “You sick fuck, what the fuck?” Frankie laughs, gripping the shoulders of Javi to examine all the changes that six years create before giving a disapproving frown. Javier’s eyes almost look shut as the wide grin on his face ceases to shrink, “Your mustache isn't as good as mine though.” He comments, Javier’s smile dropping jokingly before pulling him in again. 

Genie sneaks in and Javier lifts her with his hold, kisses littering her cheek, he didn't expect himself to feel this affectionate but here he was. God, they were getting married. 8 years together, Javier wanted to ask how? How do you make that work, how did they do it so effortlessly. Maybe he should have asked for more advice, they had been doing something right, maybe Lorraine wouldn't be away although maybe the advice would lead him to stay with her.

By the grace of god, Genie and Frankie seemed to be too distracted by Javier’s new career venture to even utter her name. They knew, Javier also knew that they knew. He wouldn't come home for vacation without her you know unless… unless they were split up. Like always, Genie didn't hold back on the pig jokes. Discovering Frankie proposed on the beach when they went to Puerto Rico last May and how it's going to be a large backyard wedding-completely planned by Melissa and You. Javier couldn't help but let his brows shoot at the mention of your name, your name uttered out loud and not through static on a phone. Genie knowingly bites back a smile at his obvious attempt to micro manage his facial expressions as Frankie goes into detail about your skills in flower arrangements. How you cussed so loud when a rose thorn dug in your finger that your mama let the kitchen to hit you with a pillow as you dramatically cried at the cut, she just always been a crybaby, Frankie shook his head.

Javier wondered if your thumb felt better.

With Genie observing Javi she answers the question that has made its course around his head since they arrived, “Andrea is somewhere around her, surprised you didn't bump into her already. She’s hard to miss.” She chuckles before peering around the table to spot her. Javier holds himself together at the news. You were in this room, he knew he’d see you here so why was it that he feel the tension between his shoulder blades burn hot and glowy. Micro manage. Javier just nods. In his most lax way he asks what she meant by hard to miss. 

Frankie chuckles loudly at the thought of you scurrying around the party. You really had developed that maternal look as you followed the small steps of the new walker, trying to figure out how a one year old could be so fast, your hands out as you chased the stinker. “She’s got the baby with her.”

And to hell with micro-managing because Javier gives himself the sickest case of whiplash at the statement. 

No way. Dad would have told him. This is some sick prank. 

Javier's eyes snap to the stroller next to the empty seat just left of Genie and Javier feels his entire soul sink. No. “What, what do you mean?” Javier leans into the table, already visibly stressed at the thought, his mounted arm moving to stroke the hair below his nose. Frankie and Genie both glanced at each other and then back at Javier before bursting in fits of laughter. Javier blinked quickly, his leather clad shoulders dropping with air filling his lungs. Those fuckers. Genie found it hilarious, her head falling back holding her stomach and heaving while Frankies laugh deepened at the sight of his fiancee in a fit of laughs. How cute was the sight, Javier was sick. Javier kept his unamused trained eye on the couple as heels approached the table.

“Marisol fell asleep, could you watch her?”

Your voice burns in Javier's brain and he lifts his bowed head up at your approaching body, and your eyes widen in sync with his. He stares up at you as you crowd the table in a white turtleneck and long skirt as a baby girl has her face smushed in silent snores against your chest, you hair brown but honeyed. The maternal sight makes Javier dizzy. His chest falls for a moment, and you don't smile at him, you're just as shocked. Frankie chuckles and removes the chubby baby from you. You looked like you but far more grown, filling out your shirt, your eyebrows thinner and your hair in that layered look you used to have to make you look older. A proper beautiful woman, Javier wants to jump to his feet and hug you like he did your brother but his mouth is dry as is yours. “Javier, Hi.” You whisper while making Javier's chest ache at your softness, your voice and the fact that you hadn't used his nickname. You sit, patting your black skirt down as you give confused looks to your brother and in law, why didn't you warn me face. Javier licks his lips and stupidly all he can think to do is hold out his hand for you to grab and shake. 

Your lips quirk at the gesture and you touch him anyway, your hand dwarfed by his. Get it together Javier.  “Hi Andrea, your brother was just trying to kill me, saying that baby was yours almost-”

“She is mine.” You stare at him blankly and Javier’s eyes grow in size, and his cheeks heating before a real smile grazes your face. Javier feels privileged to see you smile again, smile at him, to see how despite having a wide smile, your lips never fade when you gleam. A nose stud. “Mi hermanita.” You confirm, trying to keep your own cool. You could feel Javier's body heat, the smell of him, his knee so close to your own.

You wanted to push him, kiss him, hug him, cry and tell him how much you missed him or tell him what you’ve been through. But all you could do is offer him small talk while he stares at you with his puppy dog eyes wondering where’d all the time go?

You're given a minute to breathe as Frankie pulls Javier's stare away from you as he explains the timeline of your mother meeting James, getting eloped and having a baby. Javier is shaking his head in shock the entire time, you watch the back of his head. His hair long again, folding at the neck with sideburns chopped and perfect. And a mustache, you didn't expect that. You didn't expect… well… you were immediately smitten with what he had grown to look like. So manly and broad, and hairy and large. You almost forgot how deeply hurt you were by him. Not one call. Looking down at your white top as a small stain from the drool of your baby sister's mouth darkened. Wiping your hand across your breast.

Javier’s eyes snap discreetly at your breasts and its movement when you wipe. 

Get it together Javier.

You didn't notice but ultimately gave up on the damn thing just to find Javier staring at you as Genie and Frankie crowd the stroller watching the infant stir in her sleep. You raise and eyebrow at the boy you still want, “What?” You narrow your eyes at him, and his lips stutter into a warm frown half hidden by the hair. You wanted to grab his face, feel his skin on your palm and hold. 

“I feel like I deserve to be slapped by you.” He states plainly.

Your face is stone cold, as you contemplate the offer but despite all the animosity you felt, you'd never put your hands on him, only if he asked and allowed you to kiss it better. You shake your head, Javier is really here. Your eyes leave his and scan the busy party. Seeing your mom serve a young child food. Eyes falling back to Frankie and Genie giggling off about something, not paying any mind to Javier’s burning gaze. “I feel like we should go talk outside” you spit, still being able to hold out any self control as he nods. 

Shoulder to shoulder with Javier again in the middle of a rare may breeze, looking up at the rare clear sky, it rained all week. Suddenly sunny and silent. The whole party stared at the two of you as you walked out of the building. Your mother nodding to you, James giggling to himself like the hard-ass he is. Feeling his shoulders rise and fall as you stood in silence.

"I'm sorry-"

“Shut up Javi, please.” Your hand comes up to your hair, running it through. Side by side you can't see his face but you do feel his body sink for a moment. It was the please that did it for him, he knew you, even after all these years. He knew a please out of you, a plea to him wasn't in your ranks. Javier did shut up though he wanted to hold your face and say i’m sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry. But you can't have any of that, you have control this time. You have control of your circumstances and you could push him, you could tell him he was a heartbreak you've been incapable of recovering from and you sure as hell could tell him that you hate him. You could also kiss him and leave him confused and aching to touch you and then you could leave. Go back to Miami, cut contact and live a life privately. Make him feel how you felt, how you’ve felt for six fucking years.

No.

You look to him and his eyes are peeled to the lot of cars in front of you, he feels you stare, burn, you burn him with the gaze. You thin your lips and hug your arms under your breasts, hugging your body. “ When do you leave?” You state more than ask.

His lips part and his head turns to you, looking into your eyes. That, he loved that. He loved how dark your eyes were, so dark that any light in your way makes them doe and animated, he hated to notice, but he fucking aches over the way your brows fold and bend with a line of stress when you look to him. “November.” He answered you, his eyes flitting to your lips, Javier couldn't help it, he found you so sexy back then when you forced answers out of him. God forbid you do it now, after so many years, after you've grown into that. Full, womanly, softer, prettier and meaner. Well, he had no right to assume you had gotten meaner but sixteen year old Andrea would have jumped into Javier's lap even if he had left you in that way. You had grown, meaner, if it was true he’d want it all. You quirk an approving frown before peeling away. Look back at me. 

“Do you really want to leave this time, and don’t bullshit me I don’t deserve any of that.”

Tan Brava. 

Javier smiles to himself but bites it away feeling that if you had caught him you’d click away in those little heels. He circles the question in his head and shrugs, “It’s work and the pay is handsome, close to a hundred.” He doesn't know why he admits that so quickly to you but you gasp, clutching at your stomach and you laugh. He needs a cig. The mere sight of you smiling so close to him is sending him over the edge. 

“Jesus fucking-sorry, just my starting salary is a fraction I-just shocked I’m sorry.” You exhale and Javier cant take it he’s patting at his pocket to fish out his killing carton. Your eyes watching his deft hands, veiny, you trap that image in that corner of your sick head. The stick falling between his large hands and up to his lips, your eyes follow it all. Your nose scrunching in disgust when he flattens his lips and covers his light. He side-eyes you in confusion.

“What?” He mutters, stunted by the cigarette at the corner of his mouth. Your face continues to twist in disgust. 

Shaking your head and crossing your arms, “You’re nasty Javier.” Continuing to shake your head as the sweet teen boy you had in your head dies when you watch the grown man in front of you, do something so adult , feed into an addiction. How cliche. 

He laughs, “Never seen someone smoke a cigarette before?”

You deadpan as you fight the urge to reach to pull the stick from his lips and stomp it. “Put it out.”

“Why?”

You narrow your eyes, “Put. It. Out.”

Smoke leaves the corner of his mouth, “Why, tell me.”

“You should be taking care of yourself, it's bad for you.”

You admit a bit too much and he's grinning like a fool and removing the cigarette from his upturned lips. He flicks the bud onto the floor and stomps it. Now it's you biting a smile at him listening to your request. You whisper, “Thank you.”

That has Javier looking at you with a dimple deep eyes shut grin, “Anything, Andrea, for you.” He mocks and you narrow your eyes. You want to pounce him in every sense of the word. You want to get on him and yell at him for making this so hard, you want to grab the back of his stupid head lick into his mouth until he’s begging you to give him anything, you knew he’d beg you. You also wanted to li ke actually pounce him , with the intention to wound. But the second form spoke the loudest when he licks his lips at your annoyance. 

“Light another.”

“What?”

“Light another so I can use you as an ashtray.” 

You're joking but Javier feels his pants tighten at your demand, for a moment he was willing to let you burn him, he’d been a dick and deserved it. With his hands at his side as he looks at you he thinks about how easy it would be to just kiss you. With a sly scoff and a head shake Javier plays it off, “Jesus, you seem stressed, would you like one?” He edges, reaching for his pockets and you swat him on his arm. You had to hold out.

“Oh, so you smoke because you're stressed?”

“Yes.”

“About what?” The air shifts with your light hearted question, you hear the music from inside change to something loud and eclectic, you could hear people scurrying to dance. You usually would wish you were inside but now you were extremely interested in what your ex-best friend is so stressed about that he decides to fill his pores with the smell of smoke. He quirks a brow at you, like you just asked if birds fly, checking if you were serious about the question before whisper a fuck it.

“Well, first of all, I haven't seen anyone in years and when I showed up in here they were treating me like a fucking Kennedy, asking me all these overwhelming questions about Escobar. I haven't even been to Colombia yet-then…” He looks down to the pavement and you begin to feel like shit for even asking, the way he takes a moment to breath worries you and your body twitches to hold him but decides against it. He breaths. “I see Lorraine's mom and I’m sure you know-just never worked, Houston made it worse. Whatever, her mom looks at me and turns her back, then your mom.” He laughs, still looking away. Your brows tense as you watch him in a state you've never really seen, so much insecurity and shame. Houston wasn't going to be good for him, I knew it wasn't. It circled your head for years but for selfish reasons, he won't be good because I wont be good without him, but instead he just didn't do good for himself. Your hand grazes his wrist for a moment and he doesn't move from your caress but it's fleeting so he continues with a frown and no eye contact. 

“When I saw you with the baby I nearly had a heart attack by the way, and then I felt guilty because you surely could have had a kid and I just would have never known, that's been killing me. Then you pull me out here, and I get deja vu, remember the last time we were at a parking lot?” He looks up to you with a stupid smirk and your mouth drops, just when I was feeling bad for him. 

You lean your body weight into him and push as he laughs and fuck it, you're smiling too, ear to ear and it feels like 1980. Your heart is pounding against your rib cage at his statement before the kiss comment, he leans back into you. Have a kid, thats funny to you. “What makes you think-jesus.” You giggle and Javi is at ease again. 

“Fucked if I know- last I heard you were in a committed relationship so fuck me for thinking that maybe you had a baby.” You cringe, you knew Xavier was more than likely coming to this function, you saw his sister earlier, what a beautiful disaster it would be to have Javi and Xavi in the same room again, god forbid Javier finds out the things he would say to you. Your ex would be gone by tomorrow. 

“Mmm, past tense yeah. You're not the only one who gets to make bad relationship decisions Agente.” His eyes snap to yours again at your nickname and his lips quirk to a frown after taking in your bad relationship comment. It was easier said but he wished that for you, a good relationship, it would hurt less to come home and see you happy. But you being available is making it all unbearable and the two of you have only been with each other for fifteen minutes. 

You watch Javier's expression soften, how he got prettier is beyond you. His smell had changed, still sweet yet earthy, with a hint of smoke-you would never admit to him that you liked the smell. Not after you threatened him for smoking. Your eyes flick away from him as you watch the car that had just pulled up go into park with a familiar back facing you. Right in Javier's blind spot, Jesus christ. “So what I’m gathering is that you aren’t in a relationship,-”

You interrupt him with a full arm squeeze as the leather crunches under your clawed hands. His temple creasing with his confused look he gives your pleading face. Why did this always happen, horrible timing with you two. Xavier’s walk is dominating as he quickens to approach the two of you, still nothing compared to Javier-he noticed too. God, you want to kill yourself thinking about the amount of times he didn't make you come…and he was a prick and you stayed, for so long. 

Javier’s nostrils flare at the realization, remembering that you ended up choosing fucking Xavier, the loser who attempted to slut shame you the first time you all met. Well, Javier left you when you had shit taste but he held hope out for you, hoped that you’d realize how good you were. Xavier is in front of the two of you with a smile and in his camo military get up. “Long time no see Javier.” He holds out his hand for Javi to shake but Javier stares at it for a few seconds. Never liked him.

He shakes it anyway and Xavier exhales with a laugh. Dork. He then looks at you with a smile, his eyes scanning over your body. 

You feel your breath die in your throat at the thought of how he spoke of your body just two years ago. You gained weight in high school, god forbid . It was around thirty pounds and it hadn't bothered you, you were still healthy-you body just had began turning more womanly. Throughout the entire relationship he found some way to slyly imply that your natural body was one to be ashamed of. And you lost the weight when you split up, not purposefully but because the dining hall food was putrid. So the gaze of your ex makes your stomach flip and Javier notices your change in body language. He crosses his arms and puffs his chest slightly but he doesn't need to; he already towers Xavier, “Yeah man, what is it that you do now?” he asks tauntingly. 

Xavier smiles and points to his military cap, “I’m back on base in Cali in a few months…” His green eyes move to your rigid stance with a small smile that makes Javier’s blood boil. “Guess you've always liked men in uniform DeeDee,” While he gives you whiplash with the horrendous nickname he gave you back in the day, he wags his finger between you and Javier. 

Javier’s eyes narrow at the boy and shakes his head, asshole , he mutters and Xavier doesn't catch on as his perverted eyes drag down your frame again, “I’ve got to get inside but I saw you leaving the gym where 7-11 used to be, you look great now, see you inside.” He grips your shoulder and is entering the party before Javier could react with attempting to get at him but he was gone.Your heart is full in worst ways, so full of disdain and hatred, feeling like an insecure seventeen year old again with his cunning ways to be an asshole towards you. Your hands fly to your face to pinch the bridge of your nose, too much all at once .

Javier’s hand is on the curve of your back in a familiar comforting hold, too much. Your eyes sting but they are shut, not today. “God, I fucking hate him so much-sorry” Javier feels your anxiety and anger burn off your skin and it makes him crazy. Just in the small interaction Javier understands what you meant about bad decisions . Javier had learned a lot in training about self control, he learned how to regulate his emotions well. It worked so well with Lorraine, the arguments stopped being explosive. But to hell with training, he didn't care the scandal it would ignite if the man of the night ran into the kids party and beat the military man bloody.  

You look down at your own body and step away from Javier's hold, “um… please just tell my family I went home early.” Pull away, distance, more unsaid things, you had more to say you just cant do it not after seeing Xavier. You’d be sick by the time you get home. 

Javier’s heart leaped at your distance and lack of eye contact. What happened to his smiling girl, querida. Feeling like a teen who had just been pushed away by a pretty girl, Javi stutters, “Yeah-I-I’ll tell them, just how do I”

You grip your purse and smile fakely, you’ll make sure to cry about him later. “I’ll call you tonight.” The wind pulls up and shifts your long skirt as you give Javier Peña a thin lipped smile. Javier tried not to break out in a face of relief, instead he nods you off and he watches until you safely get in your car and pull out of the lot.

Jesus christ you could drive now.

He felt like such an asshole.