#remember that the birds and the government are one in the same.

[ashersbraincell]

Pspspspspsps dessert duo or whatever it’s called fans:

“What if the long periods of putting people on hold and keeping them in the permit office were a desperate attempt to lure someone, anyone, into the same liminal hell he was bound to? Just for a little while, please, please stay, don't leave me here alone again. A subtle cry for help as he is prevented by an unseen force from directly asking for help.”

THINK ABOUT THIS. BUT WITH HOW ONE OF THE PEOPLE GRIAN PUT ON HOLD WAS. SCAR.

I bestow upon thee pathetic office government worker wet cat gone through existential horrors man x just. A guy. There to get paperwork done. Lightly unnerved by how tortured and desperate the aforementioned man appears

Also if you want more depth to this interaction consider the beef he had with Scar about him being the first to fish up the mending book(i added a lil more lore in regards to the whole fisherman bit in the original post if you just click on it)

“We can still be friends” he’d say, echoing a previous interaction just barely remembered from some other timeline, another world, once again forced by fate to try to drag down someone else into an evil path. Except he was more desperate, then. The “still” was more of a “despite our previous grievances”.

And besides, it would be killing two birds(pun not intended) with one stone. He would have company in this god forsaken place while also being a nuisance to the one who stole his prize right from under his nose. Surely sets up an interesting dynamic, no?

And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that Scar becomes a part of the team as part of the poe poe once the curse is broken. Maybe then they can slowly start unpacking all of this.

Lots of angst potential is all I’m saying

OUGHHH Liminal!Grian idea is wreaking havoc in my noggin.

Imagine a part of him, right, a part of him before Cub took over as manager is stuck in a forever in-between before that moment, stuck in the permit office, alone. Since the place is so liminal in nature, time works differently there, stretching and stretching. That's why, when he is eventually "fired and rehired" he is so manically ecstatic, he has been freed from the curse. What felt to most like not that long, felt to him like an eternity.

That's why he now feels deeply unsettled and uncomfortable entering the waiting room. It bring back the memories and, the most subconcious part of him, is afraid of slipping back into that plane of existence.

What if the long periods of putting people on hold and keeping them in the permit office were a desperate attempt to lure someone, anyone, into the same liminal hell he was bound to? Just for a little while, please, please stay, don't leave me here alone again. A subtle cry for help as he is prevented by an unseen force from directly asking for help.

Maybe it was, if you want to take it a step further into Watcher lore(which I'm not too well educated in so take this with a grain of salt), this could be a personal hell for rejecting becoming a fully "disconnected" watcher and instead forcing himself into the world he should only be watching. Since Watcher's sorta manipulate things behind the scenes, this would serve as a cool parallel to how the permit office acts as a sort of in-game representation of the admin that goes into creating the permits for the shopping district.

Do you see my vision, please tell me you see my vision

[echolitmag]

Daws, one of our featured photographers, wants you to know that whenever you’re in your era of photography remember to be DAMP-

D- Don’t be afraid! Its okay to get nervous walking and taking photos around strangers. But as long as you're confident, people will be comfortable…or uncomfortable. Be threatening.

A- Be Aware of the element of surprise. You never know when something cool is gonna happen. Or if a bird shits on your lenses.

M- Move around, always find new interesting angles and never stay in one place. Get super low… just as Flo Rida advised.

P- Always be Prepared. Never forget your gear, batteries, tripods, snacks and weapon of choice! The government could find you at any moment.

If you like these tips check out Daw’s work on our website!

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Since MXTX said HuaLian live until the modern times, have some random headcanons:

Hua Cheng keeps being an interior decorating king so of course his and Xie Lian's home is tastefully decorated for every season and holiday. However, that doesn't stop Xie Lian from occasionally adding the fugliest item ever because he got emotionally attached to it in the store. "It was all by itself, San Lang, nobody wanted it... i know what that feels like better than anyone..." and now they're both sniffling holding an ugly styrofoam pumpkin in the middle of the fall decor isle of Ikea.

The stray animals food budget is off the charts but it's nobody's fault all strays are immediately drawn to Xie Lian and he has to feed them cause he "knows what it's like to be hungry". This does not just include cats and dogs but also rats, raccoons, several bird species and at least one coyote.

Speaking of budgets, the financial control authorities are lowkey on Hua Cheng's case because he is still stinking rich but nobody knows where the cash is coming from. They think Ghost City is the name of some shady mafia establishment and are trying to find dirt on Hua Cheng but there is literally nothing there and it eats the government alive.

Xie Lian occasionally dumpster dives in places where he knows they throw perfectly salvageable things. Hua Cheng cries every time it happens but he stands watch so the police doesn't arrest his husband for it.

In the same vein, Xie Lian insists on recycling literally everything. They have those different colored trash bins and everything, and every time Hua Cheng places an item in the wrong bin, Xie Lian gives him a disapproving look that has the ghost king crumble.

They have so many house plants. It's like a little jungle in their living room but the air is so crisp.

They keep several scrapbooks of paintings, pictures, letters etc from all the people they met to remember them even hundreds or thousands of years after those people have passed away. Even if they now have access to phones and other media for storage, they keep up the tradition of using scrapbooks and notebooks anyway.

Xie Lian is actually up to date with memes and internet slang but has embraced being a cringe Facebook grandpa and is now committed to the persona. Hua Cheng finds this hilarious (he runs a very well maintained beauty channel and a side channel on swords where Xie Lian features in every video and geeks out about their sword collection. They have a golden button and a very large following).

Hua Cheng has a 25 step skincare routine and only uses the fanciest brands of products for literally everything. Xie Lian still swears by 8 in 1 shampoo and somehow has clearer skin. Hua Cheng is both enamored and scandalized about it.

Hua Cheng is a very big fan of acryllics and lets Xie Lian pick the base color every time. Xie Lian takes this task very, very seriously and tries to coordinate it with any activities/events they have planned so Hua Cheng stays being stylish.

Hua Cheng has a portable Dyson Airwrap with him at all times because one time a kid said his hair looks like a wet dog.

Xie Lian is not allowed to get a job because every time he tried to along the decades he became a cautionary tale somehow.

[tieronecrush]

part of me, apart from me

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

word count: 14k....its a whole thing okay?

summary:

kindly requested from a lovely anon "You and Javi had one kid together when you were very young, maybe you broke up due to his work schedule. You reunite at their college graduation 👀"

javier & you had daughter right after he graduated college, you with a couple years left yourself. when she was 15, he got the call to head to colombia, deciding with you to pursue his career and leave the two of you in the safety of laredo. seven years later, your daughter is graduating from college and javier is back home for good after cali, forcing himself to face what he finds are his failures, and hold out hope that you still feel the same as he does.

warnings (SPOILERS): BIG self doubt, self deprecation, heavy guilt, separated relationship, co-parenting, javier being in unrequited love, chucho being a king and a great grandfather & father, strained familial relationships on mother's side, discussions of death/violence/drugs, smoking, alcohol use, mentions of food/eating, use of spanish, javi has total DAD moments, he is a DILF ofc, dirty talk, oral sex (f & m (briefly) receiving), unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, becomes established relationship, etc.

a/n: i don't think the anon who requested this realized what it would do to my brain, but i have created a whole universe for this fic. i am in love with their little family and they will live forever in my head and heart. a huge thank you to my bestie el @northernbluess for screaming about javi, this fic, giving me the title for this, and beta-reading this long ass fic for me. love you friend!!!! hope you all enjoy, and that you love them as much as i do!

The engine of Javier’s truck cuts as he turns the ignition, the loud rumble of its mechanics quieting to reveal the sounds of birds chirping. For Texas in May, it’s a pretty mild day, sunlight shining bright against the blue sky. There’s a handful of wispy clouds above him as he opens the door and steps down from the cab, shutting it with a metallic click. He rolls his shoulders and swings his arms to loosen up, the sweat at the nape of his neck is from his nerves more than the temperature.

It’s been two years since he has seen his daughter, Liliana, in person. He’d come back from Colombia after everything that went down with the Cali cartel and the government only a mere 48 hours ago. He’s exhausted, but he made the drive from Laredo to College Station to see his princesa, the light of his life for the last twenty-two years, graduate from college. Specifically, his alma mater, Texas A&M University.

He has been counting down the days until he was back for this occasion, after repeatedly reminding everyone in the embassy that he would be out of the country. It just so happens that he doesn’t need to return to Colombia as he had originally planned.

A deep inhale and slow exhale attempt to calm the jitters that are trembling his fingers.

Fuck, he really wants a cigarette.

But Lili would kill him if he showed up smelling like burnt tobacco when he had promised a week ago he was on the Nicorette thing.

Instead, he shakes his head to himself and hooks his sunglasses in the open chest of his light blue short-sleeve button-up. Out of habit, he reaches to his lower back to feel for his pistol, his touch brushing denim.

Another inhale, slow exhale.

He can do this.

It’s you and his daughter. Two people that he loves. Two people he’s been working for.

Maybe that’s why he’s so fucking nervous.

How can you welcome him back every time he makes a visit? How can his daughter be excited to talk to him every week from across the equator? He’s been gone for years. Most of her teenage life, and nearly all of her college career. He’s only been back once since she moved to university. Once.

What a fucking asshole.

Certainly not a good father.

His boots tick against the pavement of the front path up to the dingy, weather-worn two-story house. He remembers getting photographs of Liliana in front of this house a couple of years ago, sent from you and stuffed in an envelope along with photos retelling her entire summer. That one of her standing proudly in front of this house hung on his fridge until he packed it up two days ago.

Every day he looked at it, he wished nothing more than to have been like one of her friends’ dads that helped with moving in and fixing up the house, maybe slipping her a hundred dollar bill to spend on groceries or alcohol on his way out to the car after saying goodbye.

Instead, he was stuck in Colombia under the thumb of the U.S. government and sleazy CIA agents that were controlling him like a puppet.

He’s here now, though. And he’s trying so hard to get over the tightness in his chest, to clear the lump in his throat, and to dry his sweaty palms when he gets up the creaky wooden steps and up to the front door. His middle finger presses the doorbell aggressively, taking a step back and shaking out his shoulders again.

Gaze focused on his shoes, he looked up as he heard the door unlock. A wide, genuine grin breaks out on his face when he sees Liliana in the threshold, that same smile copied and pasted onto hers, even down to the dimple on his right cheek.

“Tata (Dad)! You’re here!” she exclaims, jumping out of the door and hooking her arms around his neck. He laughs as he catches her, one arm wrapping around her waist and his other hand reaching up to hold the back of her head. He pets her long, brunette hair, squeezing her in a tight hug against his chest.

“Oh, Lili Pad. Missed you so much, mija.” He kisses the side of her head before loosening his hold on her, taking in the sight of his daughter after seeing her only through photographs for years.

“Tata, I’m graduating college tomorrow. Not little Lili Pad anymore.”

Her eye roll gives Javier’s attitude a run for its money.

Damn, she really got a lot from his gene pool.

The same deep brown eyes with hints of amber, softened and round give away their every emotion. The same mouth that finds a perfect pout, combined with those eyes he was always pushed over when she was younger. Anything she wanted, he would give to her. Even now.

She has your nose, though. Your ears. Your feminine facial structure. Your charming, warm personality.

“You’re always gonna be Lili Pad, amorcita. Always gonna be my babygirl,” he presses another kiss to her temple, unraveling her from him, “But you have grown into such a beautiful woman, Lili. You remind me of your mamá when she was your age.”

“There’s that Peña charm.”

He looks over his daughter’s shoulder and sees you leaning against the banister, arms crossed over your chest with a smirk playing at your lips. His heart rate increases to double speed, his now dry hands clamming up again as he drinks you in from head to toe.

Years away and he is still so fucking in love with you.

Another reason to curse his time in Colombia.

It was a mutual decision, to split up before he left. There was no timeline for how long he would be gone or when he could come back that first time he went down there.

And there was no way in hell he was putting the two most important people in his life in the middle of what was basically a fucking warzone.

So, that was that. Co-parents, and close friends.

And an agonizing ache every time he saw you since he left.

He grins right back at you, Lili waving him inside after her. Crossing the entryway to you, he opens his arms with a quirk of his brows.

Your smirk reaches its full stretch, shifting into a gracious smile as you drop your arms and step into his, snaking your hands around to his back. He holds you tightly, a shorter embrace than the one with Liliana but long enough for your signature scent to pull him back to being a young, dumb college student who was madly in love. A chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek before he pulls away.

“I’m pretty sure she gets that from you, amor. I don’t recall a time when you weren’t able to get what you wanted — everyone you meet thinks you’re a delight.”

“See? More charm. Laying it on a little thick, Jav,” you tease, hitting your fist against his bicep gently.

He glances at your arm when you lower it back to your side, catching the glint of the bracelet with Liliana’s initials in gold charms that is always on your wrist. He gave it to you after she was born, once she was taken home from the hospital and the two of you were standing over her crib watching her sleep. Ever since then, he’s never seen you without it.

“Alright, alright. Enough of the weird, complimentary back-and-forth you guys do. Do you wanna see the place before I move out, viejo?” Lili cuts in and Javi’s eyes leave your wrist to look at her with a smile.

“Ay, no soy viejo, princesa (Ay, I am not old, princess). Now lead the way and no more making fun of me,” he nods for her to walk ahead of him, taking a few steps and glancing back at you, “You not coming on the tour, amor?”

You shake your head and give Liliana a look that says ‘Care to explain?’. Being on the receiving end of that look many times, he knows it a bit too well coming from you.

“Mom is being amazing and helpful and wonderful like Mom always is and is packing my closet for me.” Lili cringes as she admits it to her father, Javier shaking his head and letting out a long exhale.

“Liliana, you have known you’re moving for months and you’ve waited until the day before graduation to pack? Dios, somos demasiado parecidos (God, we are too much alike),” he nods for her to continue walking as you laugh behind him, the sound traveling as you walk upstairs and bringing a faint smile to his lips as he follows his daughter.

He hovers around Lili’s room as you pace from her closet to the cases laid out on the floor, organizing everything and folding as you walk back and forth. Your daughter is downstairs, tasked with packing up her items from the kitchen and the living room. Javi’s been given the whole tour, now dropped off to “catch up with Mom”, as Lili put it.

Across the surfaces and walls, he spies the little gifts he’s sent her over his years away: all of the birthday cards he’s hand-picked and written letters in stacked in a box on her desk, the mola depicting lilies framed and hanging on her wall, the brightly colored Wayuu mochila that he’d bought from one of the open air markets in Bogotá hanging off of the door knob to her closet.

There’s a sharp pain in his chest when he sees the small picture frames sitting on her nightstand. He sits on the edge of her bed and picks them up one by one to study them. The first is a photo of you and Lili, smiling from ear to ear. He recognizes the photo as one he took on his visit before last, the one he made before Lili went to college. The pair of you are standing in the middle of an overgrown field on the Peña ranch, sun setting in the background. Lili insisted on watching the sunset all together on Javi’s last night at home, and he snuck the camera out with the three of you.

He has a copy of the photo right next to his bed, too.

Setting the frame down delicately, he picks up the next one, this one of Lili and him alone. It’s from years ago, the wide smile on Lili’s face showing off her missing front tooth. Javi grins back at his little girl in the photo, his eyes combing over to the younger version of him, way back when he was a sheriff in Laredo. It must have been during the holidays — there’s a shiny plastic red gift bow on his chest and Lili is wearing a knit sweater with a snowman on it.

Where did all the time go?

The last photograph grows the lump in his throat and the ache in between his ribs. It’s a photo of the three of you, one from his most recent visit a couple of years ago. Dressed up for a Dean’s Award ceremony that Liliana was nominated for. She looks like the spitting image of you, and you are absolutely glowing with pride for her. You two are so beautiful. He looks exhausted, anxiety in his eyes that never seems to have left since his first year in the DEA. It was around the time when he thought he was going to be able to stay, to be around for Lili and for you. He told you what happened in Colombia that got him sent home; you understood, of course, you understood why he did it all. And he admitted it all with the faintest smile on his face, the thought of getting to settle was appealing more and more to him.

And then he got the call.

He battled with the decision.

He talked to you about it.

You said, “We’re always gonna be here, Jav. You need to go. What’s a few more years?”

Everything. A few more years was everything.

He missed so much.

“You okay, Jav?”

He looks up from the photo in his hands, eyes focusing back on the room instead of a million miles ahead. You are kneeling next to one of the suitcases, carefully placing some of your daughter’s clothes in neatly. Those eyes you’re giving him turn his brain to mush, all of the escalating thoughts dripping away.

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Reminiscing,” he nods to himself as he turns the photo for you to see before setting it back down, pulling a grin onto his face, “Do you remember when the three of us would all go out to dinner or meet up with my tíos and tías when Lili was a baby? And they would always ask us when we were getting married?”

A gentle laugh comes from you as you think back, knowing how many times you got asked the same question over and over again.

“Yes, I definitely remember that. I also remember you getting so annoyed one day that you just—”

“Lied and said that we got married at the courthouse?”

“Yes! I got such an onslaught of questions after you said that. That news, which wasn’t even news, spread like wildfire throughout your family.”

“Well, at least it got people off our backs, esposa,” he winks, grin lifting to one side to meld into a smirk.

You roll your eyes dramatically, the wide smile peeling your lips apart making Javi’s heart race faster.

“You want some help, amor? Feel like an imbécil not doing anything,” he slaps his hands on his knees as he stands from Lili’s bed, taking the handful of steps that separate you. One knee is bent to bring him down to the ground, huffing out a sigh as he gets fully onto his knees.

“Sure you’re gonna be able to get up from the floor, viejo?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you continue to put rolled clothes into the luggage. Javier rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“I think I can handle getting up from the ground, bromista. Been jumping off of roofs and trekking through fucking jungles for seven years.” He doesn’t wait for your response, grabbing one of the unfolded shirts from next to you and attempting to fold it as neatly as you’ve done with the rest of them.

“Alright, alright. I believe you. How about I roll, you organize what I hand you into the suitcase? Sounds good?” You hold a hand out for the shirt in his hand, a small laugh as he resigns his attempt and passes the fabric over.

“Sí, jefa (Yes, boss),” a soft grin pulls one side of his mouth up, deepening the dimple on his right cheek. You look at him with your own tender smile when you hand him a rolled pair of jeans to put away, reaching your hand up to poke the little crevice in his cheek like you always do — like you always did.

The two of you work quietly for a few minutes, falling into a rhythm. Liliana makes noise from downstairs, cabinets open and closing, sounds of bubble wrap being ripped echoing throughout the house.

“How’re you doin’, Jav?”

The question strikes him, slumping his shoulders and training his gaze on the shirt in his hands as he rubs his index and thumb over the softened cotton.

It’s a simple enough question; he expected you to ask when you first saw him. In a greeting, he thought it would be easy to brush it off, tell you ‘Estoy bien’ or that he was happy to be home.

But right now, packing up his daughter’s clothes to move her out of college and back into your home — the day before his little girl’s graduation — it feels too difficult to lie.

Sitting alone here with you, the mother of his daughter, the beauty that gave him his greatest gift, the woman — the strong, commanding, warm, gentle woman that he is still so incredibly in love with — is drawing the truth out of him before he can fully catch up with what he’s admitting.

“Feeling like a real pendejo. I missed so much. Too much, amor. I’m sorry.”

“Jav. You are here now. You always show up when she needs her Tata. Even if it’s not physically, you show up for her every day. No more of that talk this weekend, do you hear me? You’re here. That’s it. Not missing anything.”

How do you always know what to say to him?

How did he ever walk away from you?

Javier nods his head, pressing his lips into a tight line as his fingers twitch for nicotine. He would kill for that slow drag of smoke filling his lungs, relaxing his racing mind and heart with a break that lasts as long as the burning paper and tobacco.

Instead, he stands on his knees, grabbing the plastic pack out of his pocket and popping out a chiclet of gum, tossing it into his mouth, and chewing furiously. The look on your face is observational, a twitch of your lips into the faintest grin calms him nearly as much as a cigarette would.

He sits back on his haunches, one of his hands reaching to touch you, faltering when your head turns down to fold the item of clothing in your hands.

“Te quiero, esposa,” his hand grazes his fingertips along the denim covering his thighs, twitching to move the hair curtaining your face, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Jav,” your head shakes back and forth subtly, eyes lifting from your lap and softening as you smile at him, “Love you, too.”

“Jesús Cristo, Liliana, you have a lot of shit. I went to college with a suitcase and a duffle bag — and left four years later with just the duffle bag,” Javier shakes his head as he carries the last piece of luggage downstairs to the living room where the rest of her packed belongings are accumulating to pack up in your three cars the day after her graduation.

“God, Jav, you sound like my father. ‘I walked twelve miles to school with rocks in my backpack and in a foot of snow’,” you drop your voice to mock him, laughing with your daughter as she walks in from the kitchen and stands next to you, “Getting to be an old man, Peña.”

“Mamá is right, Tata. You’re the youngest dad out of all my friends and you sound the oldest right now,” Lili says through a wide smile, and you laugh with her now, sending Javier a brightly teasing grin.

He grumbles and rolls his eyes, waving a hand at both of you dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough from you two bromistas. Y’know, I didn’t miss you two ganging up on me — it was one thing through the phone, but in person is just too much.”

Your tongue clicks and you walk over to him, pinching his cheek as you pass by him, “Aw, Jav, it’s all love. You’re just easy to rile up, makes it fun.”

You wink at him with your back to Liliana, slipping out of the room to grab more of her boxes from the kitchen. At your touch and the minuscule flirtation, his heart rate thumps louder in his ears. His eyes follow you out of the room, snapping back when Liliana asks him a question. He shakes himself out of the trance, looking over to his daughter and stepping over to where she’s stood in front of an open box.

“Qué pasa, mija? (What’s up, my daughter?)” Javier reaches an arm up and wraps it around her shoulders, holding her against his side as he presses a kiss to her head. His eyes drop to what’s held in front of her, a chill running down his spine when he sees a photo of Escobar across the front page of the newspaper, the headline reading ‘ESCOBAR KILLED IN MEDELLÍN’.

“Do you want this copy, Tata? I kept two of them, but I think the other one is already packed away and I don’t know if I need both anymore really. Kept one to show my professors all about you,” Lili turns her head and looks up at him.

Javier shakes his head, a tight smile facing his daughter before he drops his arm from her shoulders.

“No, no thanks, mija. No need to keep the other one either. I wasn’t even there for that, amorcita. I think I was actually about to come over to Mamá’s house to see you when I got the call,” he tasks his antsy hands with sealing a cardboard box with packing tape, “May as well toss them out. Or send them to Mr. Murphy if you want them to be kept safe.”

“I don’t want to get rid of the other one. I want to keep it. Even if you weren’t there for it, you still did so much work to get to that point, Tata. I mean, you doing all of that in Colombia is what made me want to do criminal psychology,” she carefully slips the newspaper into one of the open boxes, closing it up and holding her hand out for the tape roll.

“Mi princesa, you—“

“I know, Tata. I promise I am not going to be running on rooftops or caught in the middle of shootouts with the DEA. No fighting cartels, viejo. I just want to work with profiling and behind-the-scenes stuff.” She takes the tape, closing up the box completely as Javier’s heart cinches in his chest.

He is so incredibly proud of his Lili Pad, but he can’t deny how angry he got when Liliana chose her major finally — of course, it had to be criminology. She explained she was drawn to it because of his work, but assured that she is not interested in doing the same thing he has done for years. Behind the scenes, possibly going into forensic psychology or helping to profile criminals. Office jobs, for the most part. But he couldn’t shake that anger inside for months; never been angry with his daughter, and he knew she was as headstrong as him and would achieve what she wanted. He was angry with himself, for even planting any sort of seed, even unknowingly, for Lili to get into this type of work. He knows that eventually her end of the promise might not be kept — he knows her, how easily excitable she can get with new opportunities. She’ll likely end up climbing ranks or even getting into some agency like the FBI or something.

The thought of her out there, in a tac vest or with a weapon, makes bile burn his esophagus.

“Alright, I think we’re done here for today. Better go check into the hotel and we can get ready quick, then we can swing by and pick you up for dinner, Lili.” Your voice pulls him out of his spiral, stare focusing back into the room and glancing over at you in the doorway from the kitchen.

“Sí, jefa. Sounds like a plan,” he pats the pockets of his jeans and feels for his truck keys, “You gonna be ready if we come in an hour, princesa?”

Lili rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and popping her hip out, a stance all too familiar to Javier.

“Sí, Tata. Besides, I’m not the one you should be asking that to. Mom is always the one who takes longer to get ready.”

Javier laughs when you walk over to your daughter, pinching her side playfully. He shakes his head and gives Liliana a knowing look.

“Mija, I have known that fact about your mamá for longer than you’ve been alive. I’m guessing it will be an hour and a half until we’re back, but wanted to make sure you were actually ready. An hour to you women is at least an hour and fifteen to the rest of the world.”

Javier smiles with a loud laugh as both you and Lili approach him and swat his arms, pinching his sides without causing any pain whatsoever. There were protests on either side of him, his daughter and her mother annoyed with the judgments on their time management but all three of them knew he was right.

“Alright, alright, I apologize…” he surrenders from the assault with his hands up, taking deep breaths as he recovers from his laughter before continuing with a smirk, “But we all know I’m right!”

Javier makes a quick exit out of the room and through the front door before any other hits or pinches can be given to him, hearing the stifled laughter from you and Lili from inside the house.

“Yeah, you better run, Jav!” you call out as you gather your purse and fish out your car keys, saying a quick goodbye to Lili and following his path out of the house, “Now I’m gonna be ready in an hour just to prove you wrong.”

“That would only make me overjoyed. Maybe we could make our reservation in time then,” he waves goodbye to Liliana before turning to continue down the front path of her house, to his truck parked in front of your small SUV.

“You wanna follow me over there?” he asks as he unlocks the driver’s side door, watching you open yours and nod to him.

“Yeah, sounds good to me. Don’t be driving like a bat out of hell, though, Javier.”

“Hey, I can’t make any promises. Used to driving all around Colombian cities, it’s a lot different on those roads,” he jokes before making sure you get into your car, hopping into the truck, and listening to the engine turn over before he leads you both over to your accommodations for the rest of the weekend.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Peña. We would normally be absolutely willing to find a solution for you, but we’re fully booked for the graduation weekend. We only have one room for you.” The front desk receptionist looks terrified of Javier at this moment, his glare that he has perfected, normally reserved for serious criminals or dirty agents, is aimed directly at the young college student working here.

When the two of you were trying to check in, they had been informed that the reservation Javier had made for the two of you, two standard rooms, had been double booked, resulting in the parties involved only getting delegated one room each. 

His jaw notched to the side, hands gripping the edge of the front counter with his arms wide and head dipping down in annoyance. He picks it up, addressing the hotel employee again.

“I made a reservation months ago. I called from fucking Colombia — I paid about forty dollars wasting twenty minutes on the phone with whoever was working that day just to get this booked—”

“Jav,” your hand finds his chest as his eyes find yours, the rapid heartbeat thumping in his chest definitely not slowing down at what was supposed to be your soothing touch, “It’s fine. We can survive with one room for two nights. It’s either taking this or sleeping on the floor at Lili’s.”

Holding your gaze, he can see the words unsaid in the look you’re giving him.

Shut up and take the room key.

And there’s no way he is continuing to argue with the kid in front of him as he squirms under your own stern stare. With a grumble, he straightens up, your hand leaving his chest and cool, conditioned air chilling the spot that was covered in your warmth. The rest of the check-in process is painless, with Javier paying for the stay and taking the room keys. He turns around to face you, handing you one of the access cards and nodding toward the elevators.

“Let me take that, amor.” He leans down and grabs both duffles from the floor, one his and one yours, following your lead over to the elevators. The two of you stand and wait for the doors to open, the familiar ding alerting them to which one will be taking them up to their floor. When the doors slide apart, a large group of people started to spill out into the lobby. You step back to avoid a collision with a man not watching where he is walking, and Javier’s hand immediately finds your lower back to steady you. It lingers as the rush of people clears out — he makes no move to take it away until he guides you into the small square space, dropping his touch to press the button for your floor.

Once the two of you make it into the room, he sets your bags down on the desk and dresser, walking over to the thermostat to turn it down for you without a second thought.

“You remember,” you observe with a grin, rifling through your bag to find your toiletries and a change of clothes for dinner.

“Course I do, always had to have the air blasting in our apartment or the house. You never could sleep without a massive blanket and your toes under my legs. Never did understand your need to be freezing, always,” he chuckles at the memories of every night with you, until the separation when he was assigned to Bogotá.

“I dunno why either, just was always the most comfortable. Felt cozier, plus it always gave an excuse to cuddle.” Your giggle sends a tingle from his ears down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, a shudder easily blamed on the intense fans of the air-con.

“Go ahead and take the first shower, esposa. I’ll wait so that you can have more time to get ready and all that,” Javier crosses the room, saddling up next to you to rummage through his own weekender bag. In his periphery, he can see you flash a smile as you gather your things in one arm, using the free hand to brush across his shoulder blades when you walk behind him.

“Very kind, Jav. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom and he picks his head up, turning it to look at you. Head to toe, he scans you quickly before settling on your face, shaking his head.

“Take your time, amor. We both know I can be ready in ten minutes if I need to be,” he sends you a wink and half a smirk appears when you laugh, shutting the door behind you.

He hears the water run, kicking off his boots and sitting at the edge of the bed with an extensive sigh. Rubbing his eyes of exhaustion, he’s still for a moment. Shoulders drop, limbs feeling heavy as the day catches up with him. Moving, packing, even fighting with himself has drained him over the course of the day.

He loved spending time with his Liliana again, seeing her eager to walk the stage tomorrow and collect her diploma. And being around you again, drudging up all of the feelings and desires and words that he has tamped down for the last seven years. But it all comes with reminders of how absent he was, thousands of miles away, how undeserving he is of being welcomed back into the arms of you two, how his daughter was so proud, idolized him so much that she chose to study a major that puts her in the same field of work. He deserves distance from her, a cold shoulder from you — aloofness of some sort for the choice he made.

At least that’s what he’s told himself over and over for nearly the last decade. No matter how much you or Lili continually proved those thoughts wrong, they always came back.

He glances at his watch before standing and moving toward the bag again, hearing the water shut off and moving to grab his toiletries. Taking out the leather Dopp kit jostles something else in the bag loose, flinging it out onto the floor. Bending down with a sigh to retrieve it, he’s faced with the metal badge emblazoned with the DEA seal and ‘USA’ carved into it. It must have been in the bag from his plane ride earlier this week, and it serves as a blatant reminder of what he needs to talk to you about on this trip. What he needs to tell Liliana, too.

The badge gets thrown back into the bag and he walks toward the open bathroom door, stopping short within the threshold. You’re standing at the counter, products splayed around you to do your makeup. Even after living with you for 15 years, he barely has a clue what any of it does besides lipstick and mascara. He’d spent many mornings and evenings listening to you explaining your routine, but never quite getting down all the product names. There’s a pang in his chest, felt deep in the bones of his rib cage; the sight gives him major deja vu, nostalgia wavering over him. Even his subconscious longs for a time when you were his.

A humorous smile reflects back at him with your eyes glued to his in the mirror. Your fingers tap a rogue-colored product across your cheeks, giving you a bit of a brighter, subtly flushed look.

“Sorry, Jav, promise I’ll be out of here in like five minutes. I am trying to be quick.”

“Cálmate, amor. No hay prisa.There’s no rush, really…” he clears his throat, setting his toiletry bag down on an open space at the counter. He leans one hip against it, body facing you and studying the motions of painting your face while his mind works up the courage to bring up the pressing conversation.

“I, um, I actually have to tell you something.” His eyes cast down to the side, the grout of the tiles suddenly interested him.

“What is, Jav? You can tell me anything, you know that.” The compact in your hand is forgotten, clicked closed, and set down next to you as you mirror his stance. One hip against the counter, facing him.

“I know. I know. There’s just—It’s kind of a big thing and I wanted to tell you as soon as it all happened but I didn’t know how things would exactly shake out…”

“Javier. Take a breath,” you instruct him, hand against his chest with purposeful pressure, taking a deep inhale along with him and letting it out slowly. You don’t remove your hand, and he’s grateful for the gesture.

“I retired from the DEA two days ago. The morning before I left to come home. So, uh, I’m back at the ranch with Pop and I’ll be here now.” A mess of emotion comes out of his voice — fear, anxiety, relief, disappointment. Painfully, he drags his eyes up to your face, seeing your eyes wide with surprise and your brows relaxing from shooting up at the news. It’s an unreadable, unfamiliar expression; he watches as it all morphs behind your eyes before sympathy washes over every feature of yours, tender tone speaking up in the tiny bathroom.

“What happened?”

Everything was spilling out after that — information that was surely spreading across the US over the last 48 hours, not that he paid any attention to the news right now. Ambassador Crosby told him that he had won, that the Cali Godfathers would be locked up, at least for the foreseeable future. How dirty he felt when Crosby said the words, “You played the system like a goddamn fiddle…” The ledger proving the Colombian president’s campaign donations from the Cali cartel in exchange for immunity, the knowledge that the US government allowed all of it to occur, how he had spoken about it all to the reporter from El Tiempo.

“Javier, Jav, oh—I’m so proud of you.” The air is knocked him his lungs when the sound of those words reaches his ears, the next second being wrapped up in your tight embrace. It takes a moment to register your hug before he relaxes his weight against you, tension melting as you speak to him right next to his ear, “You told the truth. You helped every single Colombian citizen know what their government was doing to them. Just, holy shit, Javi. That’s fucking badass. I’m so, so proud of you, honey.”

Kindness, understanding, and comfort ooze around him and break down the stoicism that he’s been masked with for the last two days, tears welling in his eyes and spilling a few over that he quickly wipes away.

How can you always seem to find endless compassion for him? He’s just told you he quit his job with no real backup plan and all you said was how proud of him you are.

You’re a really good friend.

A great friend, actually.

Fuck, he is so in love with you still it hurts.

“Thank you…I don’t deserve your pride though, I did so many bad things,” his voice is hoarse on the last word, tightening his arms around you to quell his emotion.

“None of that, Jav. You uncovered a whole fucking…political scandal. Told people what their governments were doing. That’s honest; it’s ethical and respectable. You did the right thing, Jav.”

The last few words grow the lump in his throat, a slow nod against the side of your head. His lips brush your ear, confiding as if it is something he hasn’t said many times before, “Te quiero, amor.”

The smile is evident in your voice despite the fact that the hug keeps your face from his sight, and the saccharine sweetness of your voice sends his heart racing again, “Love you too, honey.”

At dinner, once there’d been a few drinks and some food served, Javier told Liliana the news he broke to you in your hotel bathroom. Albeit, it was an abridged version, details of his mistakes and pains of guilt left out for his precious daughter’s sake. She was eager to get out into the world and make a difference, and he had all the faith that she could, unlike him. He didn’t want his story to taint her view of what she was going to be able to achieve with her sheer determination.

He had that at one point. Probably lost it sometime in the last few years, slowly and then all at once when those tapes were found.

Liliana was understanding of her father resigning, chalking it up to his years down there catching up with him and teasing him for being an old man now. He took it gracefully, laughing along with the two of you and riffing on his own, with self-effacing jokes. As the conversation wrapped up, questions from Lili were answered by him — he was home, for good, living with Chucho and helping run the ranch. He would absolutely be around to help her get ready for her first day at work and help her move into her new apartment in San Antonio. And yes, he would be delighted to come over for dinner once or twice a week to spend some time with her, and you. Liliana had formulated the idea herself, earning a nod of approval from you and a warm invitation seconded.

After he accepted, Liliana changed the subject to rant about whoever the university had chosen for the commencement speech and how random of a choice it was. He listened intently, always hanging on every word from his Lili Pad, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by your hand coming to the place on his thigh closest to his knee, resting there for a moment before giving him a supportive squeeze. Nothing was spoken about the gesture, no looks were exchanged when your hand stayed there until the food came.

Sitting in the booth, observing and listening to his girls bounce back and forth in conversation, he finds the first moment of resounding comfort that he’s felt in seven years.

The last conversation he had with Spencer just days ago after the recent trial in D.C. rings in his mind, the two men standing at the displayed photos of Special Agents from the DEA.

He had asked Javier, “What else is a guy like you gonna do?”

At the time, Javier wasn’t too sure.

But now, with two of his favorite smiles beaming, one identical to his own, and the chorus of laughter that soundtracks his life, and his heart racing, the heart that bleeds for his family sitting here with him, he knows what he’s gonna do.

Be a father.

Be a partner.

Be a friend, a son, a lover, a teacher, a student, a listener, a provider, a protector.

Be everything he hasn’t been for nearly a decade.

He is going to be there for you two. No matter what.

The two of you are back in the hotel room, Liliana dropped off safely at her home and promptly reminded of the schedule for tomorrow. Javier threw her a, “Don’t be too hungover,” that you rolled your eyes at, the faintest of smiles on your face, knowing exactly how Javier was at his own graduation. You, unknowingly pregnant with Lili at the time, were feeling sick and extremely nervous to be seeing his parents the next day, so there was no drinking for you that night. The next morning you were rubbing his back as he threw up before dragging him into the shower and then dressing him like a doll.

He remembers the only thing he was thinking that morning was how much he loved you, how much he was going to miss you after moving home to Laredo to become a sheriff while you were finishing school the next year.

Life seemed so simple back then; only had to worry about visiting his girlfriend at the weekends, showing up for work on time, and taking care of his parents.

A few weeks later, you told him you were pregnant.

God, how fast was time moving? He feels like that was merely last year.

“Bathroom’s all yours, Jav.”

He looks up from his duffel to see you walking out in your pajamas, a smirk crossing his face at the faded Texas A&M shirt he recognized from his own closet from years before. With a nod to you, he unbuttons his shirt halfway before talking to you over his shoulder.

“I can take the floor, amor. You take the bed.”

A loud laugh from behind turns him around, and you look at him like he’s got about four heads.

“Javier Luis, you’re not going to be able to get up in the morning if you sleep on the floor, viejo. If it’s weird for you to sleep in the bed with me, I’ll be the one to take the floor.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s not weird for me, I just didn’t know if you would be comfortable with it.”

“Don’t know if you forgot, but we have slept in the same bed together before, Jav. It’s kind of how we have a daughter, you dork,” you snort and climb onto the plush mattress, slipping under the duvet and leaning up against the pillows.

“Hey, I was trying to be a gentleman, no need for the name-calling.”

“You are always a gentleman, hon, no need to try. Plus I have to call you names, who else will keep you humble?”

“Our daughter. That’s who. I think she’s worse than you with the jokes,” he laughs.

Your smile widens, laughing along with him and shrugging, “I wonder where she gets that from.”

A wink is sent his way, stirring his stomach before he clears his throat and nods to the bathroom, “Gonna get ready for bed, you all done in there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go for it,” you wave toward the bathroom, grabbing your book from the nightstand.

Javier makes quick work of brushing his teeth and the rest of his night routine, avoiding his tired reflection before shutting the lights out and going back into the bedroom. Book still in your hand, he stands in his jeans again, rubbing the back of his neck. Without looking up you pat the spot next to you.

“I know you sleep in your boxers, just get in the damn bed.”

Ever since you became a mom, your power of reading his mind has gotten way too good.

Well, maybe it isn’t perfect cause if you could read his mind, you probably wouldn’t have suggested sharing a bed again with the amount of time he spends thinking about you.

“Sometimes it makes me mad how often you know what I’m going to say,” he grumbles and shucks off his jeans leaving them at the side of the bed and climbing under the covers. He stays comfortably at the side of the bed, sighing deeply as he closes his eyes. 

“Comes with experience.”

“Why can’t I do it for you then?” He opens his eyes and turns onto his side to look at you, “I’ve known you just as long as you’ve known me.”

The book in your hands is closed, and laid in your lap, looking down at Javier and shrugging, “You have your own way of it. I might know what you’re going to say, but you always anticipate everyone’s needs and you’re always one step ahead of me. I mean, you always see like four steps ahead. You saved Lili many broken bones at the playground growing up and you always used to be able to cheer me up and fix whatever was making me sad or angry before I really even knew what it was myself.”

A grin slowly pulls the corners of your lips apart, one of your hands reaching over to tap the top of his head. 

“Well, I quickly learned the signs of your hangriness. That was most often the reason you were upset,” he chuckles, one side of his mouth ticking up as he relaxes further into the bed.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you read your book for a few more minutes, Javier lying next to you and trying, half-assed, to fall asleep. He really was just sneaking glances at you every time he adjusted positions, admiring the concentrated look on your face, engrossed in the story.

At one point, the book was shut for the night and set on the nightstand, the lamp clicked off and you relaxed back into bed. You turned on your side to face him, voice whisper quiet, “You asleep, Jav?”

He hums lowly, vibrations absorbed by the mattress before his eyes peel open and adjust to the darkness.

“Not yet. Qué pasa, amor?”

“Did you quit smoking?”

“Uh, I guess so, yeah. Why are you asking that now?”

“Just curious. I didn’t see you dip outside to smoke at all today and you got a non-smoking room, too. Very un-Javier.”

“Oh, is that all I am to you, esposa? A smoker?” He has a lilt of teasing in his voice, raising his eyebrows as you laugh faintly.

“Shut up, I didn’t say that.” There’s a gentle shove to his shoulder before your hands are back by you, tucked under your chin as you curl up again.

“I was going to congratulate you on quitting, but now I’m not sure if I want to, meanie.”

“You’re the one randomly questioning me about my habits! Meanie.”

“I am not a meanie, I had no bad intentions!”

“Sure, and what would you have said if I told you I didn’t quit?”

Javier gives you a satisfied smirk when you’re silent, shaking his head to himself.

“Knew it,” he rolls onto his back, hand resting on his stomach and turning his head to the side, “I quit ‘cause Lili called me before I came home and asked me to. She’s asked for a while, but I kept putting it off with the stress of work and everything. Thought now’s the time after I resigned.”

In the darkness, he suddenly feels your hand on his bicep closest to you, rubbing up and down slowly.

“You’re a good dad, Jav. The best. Glad you’re the one I got to have a kid with.”

If he says anything now, it will come out incoherent from the lump sitting in his throat. Instead, he hums in response, nothing else spoken until you’ve fallen asleep.

“I’m glad it was me, too.”

It is hot as fuck.

He’s trying so hard not to sweat his ass off while in the cattle of people funneling into the arena at this moment, attempting to keep his light beige button-up dry. He was going to wear his normal uniform of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt when he heard the weather report on the TV this morning, but your face when you saw him pull out navy slacks and his long-sleeved shirt that he packed, was too excitable and adorable to not wear anything else — “We’ll be matching! Our pictures will be so cute with Lili in her white dress.” Standing in your floral, mid-length navy dress, who was he to deny you those coordinated photos? 

Things had been much more…familiar since last night and this morning. It was the back and forth that was effortless, the fall into a perfectly choreographed routine — him anticipating your moves and you knowing what he was thinking before he could even ask a question. The close quarters of the shared room suddenly felt much too large to Javier; he was desperate for too small of space so he could stay close to you, but with 15 years of experience living together, and even longer dating, you moved too in sync with each other to collide.

He was close to you this morning, though, waking up at the sound of the alarm clock next to his side of the bed; his arm moved to shut it off, coasting along your hip and thigh before reaching behind him to stop the noise. A grumble from you pulled him back, positioning himself again on his side and adjusting the arm that ended up underneath your head, his chest enveloping your back when his other arm slung around your waist. If he closed his eyes, he could swear it was any other morning from before Colombia, stretching all the way back to his bed in his shitty college apartment that you tolerated spending nights in.

There isn’t a thing in this world he wouldn’t give to be able to have this wake up every day from now on.

He knows he needs to talk to you, to tell you all that he is feeling, but he can’t bring himself to do it now. Not before his daughter’s college graduation when the two of you are getting along like old friends. The peace shouldn’t be disrupted by you potentially rejecting him.

Which has brought him standing behind you in the crowd of parents and families, a hand on your lower back to keep a tab on you as everyone filters in through the doors. He keeps his eyes scanning out of habit, searching for a danger that surely isn’t there, while you chat away with Chucho walking directly next to you.

His attention is elsewhere, anxiety creeping into his bones at the masses gathering here, impossible to keep tabs on everyone. The three most important people to him are in this building, and he has no means to protect them if something happened—

No. Enough. This isn’t Colombia. There are no sicarios here.

It’s supposed to be an enjoyable day.

The thoughts circle in his mind as a mantra while the three of you find seats, Javier tailing with you in the middle of him and his father. You sit at the end of one row, holding the same order when you finally take your seats.

Smoothing your skirt, Javier watches as you turn to Chucho, giving him an update about something that was recently repaired in the house.

“Wait, you had to get a new water heater? Why didn’t you tell me you needed one?” he interjects with an edge, brow furrowing as he grills you.

“Jav, it was fine, Pops helped me call around for quotes and we found a good deal. It was solved in like two days. It didn’t seem like it was something I needed to make a long-distance phone call for,” you sigh defeatedly, leaning back and looking down at your nails, fidgeting with your fingers at his harshness.

Javier rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath, “I should have known. Could’ve helped with it…Eres tan terca. Nunca pides ayuda, incluso si la necesitas. Terca. (You are so stubborn. You never ask for help, even if you need it. Stubborn.)”

Chucho stretches an arm behind your back, hitting his shoulders to sit up and addressing him with a stern tone.

“Mijo, no te pongas tan quisquilloso. Ella no quería preocuparte todo el camino allí abajo. Disculpas. (Son, don't be so oversensitive. She didn't want to worry you all the way down there. Apologize.)”

His jaw ticks to the side, sitting up straight, and shaking his head. With a sigh, he turns to you, leaning closer to speak without his father overhearing.

“I’m sorry, amor. I didn’t mean to be rude; I get frustrated not being around to help you with stuff like that. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that. ‘M glad Pop was there to help if I couldn’t.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, patting lovingly as you respond at the same level as him, “Next time, I’ll call you first, Jav. And then you can be the one to call Chucho for actual help.”

A smirk grows at your jest, and he falls back into his seat with a scoff.

“God, you are ruthless. Always with the jokes, esposa. Don’t know if I should be sticking around if it’ll be like this,” he chuckles, stretching an arm behind you and resting it on the back of your chair. 

“Yeah, yeah. We both know you’re gonna be around a lot more now.” His head snaps to the side to see you looking ahead with the faintest of smiles, biting back a much wider one as you lean back into his arm.

After a processional to Pomp and Circumstance, all three of you waving madly to Liliana when she spotted you in the crowd, the ceremony proceeds with little fanfare. Speeches are made, congratulations extended to all of the students from various faculty members and the special guest speaker. When it finally came time for conferring of degrees, Javier awaits the long line of A though O names. The three of you stand, watching the handful of students ahead of Lili cross the stage.

The dean of her college stands at the microphone, saying with a rehearsed smile, “Liliana Raquel Peña, Summa Cum Laude.”

At the announcement of her name and honors, the three of you erupt in cheers for the young woman crossing the stage. Javier whistles with his fingers, holding out the sound as long as he can before clapping his hands together wildly. Once Lili is descending the stairs and back to her seat, you all wave to her again as she beams up at you and shows off her diploma folder.

The moment he’s seated again, he turns his head to the side, seeing your faint tears streaking your face. On instinct, he reaches for your hand before he can second guess it and laces your fingers together with a gentle squeeze. A pitiful laugh slips out from you when you look back at him, a blubbering smile parting your lips.

Javier leans closer to you, centimeters from your ear to confide, “I think you did an amazing job raising our girl, amor. Thank you.”

In the back room of a local restaurant, the Peña extended family mills about, filling the room with sound from the music over the speakers and everyone chatting and catching up with each other — especially congratulating the guest of honor.

Aunts and uncles and cousins that were available have all flocked together to celebrate Liliana, and despite the overwhelming urge to Irish exit this party because of the constant comments and questions about Colombia, Javier is staying until you’re ready to leave. Which undoubtedly will be until the end of your reservation.

He sits at one of the tables pushed to the side of the room, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms and crossing his limbs over his chest as he reclines in the wooden chair. Buttons of his shirt have been undone post-photos with the grad, the air conditioning cooling his sun-baked skin. His fingers can still feel the phantom of your linen dress, his hand affixed to your lower back in all of the photos taken.

Easily, with a quick scan of the room, he finds you talking to his mamá’s sister, Tia Rose. You’re smiling brightly, the crinkles at your eyes showing off your joy as his aunt surely is congratulating you or complimenting you on how you raised your daughter.

He really meant what he said at the ceremony. There is no way he could have done what you managed if you were the one to have left for work. You were a fucking hero to him, not himself. He’s been hearing it over and over every time he returns home — “You’re a hero, Javier.”

It’s complete bullshit.

His results were rigged, the system played him as much as he supposedly played it.

When he thinks about being a hero, he doesn’t think about anything close to what he’s done. He thinks about sacrifice, compassion, strength — you have it all. You’ve saved him from himself time and time again, and you’ve done it all while being a working mom and dealing with your partner, your co-parent, being thousands of miles away for years.

“Ay, mijo, estás tu cabeza en las nubes otra vez? (Son, is your head in the clouds again?)” Javier looks up to his right at the sound of his father’s voice, standing to offer him help into the chair next to him but waved off with a grumble from Chucho.

“Is it that easy to tell, Pop?” he asks, a half-hearted smile on his face as he retakes his seat.

“Eh, to me, yes. Probably to your girls, too, but I think anyone else would think you’re doing your sulky, pendejo act.”

“Pendejo act? Don’t think it’s an act at this point, Pop. Been feeling like one more and more.”

“Sí, y por qué es eso? (Yeah, and why is that?)”

“Estoy ausente (I’m absent.)”

“Dios, Javier…” his father sighs and shakes his head, turning his head to look at his son, “You are not absent. Quit telling yourself that, or you really are going to be. You’re home now, so be home.”

“It is a blessing to have Liliana at home for this summer, spend as much time as you can with her…And you know how I feel about mi nuera (my daughter-in-law).”

Javier sighs, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees and find you in the crowd again. As if you can sense his eyes on you, you turn toward him and give him a tender smile that quells his near constant nervous energy.

God, it’s unfair how beautiful you are.

And how kind, and forgiving, too.

This conversation is making him want a cigarette. Really bad.

Instead, he pulls the plastic packet out of his pocket, popping out another chiclet of gum and tossing it in his mouth.

He prepares for a lecture from his father; Chucho seems to know a lot more about you these days than Javier. Every week since he left for Colombia, you’ve gone over to Chucho’s house for dinner at least once. With Liliana away at school, you still went. It filled Javier’s heart with a syrupy, oozing warmth whenever he thought about the relationship you have with his father. How you 're always going to be family, a daughter to him, after your parents cut you off those twenty-something years ago.

“She’s still coming over every week, y’know. Didn’t seem to be doing too great until about two weeks ago. Came over after she received a phone call. Was all excited and basically bouncing off the walls. I asked her why, and she said she got some exciting news. You know what it was?”

“Qué?”

“You coming home. I think you called to confirm your flights with her, and she was just so excited, mijo. Cooked your favorite for dinner that night—“

“Pollo asado?”

“Sí, con mole.”

“Mierda, estoy celoso. (Shit, I’m jealous.)”

Chucho laughs from his belly, shaking a bit in the seat as he reaches up and adjusts his cowboy hat.

“It was delicious, as always,” Javier hums in acknowledgement before his father continues, “But I’m not telling you all of that just to tell you what I had for dinner. I’m telling you cause I need you to get your head out of your ass and talk to her. Anyone with eyes can see how in love with her you still are. I wanted you to know that there’s something there for her, too. Hazla mi nuera de verdad. (Make her my daughter-in-law for real.)”

“I’ll talk to her, Pop. Don’t need a wingman, so please don’t say anything to her. Please.”

Chucho stands and shrugs, nonchalantly closing with, “If you don’t do it soon, I’m taking matters into my own hands and telling her myself how lovesick you are. I will not make any promise I cannot keep, so you better keep that one if you don’t want me involved, mijo.”

Javier stays put as his father filters into the party-goers, shaking his head as he smiles to himself.

Maybe he does still have a chance.

The end of the night was fairly uneventful, everyone saying their goodbyes and final congratulations to Liliana. You insisted on helping to set the room up as you had all found it, correcting the tables and chairs back to their usual positions. When you were about to start taking dishes back to the kitchen, Lili rolled her eyes and walked out to the front of the restaurant while Javi grabbed you by your hips from behind and physically directed you out of the room.

“Jav, I feel bad, we made a mess! Let me help!”

“Esposa, you are wonderful and so sweet, I’m sure they appreciate your help. But this is a restaurant, cariño, and you don’t get paid to work here so I don’t think they’re gonna want to be liable for you,” he slides his hands up and down a few inches of your sides, dragging the fabric of your dress up and letting it fall back when he takes his hands off of your sides, placing one on your back.

Javier helps you into the cab of his truck, you taking the middle of the bench and Lili following into the passenger side to be able to get out easier. He drives over to Lili’s house, dropping her off with both of you giving massive hugs and final congrats for the day.

It was a quiet car ride to the hotel, but you ended up back in the middle seat closest to Javier, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Walking into the building, he bit the inside of his cheek as he brushed your hand with his, no recoil from his touch giving him the confidence to take your hand completely in his. Fingers intertwined as you both got in the elevator, tender, unspoken words in your eyes.

Now, Javier sits at the edge of the bed, a short plastic cup in his hand filled with half a mini bottle of champagne. There’s a matching cup in your hand, standing in front of him as he looks up at you with worshiping eyes.

“Cheers, Jav. Good on us for getting our kid through college,” you say with a smile, the sound of plastic crinkling in your hands following your little toast. Each of you takes a sip of the drink, Javier leaning around you to set his down on the desk. His hands move to hover at your waist, your permission granted with a small step to stand between his opened legs.

Javier’s calloused palms catch on your dress again, inching the fabric up as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. He looks up at you while you return the stare down at him, your free hand finding the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, amor. For taking on so much more responsibility and shouldering the weight of raising Lili Pad in her teens, and getting her into a great school, and supporting her throughout these last four years when I couldn’t—

“Jav, it was both of us.”

“No, please let me give you the credit you deserve, esposa. You did it all without ever being angry with me, and you always supported me, too. And every time I’ve come back for a visit, you make it seem like I never left with how welcome you make me feel.”

“You’re always a part of our family, Jav. Always.”

He nods, feeling his chest tighten at your words, gripping you tighter as if you’re going to slip away, as if he’ll wake up and this whole trip will have been a dream, as if he will be stuck in Colombia, or forced to go back to the DEA and work in Mexico.

“Thank you, really, thank you for always making me feel a part of it all from so far away. All the photos, all the letters, the birthday cards, and care packages…You are a great mother, and an even better woman. So much better as a person than I ever could be, and I am so lucky that you chose me to have a kid with. Lili is incredible because she’s part of you. Thank you, amor, you have given me a life I don’t think I deserve.”

His head drops, tugging you closer to rest his forehead against your stomach. Silence blankets the room, your fingers running through his hair soothingly. After a moment, you take his chin between your index and thumb, turning his head up to look at you again.

Javier wants so badly to be able to read your mind right in that second, the look in your eyes puzzling him. As he opens his mouth to say something, anything, to fill the air, you’re folding forward and catching his lips in a kiss. It’s light, too faint for his needs, and you’re pulling away much too quickly. His spine elongates, chasing your mouth before you can get too far and locking you in a breathless exchange.

His hands paw at your sides, a desperate attempt being made to pull you as close as possible while also running his hands along your curves. In the surprise of it all, getting lost in his lips, you drop the cup in your hand. Champagne splashes onto your feet, ignored as Javier lifts your mid-length dress to your hips, climbing back on the bed and pulling you over him without breaking your kiss.

Your knees cage his thighs in, settling on his lap as he slots his lips around your bottom one, tracing along it with his tongue. Parting with a gasp, your mouth opens to let him in, melding your tongues together. A whimper escapes from you when he tugs you further onto his lap, feeling his bulge in his slacks press against your core.

Javier pulls away from your lips, dragging his nose along your cheek and leaving a trail of wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw. At the spot on your neck close to your ear, he sucks a mark, smirking against your skin when your back arches and squeezes your chest against his.

“Fuck, Jav…” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair.

He hums against your skin, pulling away and kissing under your chin.

“You’re so beautiful, amor. I missed you so fucking much. Thought about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice is  shaky when Javi drops his hands to your hips, starting to drag them back and forth against his cock straining against his zipper. 

“Mm, thought about how good you smell all the time, how sweet you taste…how much I miss having you in my bed every night. Being able to have you when I need you,” a groan slips from his mouth at your moan, moving your hips faster the more he talks, “I thought about how fucking stupid I was to leave someone like you behind. Mi vida, la luz de mi vida (My life, the light of my life)…felt like I left half of my soul when I went away.”

From above, you lean down to catch him in a passionate kiss, breathy exhales and muffled moans exchanged while your fingers work as the buttons on his shirt. Javier leans forward, shrugging off the materials before his arms are around you again, snaking around your back to grip your ass.

“Jav, I missed you so much. Never felt the same, there was always something missing…I always needed you. I always need you.”

“Mi amor, lo siento (My love, I’m sorry). I’m here now. Never leaving again.” His hands roam to your sides, finding the zipper of your dress on his left and pulling it down. He bunches the skirt of it in his hands and slowly takes it off over your head; he’s faced with you sitting in his lap, no bra and only panties on.

As if magnetic, his hands fly right back to your sides, skimming up until his thumbs lay under your breasts, fingers splayed along your rib cage.

“You’re so beautiful, mi amor, so fucking beautiful. Can I make you feel good, baby?”

“Please, Jav, need you so bad.”

“Oh, baby, mi esposa, I’ve got you. Get on your back, cariño.”

Javier watches as you move off of him and fall back onto the bed, the plush duvet sinking underneath you and pillowing out at your sides.

An angel in the clouds.

No more time is wasted as he tugs you to the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor and booting your legs over his shoulder to open you up.

“Wait, Jav, here.” You twist to the side and stretch to reach for one of the pillows, giving it to him with a thoughtful smile.

“For your knees, viejo. Not a twenty year old athlete anymore, hon.”

Javier rolls his eyes and moves to kneel on the pillow, already feeling better in his joints from the cushion. He wraps his arms around your thighs and nips close to your panties, rolling out a groan.

“Sometimes, I hate when you’re right.”

“That’s ‘cause you always have to be right, Peña. It’s always been th—“ you trail off into a moan when his fingers prod through your wetness, one hand hooking your underwear to the side.

“I don’t always have to be right, esposa. You know you’re the boss out of the two of us,” he winks before he tugs your panties off of your legs, settling back between your legs.

You nod, sitting up and leaning your weight on one arm to look down at him.

“Mhm, glad y’know your place still, Jav,” you tease as your other hand pushes his hair away from his forehead, a smirk mirrored onto his face, “Make me come, mi esposo.”

You can see his eyes darken, breaths shallowing. Feather light kisses scatter across your inner thighs until he reaches your core, pursing his lips and blowing cool air against your wetness.

“Fuck, cariño, guess you did really miss me. So fucking wet. All for me?”

“Javi,” you whine, scooting your hips closer to him, “Please, need you.”

“I know, baby, I know. I can see how much you need me.” He licks one long stripe from your tightest hole to your clit, groaning at the taste of you. “You want me to play with your sweet pussy, mi amor? Make you feel so good?”

“Please, please, Jav.”

He soothes you with circles on your lower stomach, nodding as he lays his head on your thigh, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you.”

Before you can beg out a response, his lips are attached to your clit, sucking hard before laying his tongue flat against it, moving slow circles around.

His muscle memory guides him to fall into the pattern that he memorized to get you off with his mouth and fingers, pushing one of his thick fingers inside of your cunt knuckle deep and stroking against that same spot he knows drives you wild.

Your back arches off the bed, pressing your clit into his tongue harder. He slurps up your wetness, sighing at your familiar taste that he missed so much. Another finger is added, the rhythm of their thrusts building up faster and faster. Right at the edge, your fingers tangled in his hair tugging hard, he switches positions, tongue plunging inside of you and fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Before you can even register, you're coming around his mouth, flooding his tongue and his lips.

“Javi, oh my god, fuck me…”

He leads you through the orgasm, pulling away with a boyish smirk.

“That’s kind of the plan, hermosa. Gonna fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, beckoning him to stand up. Sitting up fully, you strip him of his slacks and boxers, briefly taking him in your mouth before he’s pulling you off of him and pushing you further up the bed. Climbing over you, a heady kiss is shared as he settles between your legs. In the moment, you easily get him onto his back, moving to straddle him as he looks up at you breathless. Large hands hold tightly to your thighs, jaw dropping as you grab his hard cock and easily slip him inside of you, sinking down until he’s full hilt.

“Fucking Christ, amor. Take my cock so well, show me what you can do.”

Your hips find a slow, aching rhythm that makes you both breathless. As you continue to grind yourself around him, you lean forward and press yourself against his torso, skin sticking to skin.

“Jav—Javier, you are such a good man. I never doubted how much you loved me. How much you do love me,” you breathe out, hips faltering for a moment before you recover.

 “You were always there for us, and I’m so proud of you for going after what you wanted. Making the world a better place…” you move your hips slowly as you ride him, leaning down to press your foreheads together, stuttering but managing to get the words out for him, “You are a great man and an even better father. I couldn’t have chosen a better partner. I love you.”

Javier whimpers and stutters out a moan when you move your hips faster, your hand on his chin keeping his forehead against you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, facing you and him whispering back, “Te amo, te amo, te amo. I love you so much, mi esposa. Mi amor. Te amo siempre.”

The sound that leaves you at that moment, hearing his proclamations of love, flips a switch inside of him. The primal need to make you his again, completely. His arm around your hips grips you tighter, feet planted on the mattress behind you. He uses the leverage to meet your rhythm with his own thrusts, sweet sounds slipping from your lips egging him on.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and he looks up at you in awe as you arch your back, head falling to the side as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck yes, yeah. Right there, ohmygod, papí…”

“Fuck, that’s right, baby,” he says in a drawn out exhale, hammering his hips up into you, “Say it again, mi amor. Say it again.”

“Papí—Feels so good, papí.”

“Yeah? Haven’t heard that one in a while, baby. Love it coming from you, say it again. Please, baby. Por favor.”

“Papí, papí, papí…Harder, please, want it harder.”

“Anything for you, mi amor. I’ll give you anything you want. Fuck this pussy however you want it, whenever you want me.”

One of your hands drops from his shoulder to the mattress, bracing yourself from his unrelenting pace. You’re a whining mess, opening your eyes and looking down at him under you, sweaty and glistening with his wild hair and mustache shiny from your come. Javier rumbles a loud moan of your name, on the verge of a growl when he feels you clench around his cock. 

“Come for me, mi esposa. Let me feel you…” he pulls you flush against him as he fucks up into you, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Te amo, mi esposa, te amo. I love you. Love you so much.”

“Pa—Papí, fuck! Oh my god, Javi!” Your head rolls back as you come around him, bounces faltering as you slip against his chest like jelly.

“Fuck, baby, gonna fill you up. You want me inside you all night, mi amor? Want me to make you full of me again?” His lips brush against your ear, whimper and nod in response.

“Yes, yes please, papí. Want you inside.”

“Fuck yes, mi amor. One more time for me, say it one more time.”

“Come inside me…please come for me, papí.”

A moan stutters in his throat as he buries himself fully in you, twitching with each rope he spends. Grip tightening around you, he stays inside of you as he kisses you deeply, pulling away to brush your hair away from your face.

“You have no idea how long I have been wanting to do that again, mi esposa. Te amo, hermosa. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jav. Missed you,” your head lays on his chest, sigh warming his sweaty skin, “Will you be around when we’re home or—“

“Mi amor, you’re gonna have a hard time keeping me away from you and Lili now. I wanna spend every moment I can with you both. My girls.”

It’s a Sunday evening at the Peña ranch, a few weeks after Lili’s graduation. You and her have come over to Chucho’s house for dinner, Javier already there from working the day with his father. He’s mostly over at yours in the evenings, coming over to spend time with Lili, and you, staying for dinner, having movie nights, grilling out. He’s been basking in the slow life, the life of a father that he’s been so desperately craving. It’s been an itch like he has for a cigarette, finally taking an inhale and his nerves melting away as he adjusted to a balance with you two.

Tonight, however, Chucho insisted that you and he keep your weekly get-togethers, despite Javi being home for good now, and the four of you have had dinner around the cozy dining table off of the kitchen. Javier is gathering the dinner plates, Liliana standing to help him clean up.

“Anyone want any dessert? What d’ya have here, Pop?” he looks between his father and you, awaiting an answer.

Before Chucho can say anything, you sit up with a quiet gasp, “Oh, do you have any mangoes, Chuch? I really would love some mango with Tajín. Or some strawberries with honey. Or both.”

You grin up at Javier and he laughs, nodding his head.

“I’ll see what I can do, amor.”

“Y’know, mija, my Lucia always had mangoes around the house when she was pregnant with Javi. She would slice them up and put so much Chamoy and Tajín, you could barely see that it was a mango underneath it all.”

“That honestly sounds perfect right now, I bet Lucia made some kickass mangonadas, too,” you laugh softly, looking up behind you as Javi squeezes your shoulder lovingly.

“Oh, she definitely did. Whole family begged her to make them every time we all got together,” Chucho belly laughs fondly at the memories, nodding to himself, “We thought for the longest time that we were going to have a girl. All Lucia craved were sweets or fruits, and there’s some old wives tale, una fábula, that if your cravings are sweet, it is a girl, and if they’re savory, it’s a boy.”

“Huh, how funny. Guess thinking back, I did crave a lot of chocolate ice cream with Lili.”

“Oh god, I remember being kicked in the middle of the night and having to go to the town over cause they had a 24-hour gas station just to get you some Ben & Jerry’s,” Javier laughs, kissing the top of your head as you shrug.

“And now look, you’ve got the sweetest daughter to ever exist. All thanks to me,” you grin, sending Javi a wink as he finishes gathering the dishes from the table.

He sees his father smiling to himself as Chucho leans back in his chair, Javier retreating to the kitchen to find something for dessert for you while Lili washes up and the two of you at the table strike up some conversation.

Later that week, you gave Javi a call and asked him to come over after he was done on the ranch. He agreed immediately, of course, and couldn’t fight the buzzing excitement he felt to see you again. It took him back to those days before Lili, before the two of you were ever really anything, you calling and asking him over to your dorm room or your apartment. He felt like a giddy teenager again.

He showered quickly and changed before heading over to yours, parking in the driveway of your small three bed house he had bought for you all. At the door, he knocked before using his key to get inside, calling out to you.

“Amor? Lili Pad? Anybody home?”

The pad of footsteps on the tile floors catch his attention, a smile stretching across his face as you come around the corner into the entryway. He kicks off his boots before meeting you in the middle, arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly to his chest. He sighs an exhale, relaxing around your warmth.

“Long day, Jav?”

“You have no idea, mi amor. Had to chase a fucking bull that got loose in the pastures when we were trying to corral all of ‘em. My ass is hurting from having to ride the horse so much.”

You laugh into his chest, pressing a kiss to his shirt before leaning back to look at his face, “Oh your poor butt. You wanna sit on the couch then?”

He hums in confirmation, kissing the top of your head before you lead him into the living room and let him flop down on the sofa.

“Where’s Lili Pad?”

“Oh, um, she’s out with friends tonight. Thought it could be just us…” You join him, sitting with a couple of feet between you two. He can see how tense you are, sitting up straight, fiddling with your fingers, placing a pillow in your lap. Extending an arm out, he holds his hand palm up for you to take.

“I’m more than okay with just us, cariño. What’s going on with you? You seem anxious. Everything at work okay? Everything okay with Lili?” He rubs his thumb across your knuckles after you take his hand, brows knitting with concern.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything is great with Lili. And work is, well, work. No complaints…” your eyes stay trained on your hands together, swallowing before you speak up again, “I actually think it would be easier to show you.”

He feels even more concerned and confused as you stand up, disappearing out of the room for a moment before coming back with a hand behind your back. You don’t sit again, opting to stand in front of him; you bring your hand forward, passing the object to him.

It takes him a minute to register what it is, the last time he saw one this up close being about twenty something years ago.

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

Positive.

“Think we could do as good a second time around?”

You’re pregnant.

He’s going to be a dad again?

He’s going to be a dad again, with you?

He’s going to be a dad again. He gets to have another child with you.

His heart is beating out of his chest, mouth dropped open with no words coming out.

A shake of his head knocks him out of the shock, setting the test to the side and looking up at you with welling eyes.

“I get to be a papá again? With you, mi amor?”

A beaming smile widens on your face, your hands finding the sides of his head as you nod down at him.

“Yeah, honey, you’re going to be a dad, again. Lili’s gonna have a little brother or sister. Much, much younger,” you say with a chuckle.

Javier laughs a little breathless, eyes flickering between your face and your stomach that is eye level with him.

“Oh my god, oh my god, mi amor—Te amo, te amo siempre,” His hand finds her tummy, roaming around in circles, attempting to feel the familiar bump or any side of his baby growing inside there. Soft kisses litter your torso as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against your ribs.

“I love you too, Jav,” you push back his hair and he stares up at you in wonder, pulling you gently to sit in his lap, “Do you…I mean, I want you to come home. Maybe we can actually get married this time. Have the family life with Lili and the little baby. I know we used to just joke about our fake city hall marriage, but I’ve always wanted that with you, Jav.”

A soft, tender kiss is shared, the two of you holding onto each other. One of Javier’s hands rests on your stomach, his heart already completely overflowing with love for the person growing inside of you. It’s quiet for a moment, both of you sitting with each other in silence. With another kiss, Javi hugs you, your head resting on his shoulder as he whispers in your ear.

“Graciás, mi amor. Thank you — for never giving up on our family. On me. Thank you for giving me everything I could have ever dreamed of. I can’t wait to have another baby with you, they’re gonna be as perfect as you, and Lili. My girls. Te amo, mi esposa, te amo siempre.”

javi's photo board in colombia <3

tagging mutuals that might be interested??

@northernbluess @swiftispunk @johnwatsn @cannolighost @joelsversion @cupofjoel @darkroastjoel @atinylittlepain @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @bearsbeetsbeskar @smokeinherperfume @thetriumphantpanda @atticrissfinch @perotovar @mrsquill @javiscigarette @yazsos @deathwife @pr0ximamidnight @undrthelights @lunapascal @ladamedusoif @haylzcyon

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

The first time I saw Stede held at gunpoint by Chauncey, I believed it might be a night terror. They’re repeating the Nigel guilt-ghost motif, I thought. Or even his fever-induced nightmares. This is what Stede does. Big emotions writ large shouting the worst parts of his self-loathing. The words Chauncey says is probably the exact noise playing in Stede’s head. In fact he ‘completely agree[s]’. The repeated death-injury to the eye, and Stede’s subsequent amnesic journey home, barefoot in underclothes, just seemed to play out perfectly as a full-blown, hallucinatory panic-attack.

And then I realised the consensus was this event likely occurs, it truly happens within the narrative. Stede also remembers both Badminton brothers alongside the line ‘I’ve been the cause of death.’

Fast forward to 204, and Stede doesn’t mention the event to Ed during the couch scene. I’ve said before it wasn’t the right time to say ‘…but, Chauncey’. However, it did happen, didn’t it? And Stede does need to tell Ed eventually. Because then it might mitigate some of Stede’s responsibility… right?

Well, I’m not sure we’re looking at it from the best angle.

Chauncey arriving at the barracks to kill Stede is likely meant to be understood as real within the fictional setting of the show. But this is a magical realist world, and Chauncey’s turning up did not occur in the same way as it would in our reality. There is a different significance and meaning.

I think two seemingly-contrary things can exist here: Chauncey really did show up of his own choice, and Stede is somewhat responsible for his showing up, because this could be read as a metaphysical event. Stede partly manifests Chauncey. The show often uses mirrors as a way of exploring identity, and Stede is right in the middle of an identity crisis. Chauncey is an accurate reflection of Stede’s internal chaos, a judgmental dark angel on his shoulder. And until Stede is able to go back to Bridgetown, and deal with the guilt and mess of leaving his family, Badminton brothers, cousins, and half-uncles are going to keep showing up, insulting Stede at the deepest level, then Darwining themselves in front of him.

The lesson here, I think, is we help create our own reality: if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got. Stede needs to change his internal narrative to free himself from this twisted pattern.

It’s not that Stede deserves the bullying of the Badminton brothers; he absolutely doesn’t. But his state of mind lays the groundwork for the external manifestation of his thoughts within this universe. Chauncey is the personification of Stede’s self-loathing, and Stede co-creates the situation, somehow drawing Chauncey (and Nigel) towards him. As a character within a fictional world we are being asked to watch Stede’s transformation after this event, and one of those changes is his breaking this particular cycle.

That is why I’m not too bothered if Stede ever tells Ed about Chauncey. Like someone once said similarly of god, if Chauncey didn’t exist, it might be necessary for Stede to invent him. Chauncey’s intervention gives Stede a sort of permission to act as he does. There is no mitigation for Stede here. He has to own it, no matter how distorted his thinking at the time; and he does just that to Ed later without resorting to sackcloth and ashes.

The complexity of what happens that night might well be outside of physical reality. It’s Ed returning from the gravy basket largely unscathed. Or Buttons becoming a bird. It isn’t easy to understand fully because the laws that govern our reality are suspended here. But our role as viewers isn’t to reach a definitive conclusion or worry ourselves in circles over narrative gaps. It’s to consider what the Chauncey event triggers and then leads to.

This is Stede’s rock-bottom. From here on in, we see character growth in which Stede overcomes a good portion of the self-loathing lurking within his soul, replacing it with a kinder internal narrative, and helping him in turn to love and be loved. And Stede has also hopefully exorcised the possibility of any future Badminton visitations.

Stede returns, and he returns a better man than he left because he did much of the internal work he needed to do.

He changes his stars - and Ed’s. That’s all that matters.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I stumbled across a man talking about having survived the 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami when he was a small boy, and he mentioned in passing an entire village that had been swept away - that a foreign government rebuilt the buildings, but that the village has remained empty, as people fear unsettled spirits of the dead are still there.

I don't blame them. I think I wouldn't be able to move in to one of those buildings either, for the same reason.

There are still emptied-out towns in Japan since the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami in 2011. Even when people are told they can go back to rebuilt homes, few do. Retaking the towns happens slowly, uneasily. People live alongside a wrenching tear in the universe where their loved ones should be, surrounded by spaces where half-second glimpses of those long gone can happen at any time. With every breath, every blink.

I keep thinking about buildings as grave markers, empty rooms with ghosts living within them but no breath ever moving the air. Vines and leaves winding up walls and flowers blooming on pathways where there should have been footsteps. The sounds of birds singing in buildings that once held a crush and chatter of crowds.

Buildings as cairns, as tombs without bodies.

Buildings as empty memorials to a life that abruptly ended even for the survivors of the day itself. What was rebuilt was something else entirely. Can you live inside a wooden ghost? Can you sleep in a bed within its lungs? Can you wake up each morning and look up at bones?

Buildings as places where a teacup left on a saucer for twenty years seems still like it might suddenly rise to cool lips. Buildings where chairs line up before an arcade, dust-covered and decrepit but still brightly-colored, ready to welcome in players who are never coming. Buildings with the eyes of people. Buildings that watch, and wait, for the living to come and remember the dead.

Buildings as places where your fingers are always just brushing those of someone who should still be here. The weight of their presence in those empty rooms. The way you can almost hear their voice calling for you from just out of sight.

Buildings as memories of a future that didn't happen.

Buildings as reminders of a universe where this loss hadn't happened yet, where this confluence of horrifying moments hadn't yet come together. Buildings as grave markers, as memorials, as defiance against nature that indifferently destroyed us and never took notice of the loss. Buildings as our insistence on remembering that there was a loss, and that grief lives and breathes even if those we lost no longer do.

Buildings as our cries that you should still be here.

Buildings as thousands of voices whispering back, I am here. I will always be here. And so will a part of you.

[haruhey]

Wish I Never Met You

check out my masterlist!

Word count: 4k

Fluff | Angst | Thank you @weretheones and @normanplusdaryl for betaing <3

You’re part of Daryl’s past, but you could also be his future.

or

A bad day leads the two of you to each other.

or

Whoever said it’s better to love and lose Never loved and lost you

Daryl barely made it through sophomore year.

In all honesty, he was impressed he even got to junior year. When Merle left at the tail end of spring, he - in all of his younger brother naïveté - thought he would come back before the semester ended, taking him from the dump they called a house and from that asshole they had the unfortunate pleasure of calling their old man.

But July came and went, then August, and by the time the new school year rolled around, Daryl stopped waiting for him - just shouldered his backpack and went to school because where the fuck else was he supposed to go?

He gave the whole school thing two weeks. It was enough time to mark off attendance - to lay low before he traded his backpack for his crossbow and started hunting for that weird butcher shop three blocks down to make some money - and he had intended on following it.

Intended, being the right word, because the plan went to shit the second Mr. American History started pairing people up for those dumb, mandatory, biweekly collaborative projects.

Intended, because it just had to be you he was paired with, didn't it? His stupid classroom crush he tried so hard to stop thinking about?

He remembers seeing you for the first time in some math class in sophomore year, and he’d, in his hormone-ruled, bored-out-of-his-mind teenage brain, spent the better half of the period just looking at you. He never worked up the courage to say anything about it to anyone, but you were the prettiest thing he’d seen in his 16 years on Earth, and he hated the way you made his hands all clammy.

Even years later, he looks back on the months he spent being your friend, and he still feels that crushingly familiar clench of his chest.

Maybe it wormed its way almost permanently into him those weeks he first sat next to you in American History. It was a compulory course and both you and he hated it. The teacher - Durand, but Daryl took to calling him Dickhead and Deranged just to see which would make you roll your eyes the hardest - was a notorious douchebag, round glasses over a nose that was entirely too big to stay on his face and three strands of gray hair that seemed to be holding onto his head by spite alone.

He never seemed to take Daryl seriously, even though Daryl knew more than double the amount of history you did. You could pick his brain for hours about the pirates and the Sumerians and the Cherokee and their legends, and he’d let you, despite the glare that marked over his face for anyone else.

In exchange, you let him pick your brain, too. Over the piece of apple pie the two of you would share on the rare occasion you’d both scraped together enough to figure it would be worth buying, he asked about your future. He tried picturing himself with you through it all despite knowing there was nothing for him outside of this shithole town, and he listened to you talk.

He could listen to you talk for hours.

You had big dreams, considering you came from the same place he did, but he had faith you could do it. He knew you could, and even looped his pinky with yours, your thumb pressed up against his while he promised to make it to graduation. He had to watch you toss your cap and flip the bird at 4 years of hell, didn’t he?

But then winter came, and with the Christmas break rounding the corner, Merle came back too, peeling into the dirt road in front of the Dixon dump and taking Daryl along with him. You remember coming back when the second semester started, the same room that had once been used for History now a Government class, and you had hoped to suffer through it together.

You made it through one school week until you’d started asking around.

Nobody got themselves involved with the Dixons - with their surly tempers and their permanent scowls, but you’d gotten into the habit of ignoring those words when you were with Daryl - so when no answers turned up, you weren’t really surprised.

You figured he must have finally gotten his out from his old man.

It was only at graduation that you’d found out what happened to him, overhearing one of the principals talking about how both of Will Dixon’s sons had run away from home and how he’d drunkenly bragged about finally beating sense into them, and, though you knew it was selfish, as the ceremony ticked on, you still hoped Daryl would come back in time to watch your cap toss.

He never did.

When he finally did come back to Georgia, it was a little over a full year later. The old lady that ran the diner the two of you hung around after school had told him that you got a scholarship offer in May - some bigshot school out west - and that you’d packed your bags and left in August.

You weren’t set to come back until the year ended in April, and he wasn’t planning on staying.

He wasn’t planning on making staying anywhere a habit, and, in the blink of an eye, twenty years passed.

A second blink and the world fell.

Everything changed so quickly that it truly did feel like an instant as minuscule as a blink - the dinosaurs had the meteor, and life before them had the ice age - and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a breath before a new age flooded in.

It seems like everything he thought about was about the future. Some of it he would have considered trivial before - when the next meal would come, when the next time he’s going to fill his canteen is and where the next source of freshwater is - but, in this blip of time, he hesitates to call it that.

Sometimes, when he went out on his bike or shouldered his crossbow and slipped his knives into his holsters, he thought about how Li’l Asskicker and Carl would grow up - how they would never really get to be kids in the same way Rick probably wanted them to be - and almost nothing he did felt trivial anymore.

It scared him, he guesses - how much he cared about those kids and how much everyone else did, too.

He wished someone cared about him like that when he was younger.

It was good, though, this pressure. Daryl was never really one to half-ass anything in the first place, but with the intake of Woodbury and the Council’s decision to start bringing people in, there was a new drive to care. It rippled through the prison, and he liked it, being a part of something bigger than himself.

He felt like someone new.

Someone that mattered - that did good - instead of being some asshole with a bigger asshole for a brother.

At least, he did until he saw you.

Two weeks after taking in the people of Woodbury - with one week spent out recruiting and another spent in the infirmary because they’d met some less than friendly people who definitely did not fit the recruitment criteria - he saw you from around the corner, an all too familiar face helping Carol with meal prep in the courtyard.

He didn’t eat lunch that day, and to say he avoided you was an understatement.

There was something about you that brought back feelings he would have rather left in the past. You reminded him of when he was a teenager, stuck in his shitty hometown with his piece of shit old man and no way out. But at the same time, you reminded him of those nights spent down at the creek, skipping stones and staring at the stars, that comforting lack of second-guessing because he knew he was, for the first time in his life, in the company of someone who actually wanted to spend time with him.

You reminded him of that diner with the warm apple pie, and he never could forget the first time his heart ever beat against his ribs like it was too big for his chest.

But, most of all, you reminded him of first love and his broken promise - of a future he could never have had.

Daryl hated it, being confronted with his past like that.

So yeah, maybe he did revert back to his old ways of hiding and just trying not to think about his problems, and yeah, maybe he did take one too many runs back to back so he wouldn’t have to keep fighting the urge to look for you despite simultaneously being scared shitless at the thought of talking to you, but it was successful in staying away from you, and that’s all he cared about.

Or, well, he thought it was.

Because, though it’s been nearly two decades since you’d thought about high school - with it long since becoming college, and college into adulthood - it’s crossed your mind more than you’d liked to admit lately. It’s an odd feeling, an ill-fitting nostalgia creeping through the holes of your blanket-covered cell bars, but it was oddly comforting. You never thought you’d ever think of that place as comforting, but maybe it wasn’t high school that you found yourself chasing in the dead of night.

It was him.

Daryl never really knew how popular he was - here, and back then, when those minutes before and after gym class divulged into shushed remarks about his looks and half-serious confessions of crushes muttered to the secrecy of the changeroom’s four walls - but you did. You were always on the other side of it, silent in your agreement.

Woodbury - or, well, ex-Woodbury - was no different.

He’s a far cry from that scrawny little kid you split your lunch with all those years ago, but there's still the linger of boyish handsomeness to him that made your cheeks heat when you thought about him too long. There was no mistaking him for anyone else, but that subdued, ultraviolet warmth you’d grown familiar with was gone from his eyes.

He’s not seventeen anymore, flipping his uncut hair from his face as he taught you how to skip stones and catch fireflies, but you wanted to talk to him all the same. There’s not much left from the old world - let alone much that you could have considered good, or wanted to remember - but he’s one of the few things you’d cared enough about to keep safe from the pulling tide that faded your memories.

He made that shitty town more bearable, even if it was for those few months. Gritting your teeth and enduring had become tiring until he’d grimaced at that first History Inquiry project and made you laugh with the annoyed upturn of his lip. 

You’d planned on thanking him at graduation, but he’d left months before then. 

You’d planned on a lot of things to be frank, but there’s no reason to linger in the past when now is a shell of what then was.

There’s even less of a reason when now feels heavier than then ever was.

Today would have marked ten days without incident, a first foray into the monumental double digits until the sun had set behind the return of the run crew’s RV and Beth was forced to flip the number back to zero.

It’s been four hours since they came back - a quarter of the group gone from the unfriendlies they’d met, another dealing with the aftermaths of the encounter and one more made up from those the crew’s recruited - and it’s the first time in those four hours that you’ve left the dingy wing of the infirmary.

You didn’t hate it in there. Far from it, actually, with Hershel and the others being half-decent company and seeing the work you did benefiting people, but the infirmary, especially on days when the crews rounded back, meant the stinging smell of blood and death lingered no matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It stuck to every crevice on your body, and it permeated. Guilted you for not trying hard enough and not knowing enough.

On days like this, everywhere you went seemed too small and too unforgiving, and you’re not sure if you can stand tossing and turning in your bunk. The night sky is a friendlier sight than your ceiling, and the view from the abandoned watchtower is a hell of a lot better than the tiny, barred-up window at the corner of your cell.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe sleep will steal you for a couple of hours before the sun comes up. At least enough to make it through the next day.

You have faith it will - you can already feel the first wave of exhaustion pull at your bones.

Taking a breath, you press your hands into your pockets after pushing the door to the Prison open and slipping out. Autumn is beginning to seep through the cracks of summer and the nights are starting to get colder, but your jacket should be enough until you climb up and find sanctuary in the sleeping bag you’d left there three days ago.

It doesn’t take long to reach the door - if you jig the knob to the right before twisting and skip the third step from the top, the trek upwards is close to silent - but when you open it, the creak yields, at first, an expletive before the annoyed voice tears through the quiet.

“I already told ya I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout-”

The volume of him makes you take a step back, the sound of a man making your body lock up for just a second before you recognize the mess of hair atop his head and the wings stitched on the back of his vest, and you make quick work getting to him, crossing the platform in a single stride.

“Daryl?”

And he’s quick to realize the person speaking to him isn’t Carol like he’d thought. Though he really really really hopes it’s not you, the familiarity of your voice leaves little room for speculation, even before he turns his head and - for the first time in a long time - really, really looks at you.

“Oh.”

His heart beats in his ears and locks his throat before he can muster up anything else to say, and for a second, you wonder if you should introduce yourself to him. 

“Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t expectin’ no one to be here.”

But the knowing upturn of his eyebrows - his apology, and the way he scoots himself over to make room for you the same way he did in those library reading nooks - tells you you don’t need to, and your shoes slide against the concrete as you drop down to a sit.

He remembers you, too, the sweat of his hands too obvious with the fact, even though he wishes he didn’t.

He wishes there wasn’t a familiarity in the way you sidle your body against his, swinging your legs underneath the railing and over the balcony, and he wishes he couldn’t feel the heat coming off of you.

He wishes it didn’t wrap him up like the warm rays of sun, and he fights down a smile at the fact that you always were so bright. He wishes he didn’t remember you like that - glossed over in a blinding, yellow hue.

Daryl wishes he never remembered you like sunshine - he wishes he didn’t still.

Picking up the glass next to him - just to occupy himself and bide the time until his nervousness hopefully washes away into general apathy - he takes a sip before setting it down and taking a pull of the cigarette in his other hand.

The smoke is slow to fill his lungs, but he welcomes it anyways, holding it there as the nicotine-drawn buzz settles in his brain, and then he breathes it out, angling his head up and away from you.

You never liked it, the Malboros he’d swiped from his old man that he’d keep tucked in the smallest pocket of his worn-down backpack, but you’d told him one night, not unlike the one you’re both trying to find solace in right now, that you were scared of what his father might do if he found out.

Then you slipped in the obviousness of his health, just to break the tension of vulnerability, but it hit Daryl like a truck, the fact that he’d never had someone think about him like that before - like they actually cared.

“Heard your brain cells can rot if you do that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you only to be met with a small smile playing at your lips and the slightest bit of a sparkle in your eye, and the taste still lingering on his tongue reminds him of what he’s been doing. The glass is half full with the room-temperature whiskey he’d tried to make himself feel better with after stitching up his own wounds, and there’s ash from his smoking gathered beside one of the railing's poles, and despite the knowing you’re probably right, he sighs, waving your concern away.

“Ain’t worried. Don’t got a lotta them anyways.”

The cigarette between his fingers is lit still, and he takes another drag before the grayed end of it crumbles to the floor, fighting the upward tug of his cheeks at the sound of your amused huff and your quick response.

“That’s why you gotta take care of the ones you still have, Daryl.”

Scoffing, he tilts the edge of the glass towards you, holding it out for you until you take it from him, and he tries not to think about how the tips of his fingers burn when they brush up against yours. It’s not as sweet, the innocence of a teenage crush long since faded into the dull pang of expired love and loss, but it rushes through him all the same.

He would have offered you a cigarette, too, but you’ve never been one to pick up habits that bad.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you then, the sky offering a serenity the two of you are less than strangers to, and you wince from the liquor when you finally take a sip. It’s nothing like the moonshine he’d smuggled from his dad’s stash - it went down a hell of a lot smoother than you remember that shit going - but your tolerance has taken a nosedive since weekends unwinding and inter-departmental parties had ended.

Besides, the only places you could get alcohol back in Woodbury were way above your paygrade.

Placing the cup back onto the concrete, you steal a glance at Daryl, spending just a second studying the curve of his nose and the jut of his cheekbone. He’s more handsome than he’s ever been, and you can feel the heat rush up your neck before you blink away the thought.

Get a hold of yourself.

But you can’t, not when he’s so close, and you’re not sure if it’s wholly unselfish, what makes you drop your eyes down from his face, but you do, and you realize why he was so on edge when he heard the door open.

He’s fidgeting. Ever since he put out his cigarette, he’s restless and can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands in the same way he was when you’d asked him why he never wanted to go home back in the school library, and it sends you back, too, a familiar pit growing in your stomach. It’s like he’s that kid again, scared of telling you - or, well, people - things that hurt because his stupid brother and dad drilled into him that he’s less of a man for even feeling hurt in the first place, and it’s equal parts infuriating and concerning.

You can tell that the gears are turning in your head as you try to piece him together; a run crew came back just today, and you haven't seen him in a little while. It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection - especially with everyone’s propensity to talk about how Daryl brought them in - and though you might regret it, you decide to pry.

Not pry, just ask.

Conversation used to flow so easily between the two of you. Were you naïve to hope it would again?

“Bad day?”

It’s small, your voice, teetering in the air with its uncertainty, but Daryl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glances down at the space between you, wrapping his fingers around the highball before meeting your gaze, and he bites the inside of his cheek, weighing the option of telling you or not.

“Jus’ tired is all.”

And though he hesitates those first few words, your eyes are so kind - so genuinely caring - that he can’t stop himself from saying more.

That was what he was scared of.

Why hasn’t he let you go? 

“Sick’a fuckin’ losin’ people.”

The frustration when he speaks is palpable, and you’re not sure if it’s bravery or stupidity that makes you move - maybe it’s both, culminating in your own desire that someone would finally see through your crippling bravado and offer you a hug or something - but your hand snakes out to grab his before you even think, shaking it slightly in the strength of your squeeze.

Then he freezes, and for a second, you think you must have overstepped - that he’s going to push you away and yell at you and leave - but he doesn’t. He just takes a breath, the heft of it rising his shoulders then dropping it as he squeezes your hand back harder, a silent thank you in the press of his fingers against yours.

But still, he lets go, afraid the warmth in his chest might make him do something he regrets, and you chew at the dried skin of your lip, thinking about the right thing to say.

Fuck, you could never navigate things like this - it got better as you got older, sure, but words always seemed to fall short when it came to you and him - and when you finally settle on something, half of you wonders if it was just because you thought it better than nothing.

“I feel you.”

Because what else are you supposed to say? That it’s going to be alright and that he shouldn’t blame himself because it's so blatant he is? It’s thin ice you’re walking on, the fear of sounding patronizing drowning out the spark of hope you want to light him with, because you remember the man he was. He’s never had anyone fighting in his corner, and you’re not callow enough to think he thinks of you as something - someone - different.

But he does. He does think of you as someone different, and he wants to say more, but he doesn't know where he stands with you, or with himself. If he says what he’s thinking - that he feels like it is his fault and that he’s not sure if he could ever stop feeling like that. That he’s scared shitless and like it’s some big joke that people actually look up to him for things - wouldn’t that make it feel too real?

So he doesn’t. He just tips the lip of the glass against his and takes another sip to make sure his mouth is occupied, staring down at the bottom ridge of it until you speak again, and he’s helpless to do anything but look at you.

“At least it’s beautiful out tonight.”

He’s sent back to twenty years ago then - the scrawny redneck you’d somehow deemed good enough to be your friend forcing his old habits back to the him of the present - and he can’t help the squeaked little noise of a response. Words have always been hard for him, too. They’re hard for him to think of and even harder for him to form, and it’s made worse by the fact it’s almost like he’s back at 16, convinced that you’re too pretty to talk to.

“Yeah.”

And though you hear his hum of agreement, he never looks away from you, admiring the curve of your familiar smile and the rise of your cheekbones.

The lurch of his heart comes back then - the same beat against his ribs that he hated all those decades ago - and it’s stark then, the realization you’ve never really left him.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

Pressing his lip to the edge of the glass once more, he welcomes the burn of whiskey when you smile at the moonlit horizon, and he watches as you lean your chin against your arms.

You’re beautiful - more beautiful than all the colours in the star-speckled sky - and he could stare for hours.

[namfinessed]

eliminate! - p.jm.

genre: major angst, suggestive content, dystopian!au (warnings include violence, death and mentions of blood) (8.8k wc)

summary: in a world where people killed those they loved, to survive, to be alive, you and jimin can't seem to be parted and the impending doom of your relationship stretches the two of you out before you are forced to make the choice, to love or to die?

masterlist

(i highly recommend listening to heartbeat by childish gambino while reading this, enjoy <3)

-

october 20th, 2022.

rain traveled down your back, slowly, mockingly but fell with full force on top of your head and clouded your vision. red lights flashed, green lights flashed, white lights flashed but somehow, he was still there, in the midst of it all, clear as day in the dead of the night.

it couldn’t be him, not after all this while, not after you’d given it all up.

but the hand that held your gun quivered, your blinking became slower as your eyes tried to focus on him, drink him in, forget him, remember him, anything it can do, see him.

it shouldn’t have come to this.

a road shouldn’t be separating you two, a gun in your hand should’ve never been held, the rain should've never dared to hide him from you but it was all happening, and all you could do was look.

you felt his sorrow from across the street, his shaking hands that held his own gun, and you knew you had to do this for the relief of the other, whoever survived.

your phone blinked and buzzed rapidly with the word ‘eliminate!’ on your screen and you knew the decision that you had to make.

so, as cars and bikes zoomed and honked and blared in your ears, your hand lifted to point the gun at him, you knew he would do the same, the principle was survival of the fittest after all.

but as you pulled the trigger and the bullet rang through the air and bolted in his direction, you realized he never lifted his hand.

you fell to your knees as the rain continued its assault on your body. your eyes forgave you by closing themselves so you would never have to see his body on the ground.

your screen became green.

‘successful!’

it shouldn’t have come to this.

-

the government and all other higher organizations had their eyes on the few numbers of marriages that took place and even fewer marriages that lasted, divorce rates were at an all-time high, and that resulted in the chaos of the world as it was.

because it was a chain reaction.

marriages lead to unhappy individuals, sometimes with children, sometimes with large families, this led to divorces, which led to unhappy and traumatized children, years of therapy that didn’t quite fix anything, unhappy and traumatized children didn’t serve to be responsible citizens who fulfilled the duties that the government needed.

and soon, they had to step in.

they introduced a system based on nature’s most ancient method, the method of survival by elimination. the system had everyone’s data down to the chromosomes that built them and used this system to establish romantic compatibility between individuals. this would allow society, as a whole, to have lasting, emotionally fulfilling relationships.

but they had other motives as well.

the government didn’t care about individuals, they cared about what an individual could offer and they also cared about overpopulation, they couldn’t control society if it was overfilling, so the system was built to kill two birds with one stone.

the system did connect people but the second the relationship seemed to be steering in the wrong direction in any manner, the individuals in the relationship would receive a flashing red alert of ‘eliminate’ on their phones; sometimes they got it at the same time, sometimes they got it seconds apart, and in the time that they receive the notification, they have to kill the other person in the relationship or get killed.

whoever kills, gets ‘aid’ from the government, which was basically tons of money to cover for the trauma that comes from killing someone you loved.

if the persons failed to carry out the elimination for whatever reason, they got three warnings before government-assigned hitmen would kill both of the individuals, if the individuals didn't kill to survive, they didn’t deserve survival.

this, according to the government, was survival of the fittest, eliminating those who weren’t emotionally capable of being in a lasting relationship, and who didn’t provide the government with anything, deserved to be eliminated.

this was naturally met with resistance but as days by and the system reached everyone, people found that they enjoyed eliminating those who made them unhappy, especially because there were no consequences and because romance came with a certain rage, people were finally allowed to quell that rage.

so, the system was implemented and the world paced forward.

but you fell in love with jimin, and he fell in love with you, and the moment you did, your phone flashed red.

-

december 19nd, 2022.

it was the first warning and he hadn’t died that day, at least that’s what you heard.

it’s been months since your bullet hit him and you still couldn't forget the ringing it left in your head. the same roads that you had coursed through on his bike, so in love, so sure about each other, were the same roads where you left him to die.

it wasn't your fault, you had prepared to die, jimin was a better marksman than you were, so you had expected a bullet to pierce through you as well but it never came, even if you wished that it did.

so, now, here you were, body barely covered in a nightgown that your partner, keith, apparently liked, hands slowly stirring the coffee in your cup and looking out the window, rain clouded your vision and that was enough to take you back.

“good morning, babe!” a swift kiss on the side of your neck had your body recoiling but you forced a smile on your face as you kissed keith’s cheek.

he was dressed up for work in his black trousers and white shirt, he was moderately attractive, a finance guy who liked spending his money as if it meant nothing, you had no idea how you were compatible, but you were living together now and you didn’t see a way out.

“work’s going to be crazy today, so many meetings and we have to close that deal today,” he drawled on, running his hands through his hair as he got behind the kitchen counter to make himself breakfast.

i hope you don’t come back home, i hope your meeting lasts for a week, i hope i never have to see you again.

“i can make dinner for when you come back” leaves your lips instead and his head snaps up with a smile you’ve grown to hate, “you’re the best, babe, i love that on you by the way.” he gestures to your gown and gives you a flying kiss and it takes everything in you to not physically cringe.

i hate this on me, by the way.

it’s not like you care.

“i’ll buy more of them.” you hum, an answer that would satisfy him, and with a sigh, you turn away from him to look out the window again, the sky was still gloomy, the raindrops still coated your windows and you still wanted your partner to die.

then, you notice at the foot of your apartment building, a bike that pulls up, a bike that you know, a bike that you spent many nights on, your heart races as the rider steps off it.

at the same minute, your phone buzzes in your hand and you freeze.

not now.

not now.

not now.

“we don’t have to make this painful,” you hear from behind you before the steel of your own gun presses against the back of your head, your phone slips to the ground and you catch sight of the red that coats the screen.

‘eliminate!’

seconds apart.

of course, he got it before you had.

from your periphery, you see exactly what keith had been all along, what all you tolerated because you didn’t think you deserved love after putting a bullet in the only man you ever loved, you see keith’s narrowed eyes filled with ambition and malice, his fingers that itched to pull the trigger and his face that donned an evil smile.

he was enjoying this, enjoying the absolute control he had on your very existence.

you just wished he hadn’t underestimated you.

you pulled your ankle back to connect with his crotch, and whipped around to elbow his face and neck, making him weak enough to drop the gun, you pushed the gun away with your leg and dragged him to the kitchen counter, all while he begged and whimpered for mercy, then started shouting in the anger he felt, he had lost control after all.

you grabbed his collar and jammed his head into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter, leaving traces of his blood on it, and got up to retrieve a knife.

you had to do it, you had to kill him, or they will kill you you had to do it you had to kill him or they will kill you you had to do i-

the door to your apartment flew open and the grip you had on your knife tightened as you whipped around to see who it was, even if you knew who it could be.

jimin stood there, helmet in hands, eyes flicking on your body, unmoving, so silent that it made your head spin. as your lips parted to call out to him, to see if he would respond, to see if he was even real, a hand gripped your ankle, keith’s loud groan of ‘bitch’ echoed around you. the knife you had in your hands quickly found its place in his chest; the green light from your phone illuminated a side of your face.

‘successful!’

through the blood dripping down your eyelashes, you looked up, once again to see him, to see if he had moved, to see if he had left, to see if he had come to kill you.

you fell off keith’s body, pushing it away with your feet and the cold ground made you hiss, your head didn’t stop spinning, and your hands didn’t stop shaking, it almost made you laugh that the people in this room right now were both people you killed or tried to kill.

“why are you back?”

we shouldn’t be around each other, you shouldn’t be alive, i shouldn’t be alive-

“i chose to forgive you for putting a bullet in me,” he smirked and your head lolled to the side, a smile growing involuntarily, he was real, he was here, and he was breathing, “i never asked for your forgiveness, jimin.”

i missed you, i missed your voice, i missed your bike, i missed you i missed you i missed you i missed you, i missed us.

“i’m nice like that,” he hummed as he sat beside you, you looked up helplessly, someone’s blood smeared on your face, his blood that stained your hands, you thought you would never see him again.

he was nice like that; he was always nicer than you had ever been.

jimin’s ring-covered fingers pushed the hair that stuck onto the blood on your face back, you could feel your sobs compressed in your chest.

“unless you are here to kill me, get out, jimin.” you didn’t think you could say it but you couldn’t kill him a second time, you couldn't look at him without wanting to lay in his arms and let him kill you.

“i’m gonna say no to that.”

“you must really like dying” you could almost hear the sirens of the government hitmen, they would bust in here, place a bullet in each of your heads, jimin and you would just be eliminated numbers in the system then.

“we’ve only gotten one warning,” his voice and demeanor remained calm and steady, the calm you needed, the steady you craved, everything about jimin, you craved and craved and craved.

but one warning was enough, one bullet was enough, the blood on your hands was enough.

you pushed yourself off the floor, almost gravitating and falling into jimin’s arms, maybe crying for an hour, or two, and then kissing him all over but instead, your hands reached out for the knife that was dripping already.

you stood, with shaky knees, in front of a jimin that didn’t flinch and with the strongest voice you could muster, “get out.”

jimin didn’t make an attempt to move, “i let you kill me once, why do you think this will work?” to anyone else, it would sound like he was provoking you, but jimin was pleading with you, ‘i let you kill me once, i’ll let you kill me twice, thrice, ten times, i would rather die in your hands than be away from you.’

you couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe, he was right, he was always right.

but you were, again, desperate to make sure his blood didn’t end up on you.

so, you twisted the knife and pointed it to yourself.

that did the trick.

jimin jumped up from where he was, you could hear his breathing, loud, hurried, so worried, you saw his hands instinctively jerk towards you and pausing in the air, unsure of what you would do.

“please leave,” you whispered, eyes gathering tears for the first time this morning and jimin retracted his hand, “you’re being crazy, put it down, p-please.” his calm was breaking, his face boosted a sheen and his eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“the second you turn back and leave, this will be put away.” you shook the knife in your hand, glancing towards the door through which jimin would have to leave.

jimin’s eyes widened in anger, his hands shook at the fury that consumed him, he couldn’t believe that you were willing to do this just to keep him away.

“i came back for you!” he yelled, you couldn’t help but flinch at his eyes that were no longer calm, no longer steady, “after everything, after you put a fucking bullet in me, after you live with some guy, i looked for you everywhere and this is what you want to do? drive me away? make yourself look insane?” his voice bellowed in the apartment, suffocating you, driving you to tears, but you knew it was necessary, it was easier if he hated you.

“get out,” you whispered again, your resolve weakening as the knife nudged into your skin, and at the sight of your blood running down your arm, jimin threw his head back with a frustrated groan, he couldn't touch you without potentially triggering another warning, he couldn’t shake you back to sanity so, just as quiet as he entered, jimin left your apartment, but not without a look that said, ‘this isn’t over, not here, not now.’

you were left with too much air and too much blood around you.

at some point in the evening, the cleaners from the government came in, but none of them looked at you, none of them said a word or offered you a napkin, nothing.

they pushed keith’s body into a bag, cleared up the blood, dropped an envelope full of money on the counter, and left.

but the smell of death perforated around you, as you, once again, looked out the window, a gloomy sky, a gloomy world, and your cigarette was the only light that remained later in the night.

you stared at the reflection of your face which looked sunken in, tired, irritated, so close to dead but unfortunately, not dead, and as you kept scowling at yourself, jimin’s face joined the reflection.

then, both of your cigarettes remained to be the only light in your apartment that night.

-

august 22nd, 2023.

that night, he smoked with you, taught you how to patch up your cuts, burnt some scented candles, and left after staring at your lips for ten minutes.

it didn’t matter that you were already well-trained to patch up your wounds, it didn’t matter that the candles he left only cleared the air for a few minutes before the smell of death came back, he was there, you were there, and that was enough for nothing else to matter.

though you still shiver at the memory of his eyes on you.

you haven’t seen him since then, you had told him to stay away before any kind of patch wouldn’t save what you do to yourself, but you still burnt the candles he got for you, every day.

you killed five people after jimin last year, you didn’t know if it was dumb luck that you survived every single time or your worst nightmare come true, all of your lovers were now just numbers in the eliminated category, you were waiting to join them too.

but, when your phone flashed red, you couldn't think of anything but surviving, even if you wanted to die, even if you had nothing to live for, that one notification blinded you from everything you believed in and pushed you to protect yourself.

it was the deepest, darkest secret that you held and buried in yourself.

maybe that was the intention all along, everyone wants to die until they are put face-to-face with death.

“i really didn’t expect us to match but i’m so glad that this is happening,” your date, an older man, with thinning hair and too broad of a smile, beamed at you. you felt particularly irritated that he was talking to your boobs but you held on, you matched for a reason, you had to see this through until you could kill him.

“i am glad too.” you smiled with ruby lips, crossing your legs and leaning away from him, you raised your glass to him and he almost jumped out of his seat to cling it, you held back your laugh at his state.

men were too simple.

“let’s get to know each other! we could start with, what scares you?” he thought he was being deep and thoughtful with that question, but he was so wrong.

men, scare me, i haven't decided if you're one of those men.

“i have to say, rats, can’t stand them, they’re disgusting.” you fake shuddered, causing your date to explode into laughter, “oh, you poor thing, they scare you?” he asked as if it was the most ridiculous thing ever.

i am scared that everyone i love, secretly hates me. i don't have many people that i love, that scares me too.

“so, how many people have you killed?” you didn’t mean to ask it out loud but you needed to know how much training would have to go into defeating him, if that day ever came. he looked up with surprised eyes before the surprise melts into poorly executed sensuality, a certain sick kind of glint shined in his face as he leaned forward as if he’s found his prize, his prey, “i have killed 3, princess, what about you?”

it took everything in you to not vomit in his face.

but your eyes roll back instead, this was going to be a long night.

“how about you try to guess?” you whispered back, just as sensual, maybe not as sick but playing the part he wanted you to.

a hidden freak in elegant clothes.

men didn’t have a lot of types; this was usually the most popular.

he, you keep thinking ‘he’, because, for the love of god, you can’t seem to remember his name, blinks slowly, trying to be sexy, only to look mildly constipated.

a swing of the restaurant doors forces your eyes towards the entrance and your throat closes up as you try not to fall off your seat when you see who it is.

you had told him to stay away, to never come back, you told him that you should’ve never given him the lighter that night but he had laughed it off, he had lit his cigarette and gazed out the window without a word.

now, he was here, all flesh and bones, too real, too much, not in your innocent or sometimes, not-so-innocent dreams, he was standing with another woman who held onto his hands, hands that had taught you to clean your wounds, hands that had touched every inch of you.

your hands gripped the tablecloth with a strength you didn’t know you possessed; your eyes threatened to flash red as your heartbeat accelerated.

gone was the bald man in front of you, gone were the people around you, gone was the chaos of the restaurant, gone was the rest of the world as his eyes reached you.

and he had the audacity to bow to you, flash a smirk, throw a smile at your date, and take his seat at the bar as if it was his throne. of course, his seat faced you, his eyes stayed on you as his hands played and twirled with her hair.

“see something you like?” your date growled from the other side of the table.

you had forgotten about him.

“sorry, i got distracted” you mumbled, you wondered if he would figure out just how insincere your words were. he laughed bitterly, fingers tapping incessantly at his wine glass.

his demeanor had changed, his shoulders were tense and tight, and you could feel his leg knocking onto the table, you had pissed him off.

you wish you cared.

“i’ve met your type, you think that looking and acting like a slut will help you get away with everything, don’t you?” his eyes gleamed wickedly as he smiled at you, you felt a chill run down your spine even if you weren't threatened.

all your life, you’ve met all kinds of men, it didn’t help you get used to how cruel and animalistic some of them could be.

your phone pinged and flashed red.

‘eliminate!’

your heart contracted rapidly as your hands tried to search for the gun on your thigh holster, your fingers fumbled to pull it out and you could feel it all slip away.

you couldn’t let him get the notification too, he would kill you, he would kill you in front of jimin, he would kill you and you would never see jimin again, never feel him again, never breathe him in agai-

but then, his head dropped on the table.

your hands fell away from your holster as your entire body stiffened and fell back on your chair.

you hated that you didn’t feel anything as his blood pooled around his head, as people screamed and rushed out of the restaurant, as waiters fumbled with their phones to call the police, you hated that your gaze immediately went to jimin.

his hand was raised, a gun pointed in your direction.

your suspicions were right.

‘successful!’

your screen turned green.

people ran with their children in front of you, people stared in horror at the man whose blood overflowed from the table, people saw you staring at the bar instead of the dying man in front of you.

public eliminations were rare, and most notifications were delivered in the safety of private homes but desperate times, such as especially bad events on a date, would lead to this.

jimin’s date got up, seemed to scream at him, seemed to seek his attention but he peeked and bent around her body to keep looking at you, she turned around with fury in her eyes, only to huff loudly and run out of the restaurant too.

then, it was the two of you again.

how could you feel a touch, months after it’s been on you?

how could you feel him, miles apart?

you hated yourself for how warm you felt now that it was just you and him.

you pushed yourself out of your chair, charging towards jimin with a rage you only felt around him, the rage of wanting him but not having him, the rage of never forgetting him, the rage of not being able to detach yourself from him, the rage of seeing him with another, he watched with a tilted head as you approached him.

“come outside,” you demanded, already turning around to get out but he spun towards the bar, “why? we have all the privacy we want, right here” he tapped the seat next to him with his lips pulled to one side.

you were impatient, out of time, out of your depth, out of control, which urged you to grab jimin by the collar and drag him to the rain-soaked pavements outside.

there was no way you were going to have a conversation when a man lay dead, a couple of steps away from you, a man that he killed, a man that you were supposed to kill.

“what were you thinking, jimin?” you screeched once you couldn’t see blood dripping down the table you left behind. even as the rain soaked you, you felt burning hot anger bubbling in you.

“why do you care? were you in love with him or something?” jimin sneered, adjusting his shirt and looking away to the side, his voice was irritated but his face wasn’t, jimin had ever been good at hiding his vulnerability. there was this nervousness, this tapping of his foot, that gave him away.

“it shouldn’t matter to you, jimin!” you yelled loudly, though your face fell away in unguarded softness. it shouldn’t have been his bullet today, it should’ve been yours, it’s funny to you that it always ends up having to be yours.

“why?” jimin turned back to look at you with a frown so deep, you wondered if he was feeling the strain of the conversation already, if he was feeling the strain of being so close and far.

do you want me in your arms? i want you in mine.

“what do you mean, why?” you threw your hands in the air as a deep exhale left your body, a last attempt to calm yourself, “why shouldn’t it matter to me? as far as i know, i’m the only one it should matter to,” he roared back, chest puffing as he stepped closer to you.

come closer, don’t you dare step back, take me away from this rain, this place, these people, this world, take me to a place where i can hold you and you can hold me.

“you know exactly why” you steeled your gaze to get your point across, though you wondered if he could hear your heart break from where he stood.

jimin watched you with careful eyes, sorrow hid under his eyelashes, sorrow that he tried to blink away, sorrow that barely concealed the anger he felt.

but not at you.

never at you.

he reached for your hand, causing you to flinch and shift a couple of steps away, he felt like a wound that never quite healed, cut itself open again, “what are you so afraid of?”

your heartbeat quickened, “jimin, stay back, we don’t know about the warn-“

“that ship sailed when you yanked my collar, love” his lips pulled to one side as he showed his phone screen that was bright red, and your heart drowned all over again, your phone buzzed in your hand, you knew what it meant.

your second warning.

“why don’t we just take advantage of this?” he whispered so softly, that the rest of the world tapped out, it was just him and his face and his voice and his hands that pushed your hair back.

life filled your lungs in a rush, life so vibrant and bright, life so blindingly fine.

soft soft hands, soft hands that touch me, soft hands that have touched me before, soft hands which i love, i love the man with soft hands.

“we could go back to our place, watch some movies, just talk, you can tell me how terrible your dates have been,” he paused to chuckle a little and it filled you with lightness, you believed you could float, “we could let the warning stretch, we could let it all just ring, i don’t care, as long as you’re there, i don’t care about anything.”

he still calls it ‘our’ place, i have a place in this world.

your phone buzzed and flashed red repeatedly as he held your cheeks and leaned in, just to let his breath fan over your face, just to let his lips brush over yours.

“but don’t push me away, i need you.” you could tell he was holding back tears and you couldn’t tell that you were crying already until his hands wiped across your cheeks, your hands fell on his shirt, unsurely grazing the fabric.

did you want him closer? was that possible?

‘eliminate!’

‘eliminate!’

‘eliminate!’

your phone threw the red onto his face, flashing so rapidly that you wanted to break it, but when you caught his eyes, his ever so tender, ever so loving, ever so giving eyes, you got reminded of the bullet you put in him. now, the red light looked like his blood.

i love the man with soft hands. his soft hands touch me and i touch him, he tells me sweet things when our lives are on a rope, how can i not fall?

i hurt the man with soft hands, i don’t deserve the man with soft hands.

your hands were desperately hanging onto his shirt now but you could feel your stomach in your throat, your heart in your legs, your head in the stormy clouds and you pushed him away.

you stumbled back, hiccupping and gripping your phone.

‘eliminate!’

“please, just listen to me-“ but you couldn’t, all you could hear was the traffic, the people, your phone, and the world, it all returned back to you and you couldn’t hide in his face any longer.

“just stop, jimin!” you let out your cry, heart squeezing itself dry onto the pavement.

i can’t hurt you, i can’t die, but i will die if i don’t hurt you, would you kill me? save me this pain? take me away.

jimin’s rage returned.

“we need to stop this, don’t show your face around me again” you turned and walked away before your heart fell on his feet and you couldn’t pick it up again.

step.

step.

step.

pull me back, don’t let me go.

“how do you walk away every single time?” his voice was low, barely audible but it fell on you like bricks raining from the sky.

your steps stopped, everything in you paused at the tension in his voice.

“how do you live without me? why is it so easy for you to be without me?” he got louder, angrier, more desperate, more of everything, you knew his eyes were burning into your skin and leaving scars that would never fade.

i’m not living, i’m breathing, i’m existing, it's not the same.

“jimin,” you breathed out, your entire body stood confused at the jolts of torments that passed through it, you tried not to fall on your knees at his assumption.

did he think this was easy for you?

did he think that he didn’t haunt every single living thought in your head?

did he think you could ever forget the grief that shot through you when you saw him on the ground, that you could ever forget him?

“do you not remember anything?” he whispered again, a sad smile stretched on his face.

i remember too much.

i remember drifting through these roads on your bike, i remember laughing into your hair and the warmth of your neck on cold nights, i remember the leather of your jacket and the coldness of you necklace, i remember the cat you loved even if you are allergic, i remember the story of your first kiss, i remember the lingering love you hold for her, i remember the greater love you held for me.

i remember the day i died when my phone flashed red for the first time.

i remember everything.

“no, and you should forget it too” you shook off his scent that crawled on your back to choke you.

“i don’t believe you,” jimin narrowed his eyes at you, he could see the memories playing like a videotape behind your eyes.

“i don’t either,” he pulled back at the sad chuckle that left your tear-dried lips and he could only watch as you got into your bike and drove away into the night, once again, leaving him to himself.

your tears came anew as the gush of wind froze them on your face, you no longer had his neck to bury yourself into, and you no longer had his jacket to grip onto, it was just you, the night and everything else burning in and out of existence.

you could tell it all to him, you could tell him that you haven't been alive since the second you held that gun in your hands, you could tell him that you imagined him on every face you kissed but it was easier to not tell it all.

it was easier to pretend that you didn’t know what you felt, it was easier to tell him you didn’t know when you knew it all, and it was easier to go back to your room and stare at the ceiling till morning came.

-

december 31st, 2023.

six hours were left to new years.

you just killed another person, and this time, you didn’t bother remembering anything about them, their name, their hobbies, their interests, their face just before they died, it only gave you nightmares.

the paper of your cigarette was soaked red as your hands dripped on them, your bedroom was being sterilized and you were once again, wholly surrounded by the smell of blood and death and nothing else.

you would need to get new sheets, a new bed, a new carpet, and new candles.

what a way to start a new year.

your head fell back on the sofa as a dull ache coursed through you, the ache was ever-present now, your only consistent companion, it stayed with you as life threw you from a puddle, to a pond, to a lake, to a river and then, at the deep edge of the sea.

your feet dragged as you closed the door behind the cleaners, you wondered if they were welcoming the new year with someone they loved or if they were too, much like you, rotting around the smell of death.

three hours were left to new years.

you wondered what jimin was doing, and then you laughed into the silence around you, when did you ever stop thinking about what jimin was doing?

but you were two strikes down, another one would only end with you both six feet underground and you couldn’t do that to jimin.

one hour was left to new years.

you were somehow standing in front of ‘your’ apartment, it was really jimin’s but it stuck with you that he had called it ‘our.’

in life, there are logical choices, mapped out, ready for action, the results would be great for you but as humans, we very rarely follow through with logical choices because even if we have a monologue prepared, an argument, a plan of action, we see the face of some people, we see the nights we spent with them, we see the words we never told anyone else, we see our expired love creeping on their backs and it all crumbles.

those choices are always shadowed by, not your heart, as many would like to believe, it’s always you, as a whole, just you. because sometimes, we don’t want the peace that comes with logic, we want the freefall that comes with doing whatever the heck you want and regretting it all afterward.

and you wonder if you will ever make the smart choice when it comes to jimin.

the door swings open, your chest falls in relief at his face and an expectant smile from him, silence riddled around you both, welcomes you into your home.

you felt strangely out of your body, as if you were watching the night unravel and could do nothing but watch, as if you had no and all control, as if you could run and stay at the same time.

on your true bed, you splayed out your arms and legs, you didn’t exhale too loudly, jimin didn’t breathe too much, you pushed your face into the pillows that you and jimin used to lay on, you breathed in the scent, jimin stood back and watched, everything was just silent and perfect and your phones were nowhere near you.

i didn’t think we would be here again, i thought i lost you forever, i thought i would die with your love for me and my love for you, buried deep inside of me and someday, it would all be dug up and i won’t be there to witness any of it.

on your true table, you sat, legs folded on the chair, piping hot food flowing steam onto your face and you ate, jimin sat opposite to you and ate, the television roared with news of parties, fires, danger, sorrow, economy. a word didn’t leave your lips.

who really cares about the government anyway, right?

on your true sofa, your fingers threaded jimin’s hair as you pulled at his scalp, gently, maybe not so gently and he falls apart in your touch, he falls back and grabs you, again and again, you two rise and fall, like riptides that would devastate the shore, like rocks that hit to make fire, like hail that hits your feet and makes them numb, your bodies don’t care anymore, not about some warning, not about some stupid government, your bodies only craved for what the other offered.

why does morning have to come? why do nights like these not show mercy on me and stretch forever? why is this place not where i come back to anymore? how do i leave, with the memories of your feathers wrapped around my back?

at some point, the clock struck midnight and jimin’s twinkling eyes whispered to you, his hands rubbing circles on your waist, “happy new year, my love.”

all of the world’s happiness would have fit in the centimetre space between you two then, you didn’t want to think of how you would die after this, you didn’t want to think of how temporary it all was, you didn’t want to think of how tomorrow might never come.

but you woke up the next day, jimin’s arms on your stomach, a new year shining outside your window and you stumbled out of the bed for your phone, to see if it really was the end because you couldn’t get a better ending than this.

you didn’t get a warning.

you wouldn’t die today.

you sighed out in relief.

-

february 14th, 2024.

you got lucky that day, too lucky, you had stretched your luck till afternoon dawned. that morning, you got on jimin’s bike and let yourself float in the backseat as wind pricked your face, you had been hoping that the final warning will come, that you could die happy but even as your head rested on jimin’s shoulder and the beach waves crashed in front of you, even as he nestled his face into your head and breathed you in, your phones hadn’t made a single noise.

the next morning, you were back to wanting to survive, jimin tried to keep you in his bed, he had whispered promises to you, he had kissed your cheeks and his hands had gripped onto your arms.

but you had run away, it wasn’t your home and you couldn’t play around with your luck anymore, maybe it was a glitch, maybe it was an anomaly, no one knew how the warnings came, and you weren’t exactly excited to know why you were granted those few hours with jimin.

and you found someone.

someone not like keith, someone not too sick or old, his name was wooseok and he treated you gently, treated you lovingly, he held your hand as you walked, he kissed you on the forehead, he promised to let you down gently if the notification ever came, as per your request.

but his hands weren’t soft and you weren’t in love with him.

you punched the sandbag in front of you, harder than your instructor had told you to, harder than you wanted to, the night fell around you with each punch, no one came around this time and the solitude comforted you.

soon, you had to meet wooseok for dinner, a valentine’s dinner, a night filled with affection and attention, you were looking forward to it, at least you were trying to look forward to it.

the elevator pinged behind you, slowing your punches, you turned around to glare at whoever came in, this was the only alone time you had, you couldn’t have some idiot mess it up.

but then your face relaxed as wooseok walked in, your arms immediately stretched in front of you to wrap around his neck and he chuckled into your neck, “couldn’t wait till dinner, forgive me.” he brushed your cheeks before kissing you on the forehead and you tried to hide the way your body tensed.

“i’m glad, i’ll be done in a bit,” you said with a half-genuine smile and he nodded.

i can be happy without jimin, i can live and not be afraid to love, i can learn to love wooseok’s rough hands and i can live live live

the elevator pinged again; you didn’t bother looking at who it was until you heard the soft thump of a bag falling to the floor. “just two minutes,” he whispered before burying his face in your neck again and this time, your body gave up fighting, you relaxed into him and let out a sigh. hidden by wooseok’s body, you peeked to the side to see who it was.

it was instantaneous, the reaction, the rush of blood to your head and heart, the restlessness that started building in you.

you felt your chest tear, your legs break under you, your hands falling off but nothing happened to you, even if you wished your mental pain could become physical, you still breathed fine, stood fine, lived fine, still clung to wooseok’s neck fine.

just one look at jimin had you crumbling even as someone held you up.

i cannot be happy without jimin.

“i’ll be waiting downstairs,” wooseok whispered, with no knowledge of your intruder, he kissed your cheek and you tried to hide the paleness of your face as you nodded, he leaves with a lingering look at you, so filled with love.

and your throat closes up again as the elevator takes him away.

jimin looks at you, waiting for you to speak, apologize, explain, anything, any words you give, he would take and he tries to hold his ground while his mind assaults him with playbacks to you and someone else wrapped around you.

your content face, instead of fear, your smile, instead of a scowl, your affection, instead of wariness, everything jimin wanted with you, you found in someone else.

he would’ve done anything for all of that, would your new boy do it? would he make you his as jimin had?

once he understands that you were going to ignore this, he walks towards you slowly, taking all the time in the world, you heard his steps but you kept putting your stuff away, determined to leave as soon as you could.

the world spun at your feet when he halts behind you, you felt the warmth of his body and his soft soft soft soft hands holding your hips as he gazed from behind you, into the mirror, you stood frozen.

how easy would it be to just melt into you? how easy would it be to go back home with you, to you, spend my hours breathing with you?

no.

you had someone now.

“jimin, step back,” you glanced anxiously towards where you left your phone and jimin is reckless, out of patience and at the end of the line here, “how does he treat you, love?” he whispers against your ear, in a mocking tone that you hated.

but heat crawls and wraps around you fast, you find yourself wanting to lean back on him, let him carry you away and let everything else fall away, let your life fall away.

not better than you, no one gets me like you do.

“he’s incredible, treats me very well” you turn your nose up in the air, speaking anything and everything to make him believe that you were alright without him, but as always, jimin sees right through you, he hums before leaning his chin on your shoulder and sucking in a breath, that has your knees bucking.

“does he, now?” you nodded, but the rest of your body was so still, you didn’t know if you were still breathing or not.

then, he wrapped his arms around your abdomen, pulled you flush against him, “this is how he held you, isn’t it?” you didn’t answer, “and how much time did he ask for? two minutes?” he laughed again, a sick kind of laugh that you had never heard from jimin before.

“what does he have that i don’t, love? what is it?” he mumbles into your neck, lips flush against your skin and you can’t hold the shiver that passes through you, there’s a daze that dances around you, a weight that holds your eyes down as his hands play with your skin, but you know what you two don’t have.

time. i have time, time that isn’t running out right in front of my eyes, time that doesn’t keep me up at night.

nothing, he has nothing compared to jimin.

“i will let you go only because i know you will kill him one day, and i know where you’ll be once you wash his blood away,” he steps back, leaving you with an ocean of air and a whirlpool room, it takes you a minute to come back to the world.

“actually, he will kill me,” you say finally, jimin turns around from picking his bag up, “i told him, if the warning comes, to kill me.” that decision made you feel lightweight, you would finally be rid of the system, this world, everything once things with wooseok fizzle.

you hadn’t conjured jimin’s reaction, you hadn’t put too much thought into it but a body-shaking laughter wasn’t what you expected at all.

he was bent with hands on his knees, laugh after laugh tumbling out of his mouth as he gasped for breath and you stood there, feeling unsure, humiliated and embarrassed.

and so so naked.

“what’s so funny, jimin?” he held a hand up, steadied himself with a wide grin on his face as he wiped a happy tear from the corner of his eyes, “what’s funny, love, is that you really think you will let him kill you, that is just hilarious.”

you grow red at his words as a wave of shame threatens to shake you off balance, “you know nothing about me, i’ve done enough, i’ve killed enough-“

“and you will do it again.” he says, a hint of a smirk still on his face.

i would.

i wouldn’t.

would i?

you are taken back to all the faces that you had forgotten after they died, keith, the old man, the woman, the memories that died with them, somewhere in you, you had always waited to kill some of them, even if you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t, everyone except jimin, didn’t exist in your head anymore.

“you have n-no idea what you are talking about,” you couldn’t believe that somehow jimin had figured this part of you out, you felt nauseous that he knew the worst parts of you.

“i am the only one who knows, because you loved me most, you loved me like you loved nothing else, you still do and that didn’t stop you from putting a bullet in me, did it?” he clicked on the elevator door as you hurried to catch up to him, stomping after him to prove him wrong, to tell him he had it all wrong but you have no words that are truthful to defend yourself.

i loved you like the soil loves water, like children love lollipops, like waves love the shore, i love you with all of me.

but i killed you and i cried.

i killed you.

you shoved yourself into the elevator with him, chest heaving, mind light and heavy, arms so tired but shaking with restrained anger and he looks at you with, was it pity?

“then, why chase after me if i am so vile?” you scream in his direction, a layer of you was peeled and left to bleed now, you had no idea how to stop it.

your phone buzzed and flashed red.

jimin’s phone buzzed and flashed red.

you look at each other, raw fear flashing just for a second before relaxing, isn’t this what you wanted, anyway?

your third and final warning.

“because i love you too much to care about myself and i’m the only one who can handle it, i’m the only one who would die for you.” he says with conviction, as if it was something he had rehearsed, something he had to repeat to himself. he turns his phone away and tucks it into his pocket.

you wanted to say, i love you too, and i know you’re the only one but the elevator doors open and you’re shoved into the darkness of the parking space, where wooseok stood, hands waving and a bright smile.

“save him and come back to me,” jimin whispers as he leans to give you the shortest, sweetest, most painful kiss on your temple before he’s sending you on your way and stepping back.

wooseok traps you in his arms and spins you around, pure joy radiating off him and you can only gulp and try to smile, “ready for our dinner?” he squeezes your arms with a breathtaking smile, and it takes everything in you to not vomit at his feet.

you nod, he grins and whips around to open the car door for you.

you look back to see jimin, in the elevator, just when the doors start to close, he mouths ‘till next time’ and a slow smirk grows on his face as he disappears behind the metal and you are sure you’ve left your heart in there.

“let’s go,” you sit in the car and watch out the window as it rains again, soft music plays from the radio and your body is rigid, tight, too painful to move and wooseok notices it, he reaches over, brushes your thighs with his rough so rough hands and soothes you with his words.

your phone buzzes in your lap and your heart jumps to your throat.

wooseok’s eyes turn down in sadness and you want to reach over, hold his cheeks and tell him, i love you, even if you don’t mean it but you don’t move a muscle. misunderstanding your silence, he slows the car and his phone flashes red as well, he sighs, eyes so sad, eyes lined with tears and you don’t feel anything.

it hurts that you feel as empty as a shell.

“i’ll keep my promise, i’ll give you a painless end” he mumbles softly, kissing the back of your hands and your feet start to tingle at the guilt that numbs you.

you act as if you are going to cup his face, he leans in with soft eyes and rough hands, you give a sharp tug to the steering wheel and the vehicle fastens towards a nearby tree.

you, so desperately wanted jimin to be wrong but as wooseok’s lifeless face stared back at you, you knew he was right.

you got out of the car, littered with a couple cuts and a lanky step, and walk towards the only place that belongs to you, the only place that you knew would welcome you back with snide smirks and silence and love, so much love, home.

your home.

-

‘eliminate!’

.

.

.

‘successful!’

[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made of Glass ch.9

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - Powered!F!Reader x Carol Danvers

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, religious fanatisms, homopobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol, violence, multiverse travelling. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

I'm back!

And Carol Danvers is back as well. i'm sorry for the long delay, guys. But this chapter gave me some trouble before making some decisions as to where I wanted to take the story. I hope you like this new chapter, you will have action, flashbacks, and finally the worlds collide.

Remember that English is not my mother tongue so I apologise for the grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 9

The breaking of the storm

Three months ago – Stark Cabin - Fairburn, Georgia

It didn’t take her too long to locate the cabin.

She stood by the road for a very long time, debating with herself if it would be appropriated to approach the man living there. She was still wearing the clothes she wore to the funeral; the tears were still fresh on her face and the many memories in her mind were threatening to overwhelm her all over again.

The world had changed in the last five years she had been absent.

And yet, many things were still the same.

The service had been sweet, with a long sermon giving by an old priest that praised Steve for his courage and his life. Wanda had almost broken when the priest mentioned Bucky and how Steve’s love for him had made him stronger in the times of need. She listened as everything was revealed, as the lovers were uncovered in front of friends and family, and she realized right there and then everybody knew about it. And everybody accepted it, embraced it, and celebrated it.

“Sooner or later, Wanda, you will need to face the truth…than in all of this, it was you the only one that thought it inappropriate, that punished herself for something as pure as loving another human being.”

Steve’s words resounded inside her mind; Wanda had come to terms with what she couldn’t in her youth. Not only the mistakes of her past actions, but also to the thoughts she allowed herself to govern her decisions, in all reality, just as Steve had told her, her family would have never stopped loving her even if she chose another woman to be by her side. To be the love of her life, to marry and form a family with.

Times had certainly changed, and by the time Wanda had made a decision about her life and what she needed it to do, Thanos had come, and she had missed five years of her life. The sound of birds above her head broke her remembrance of another time; she shook her head and tried to step forward but was unable to do so.

Wanda Maximoff hesitated with her hands inside her pockets, the key to the old Avenger compound wrapped tightly around her hand. She chewed on her lower lip, turning around ready to leave until her eyes fell upon a young girl. She was no older than five years old, with auburn hair, and curious eyes she stood there glancing at Wanda while holding onto a metal glove that fit her small hand.

“Are you lost?” She asked, tilting her head, Morgan Stark took a step closer to the redhead while glancing left then right.

Wanda pressed her lips together shaking her head, “no, I’m not.”

Morgan furrowed her brows, her eyes narrowing slightly though her stance did not lose the easiness she carried with her. Wanda could see much of Stark in the young girl, there was intelligence behind her eyes and also a sense of confidence Wanda never possessed at her age.

“Then, what are you doing?” Morgan asked, this time around she pursed her lips pointing to the cabin. “Are you looking for daddy?”

Wanda sighed glancing down the road, her breath caught in her throat when her clear eyes fell upon the form of Tony Stark. The man was standing by the entrance of the cabin, his eyes completely focused on her and Morgan. With an uncomfortably shifted stance, Wanda glanced back to the girl that still had her eyes on her.

“Yes, I am.”

Morgan broke into an easy smile; she approached Wanda taking her hand in hers while dragging her all the way to the cabin.

“Silly, you can’t stay here. Daddy is having his afternoon tea.”

Tony Stark stood by the porch in his cabin, his heart had almost stopped the moment he realized Morgan had gone all the way to greet the strange newcomer only to realize this newcomer was no other than Wanda Maximoff. In his mind, five years had passed, but the old wounds as well as Wanda’s old transgressions were still fresh in Stark’s mind; he had not forgotten the moment she broke Y/N’s heart. Nor did he forget the fact Wanda sided with Steve when the world needed them the most; seeing her walking down the road with his daughter by her side only made him shiver in anticipation, his hand getting ready to access his armor if necessary.

“Wanda.” He couldn’t hide the coldness in his voice, the young woman winced trying to let go of Morgan’s hand but the young girl refused the gesture taking her past Tony.

“Come! Mommy brought some cupcakes and daddy has to eat his tea or he gets cranky.” Morgan turned to Tony, the innocence in her eyes didn’t allow her to notice the obvious tension between Wanda and Tony.

The man straightened up, his jaw clenching tightly while his eyes let Wanda know she was not welcomed. Wanda knew this, of course. She was risking a lot by reaching out to Tony, but in all honestly, he was her last option.

She didn’t have anyone else.

She was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Tony dropped his shoulders placing a hand on Morgan’s head, before pointing with his head the house.

“Well, I guess we are stuck with one another for the time being.”

“You don’t have to…” Wanda started, but Tony shook his head.

“Morgan wants you here, come on.”

The house was like nothing Wanda remembered of Tony. There were many electronic devices and gadgets that Tony had adapted to his home, but otherwise this looked like a normal place. Nothing too fancy, and nothing too ostentatious. It was strange to set foot in a place that was not as extravagant as Tony had been once.

“I hope you two are…Wanda? What are you doing here?” Pepper stood by the hall with a tray filled with pastries and two white cups filled with tea.

Wanda offered a weak smile; her heart shrank at the incommodity this situation generated in her. She wished she had thought this through, but in reality, there was nothing she could do. She had been so lost at the funeral, she had been so devastated when she saw Y/N in the arms of another, when she realized after Steve’s death, she was alone.

“I’m sorry to come uninvited, Pepper.” She all but whispered. “I will be out of here in no time, I just…”

Pepper had been frowning at the young woman all this time, but something in her voice and her posture made Pepper softened slightly. She offered a motherly smile pointing to the love chair on the living room.

“Take a seat, Wanda, I will bring another cup of tea.”

Teatime went by uneventfully.

Morgan ended up filling up the silence with her stories, and the adults merely spoke whenever she spoke to them. Wanda couldn’t help the tension growing as the time passed, and the eyes of Tony kept on pinning her with anger and questions. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Pepper grabbed Morgan and left Tony and Wanda alone.

“You have some nerve coming in here, Wanda.” Tony finally commented leaning back on his chair. “I thought by now you would have left to get the normal life you have always wanted. Though, now that Vision is no longer alive, I guess you don’t have much from were to choose, am I right?”

Wanda winced at his honesty, she knew Tony and Natasha had been always advocates of Y/N and had always stood by her side after the incident. The young woman couldn’t help the tears pooling out her eyes, she swallowed down her sadness, trying to collect herself to start talking.

But she couldn’t.

“I…I…am sorry.” Wanda let down a whimper, her tears rolling down her eyes as the pain in her chest became unbearable. She stood on shaky legs, shaking her head while trying to make her way to the door. “I sh-shouldn’t…I will…I will leave…”

But as she said this, her heart crumbled and soon she was on the floor with Tony Stark wrapping his arms around her. Of all the people that she had gotten to know, Tony was the last one she ever thought would comfort her. They had such a troublesome past; she had hated him for so long only to develop respect and then a shaky form of friendship that had always been on the rocks for as long as they had fought on the side.

Now, Wanda couldn’t stop crying and Tony had acted out of instinct.

Wanda cried for herself, for the time she lost. For the things she had done, for Steve because he would no longer be there to comfort her and to be the family she had lost. For Y/N because she hated Wanda, and Wanda knew that regardless of her wrongdoings and her mistakes, she was still pretty much in love with her. Wanda cried because she let her old beliefs, and the words of sin and forbidden governed her decisions at some point.

Wanda cried because she was alone, and she had come to a world in which she was not welcome.

And then, when she thought nothing good could come of this meeting, she had the very same man she had always thought insufferable and narcissistic comforting her. Then a pair of small arms wrapped around her, and soon Wanda felt, for the very first time in a long time, the warmth of a family trying to pick up the pieces of her heart and lonely soul.

*****

Night had already fallen, and Morgan was already in bed by the time Wanda had stopped crying.

The warmth of the mug between her hands brough comfort to her cold chest, she glanced at the fire while trying to ease out her breathing and hearing Tony talk about what had happened after the Blip. She heard about his fight with Steve, how he had given his back to the Avengers to go and form a family with Pepper, how the world crumbled in the very first year before it started building itself.

Tony talked about Steve and Natasha, how they struggled to keep the team alive, to try and look for a solution while also helping the rest of the universe with the help of Rocket and Carol Danvers. He talked about Y/N, and Wanda couldn’t help the fluttering of her heart at the mention of Y/N and how she had been affected by the Blip, how she had met Carol and the bond had been formed.

“She missed you.” Pepper ignored the glare coming from Tony, her eyes were solely on Wanda who was looking back at her with a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Y/N was in a dark place after she saw you vanished into thin air.”

Wanda furrowed her brows at this, “she…she was there?”

Pepper and Tony nodded, and Wanda tried to remember that moment.

She knew you had arrived because your shadows had invaded the battlefield for a moment, but she never imagined you had gone and looked for her. Wanda never imagined Y/N had seen her disappear. Tony shifted on his chair pursing his lips while facing Wanda, his eyes demanding.

“She took it hard and was not the same for a while. Up until she and Carol started seeing one another.” Wanda winced at these words; she looked away trying to hide her pain, but Tony had already seen it. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

Wanda glanced at the beverage in the mug, she thought about you for a long time. She thought about your voice and laughter, how happy you had seemed with the blond-haired woman back at the funeral. The young woman lifted her face, new tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m…I came here to ask for your permission.” She finally said, Tony blinked confusedly at her.

“Permission for what?”

“The…the Avengers compound.” Wanda mumbled. “I know it’s still active but empty and…I… I really don’t have a place to stay. I just…”

“You are alone.” Tony stated not without a tone of reproach in his tone. “This is your own doing, Wanda. I hope you know that.”

Wanda didn’t react at all, but her lips broke into a broken smile.

“I made so many mistakes, Tony.” Wanda all but whispered. “The only thing I did right was…was being with her.”

“And yet, you broke her heart in the worst possible way.” Tony replied, the old anger dripping from his words.

“I know.” Wanda placed a hand on her forehead, she had nothing to lose at the moment and her words came rushing in. Not to give an explanation, she didn’t think her actions have one, but she just needed to let everything out.

For the very first time, she would talk with all honestly to someone that wasn’t Steve.

“I was so afraid to give in, to allow myself to be seen with her.” Wanda hiccupped placing a hand on her mouth, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. “My mother…my father…They always talked to me about sin, I knew what I had always feel, what I am…was a sin. Papa found me once, and he…I never forgot his lesson. I knew I was wrong, and when I saw her and knew I couldn’t breathe without Y/n I just…I was failing papa and mama…you know?”

Wanda shook her head, a gasp leaving her lips while her hand closed tightly around her chest.

“I had failed them, they had died, and I had failed them…time and time again, I failed and then…” Wanda shrugged. “I fell in love with her and I just…I let my family die, I couldn’t…I couldn’t be happy, I shouldn’t…I should do what they wanted of me I just…”

Pepper softened her features, watching the confusion, the conflict running wildly through those green eyes. But Tony remained impassive, hearing everything without giving anything away.

“I just…I couldn’t let them down, them and Pietro and…god, Y/N was just…I was feeling so much…I realized I wanted to have her children, that I wanted…I wanted to leave my powers and…” Wanda suddenly looked desperate, lost, and hopeless. “I know I mess up, Tony, I’m not asking for your forgiveness...I just…I just need a home.”

Wanda broke at the very end; Tony lowered his gaze before settling his eyes on Pepper. For the very first time, Tony wondered what would have happened if Pepper had given up on him. How many times had she discovered him with another woman, how many times she had seen him flirt his way through the parties before he realized that Pepper was all he needed. Y/N had been hurt deeply by Wanda, it was quite evident Wanda didn’t know the extent of Y/N’s feelings for her or what she was ready to do for Wanda.

And yet, Wanda was ready to do the same, but her mind was being tormented by old believes, and the fear of failing her family. The fear of falling into sin, of being less than what was expected of her.

“I know I’m going to pay my whole life for my mistakes, Tony. I know she…” Wanda wrapped her hands tightly around the mug, lowering her gaze she continued with a shaky voice. “I have broken everything that was good for me, and I deserve to be alone. I just…I’m tired.”

Tony stood up making his way to where Wanda was sitting, he knelt down placing a single hand on hers. His face was solemn, and for the very first time he allowed himself to see Wanda the way she was. A young woman lost, not knowing what to do or what road to follow, someone who wanted to be loved, but that didn’t want to fail those she loved anymore.

Ten years were a long time for him to keep a grudge, and for Wanda to still being put down and being ripped from what she really wanted.

“You can stay here tonight, Wanda.” Tony squeezed her hand comfortingly. “You have a home here, and we can talk more tomorrow. The compound is yours if you want to, but for now let me take you to your room. You must be really tired.”

Wanda wrapped her arms around Tony, a small weight lifted from her heart, and a huge void in her soul filled by the affection she felt for the man hugging her tightly. After that day, Wanda would spend five more days in Tony’s home, and she would cry while trying to let out everything she had kept for herself.

The morning of the fifth day was sunny and filled with a warm breeze.

Morgan was checking out the car Tony had given Wanda, while Wanda was trying to reject the gift. Tony shook his head placing the keys in the young woman’s hand, his eyes gleaming warmly while he also extended a mobile.

“You will find my number in there. But…” Here Tony trailed off before speaking again. “You will find Y/N’s number and location.”

Wanda opened her eyes wide, her hand trembling at this revelation. Her lower lip quivered, and she was left speechless for a moment.

“I don’t think…”

“You told me you wanted to talk to her, to mend things, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, I did but…”

“Or, were you pretending to be interested in patching things up with Y/N?”

“No, no Tony I do but…” Here Wanda trailed off glancing at the phone with trepidation. “She hates me. She…she really despises me.”

“She does.” Tony stated shrugging. “But you don’t.”

Wanda lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Now, I understand many things, Wanda, and it is time for Y/N to know them as well.”

Wanda shook her head, the fear of a confrontation with you was something that haunted her sleep. There was nothing else she wanted more than to go back to you, but she knew she was late. She was always too late.

Tony closed his hands around hers, the items firmly placed in her hand.

“Talk to her. Perhaps, it won’t be what you want, but being friends could be a start.” Tony then offered a smile, nodding to the car. “Go, get settle, and when you have decided, just call and the ticket to her home would be ready for you.”

Wanda threw herself at Tony, and this gesture caught the older man by surprised. But he returned the hug, and he realized that having a family, having Morgan had changed his vision of the world. And now, he didn’t want Wanda to go around suffering needlessly.

“Don’t wait to long, Little Witch.” He whispered choosing Y/N’s nickname for her. “Go and chase happiness, you will always have a home here.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

Wanda left the place with a lighter heart, and hope in her heart. She glanced at the phone on the passenger’s seat with titillation growing in her abdomen and spreading to her chest.

Perhaps…

Wanda swallowed down and dared not to hope. First things first, she would go to the compound and after that…after that you would look for Y/N. This time around, she was ready to do everything she could to redeem herself and have a chance with Y/N; Wanda drove down the road never noticing the eyes sneaking in the reflection or the purple mist engulfing her mind.

_____________________________________________________________

Present day – Former Avenger’s Tower - New York

The place had never been this packed ever since Loki came crashing down with the Chitauri on his attempt to conquer earth. Tony served some of the drinks, his eyes going over an over to the impatient form of one Carol Danvers, the woman hadn’t stopped looking at her watch and her mobile ever since they got in there with Monica Rambeau.

Natasha grabbed two glasses, winking at Tony who merely snorted while observing the interaction. Carol turned sharply to Natasha, her lips curling lightly into a smile while she received the glass of whiskey she was being offered.

“So, how did you find earth so far?” Natasha was not one to make small talk, and Tony had a feeling he knew why exactly the Black Widow was trying to stall the other woman’s stay in the tower.

You and Wanda were finally left alone to have the long-awaited conversation you deserved to have with one another. Tony then took the other glass walking towards Strange who had dropped on the nearest sofa, with a hand covering his face.

Carol took a sip from the beverage, glancing down to her mobile then back up to a smirking Natasha. The young woman hated the fact Natasha had the knowing glint in her eyes.

“So, are you in a rush?” Carol rolled her eyes at the questions, her lips breaking into an easy smile shaking her head.

“I am.” Carol sighed glancing at Natasha with expectation. “How is she?”

Natasha held Carol’s stare for a moment before shrugging, “she is fine, right now all of us are dealing with the current crisis trying to help America and find a solution.”

Carol clenched her hand around the glass, Natasha heard the cracking sound of the glass though Carol was trying to apply all her self-restrained as to not break the glass. By now, she already knew you were not alone, and that America had gone to you for help with no other than Wanda Maximoff. Carol would be lying if she didn’t admit a part of her was highly jealous of this meeting, she knew as well as everyone else that your love for the red-head witch was something still latent in your heart.

A wave of sudden sadness and uncertainty reached Carol, and the woman jerked away when another hand placed itself on her forearm. Natasha offered the comfort of a single smile, her eyes gleaming with sympathy and understanding.

“Don’t worry, this meeting won’t take long and you will have a chance to go right to her without waiting for me or the Quinjet.” There was a teasing tone in Natasha’s voice, Carol tried to relax but her mind was full of uncertainties, and her heart was aching to see you.

“I know…and I know this is important.” Here she made a face turning her attention to Monica then to Strange. “It seems Maximoff has created a huge trouble, and as always some of us are here cleaning up her mess, right?”

Natasha pursed her lips at this declaration, “It’s not her fault, not completely.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” This time around Strange was the one to talk, he straightened up his back, all eyes of the presents were on him.

The man was looking terrible, with bags under his eyes and the clothes completely messed, it seemed as if he hadn’t sleep for weeks. He probably hadn’t. Tony sat down nodding towards Stephen, glancing at the group before emptying the glass in a single gulp.

“Okay, then, start talking Strange, we’re delaying the space princess over there, and I don’t think she has more patience for this.”

Carol rolled her eyes looking away to try and hide her red cheeks, Natasha chuckled, squeezing her forearm tenderly before joining Tony and Monica. Carol glanced at her forearm before she too joined them with the same trepidation she had been feeling from the very beginning.

“As far as we could find with Wong, Wanda and this woman…Agatha were in possession of the Darkhold.” Strange spoke waving his hands, some of this they already knew but his explanation had to start there. “As I explained to you before, this book is highly dangerous, containing spells that could granted destructive powers to whomever gets a hold of it. One of such spells is called dream walking.”

Tony pursed his lips leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You told us this book was missing, alongside the woman Wanda was supposed to trap in the real Westview, right?”

“She didn’t do a very good job, did she?” This time around it was Carol the one to speak, the woman sat down pinning Strange with her eyes. “So, this dream walking ability, what does it do, exactly?”

Strange didn’t know how to explain the technique, he knew as soon as he started talking about it many of them would jump to the same conclusion he did. Though, his own theory still had many holes that he wasn’t sure how to fill in; he let out a heavy sigh hoping once Wong was back, he would have more answers.

“Basically, it is a technique that allows its user to use their counterpart across the multiverse. They can possess their other variants but…” Stephen scratched the back of his head, his eyes focused on every single one of the presents before they settled on Natasha. “The stronger the sorcerer or the witch, the stronger the spell, they can maintain it for a long time, and they are capable of creating the very same creatures that had been chasing America through the multiverse.”

“You are thinking about someone, aren’t you?” Carol crossed her arms shaking her head. “You think it’s Maximoff?”

Natasha shook her head, her hand waving away at this while she glared at the blond.

“Wait a second, Wanda made many mistakes in the past, but this is on a whole new level…”

“I agree with Romanoff.” Tony stated glaring at Carol. “Wanda may have made many mistakes, but this particular case we are talking about murdering to get to an innocent kid…”

“She created and slaved a whole town, I mean…” Carol said shrugging, she turned to Strange nodding. “Besides, I don’t see Strange fighting much my affirmation.”

Everyone turned to Stephen who was looking at some point on the floor, the man sighed lifting his face nodding.

“That’s my theory, actually.” Stephen lifted a hand to stop any arguments, he locked eyes with Tony trying to appear as the voice of reason. “However, I do agree with you. This Wanda, our Wanda has gone through so much…I don’t think it is her, perse.”

Monica furrowed her brows tilting her head, “what exactly do you mean with our Wanda? You mean…”

“I think it may be another version of her.” Stephen stated firmly.

Everyone jumped startled when a glass fell to the ground, Natasha opened her eyes wide turning to Stephen. She was paled, as if all of a sudden, she saw a ghost.

“Dream walking…is it possible…is it possible that they can show themselves in dreams to other people?” Natasha asked. “It is possible for them to…make physical damage through the dreams?”

Stephen opened his eyes at this, he stood up rather fast striding towards Natasha while placing his hands on the Widow’s shoulders.

“What exactly has happened, Romanoff?”

Natasha felt her world turned around, dizziness overcome her as she remember you telling her about your dreams. The hickey…the scratches… and right there and then, Natasha knew you were in trouble. Carol observed the scene and went from Natasha to Stephen and then back, she clenched her jaw understanding without any more words what was happening. She turned around and went right through the window without hearing the screams from Monica and Natasha for her to stop.

Carol would not wait. You were in danger, and she was not about to let anyone harm you. Much less Wanda Maximoff.

______________________________________________________________

The city of Ulsteinvik was filled with snow and wintery activities that include Winter festival in which the shipyard became the main attraction.

School was over for the day, and many had been invited over to the main festivities that would welcome the weekend. America was bouncing reluctantly around her classmates, her eyes drifting to where you were standing near the car with Vera and other teachers around. She put the jacket around herself, her eyes drifting around until they fell on Wanda; the young woman was strolling down the streets watching everything in awe while trying to locate America and Y/N.

“Hey, America, are you coming?” America turned around to see one of her classmates calling to her, she hesitated nodding pointing in the general direction.

“I will, give me five!”

Wanda smiled at the approaching figure of America; she observed as the teen waved her friends before making her way towards her. America was smiling, her face beaming with emotion at being part of something as mundane as a festival, but also knowing this was the chance she was looking for. The last two days, you and Wanda had been civil around one another, and little by little you had been lowering your defenses to try and get closer to Wanda.

Everything was going according to plan.

“Hey, Wands!” America wrapped her arms tightly around the redhead, Wanda offered a tiny smile fixing America’s hair while pointing to the group of teens waiting at the other end of the street.

“Aren’t you embarrassed to be showing such affection towards me?” The comment was meant to be a joke, Wand didn’t pretend to be nothing else but an acquaintance of America.

The young woman crunched up her nose shaking her head, “Never, Wands you are like…I…you are family.”

Both shifted awkwardly, the conversation dying for a moment until both of you heard your laughter. Vera was rubbing your arm, laughing at something someone else had said; America scowled at her closeness, and she could see that Wanda was not happy with it either. The young woman took that moment to call upon you, making sure everyone turned to see her and Wanda waiting.

“Y/N!! We’re here!” Wanda opened her eyes wide; she saw the glint of mischief in America’s eyes but before she could say something you had already gotten there, your lips breaking into an easy smile.

“Hey, kiddo, ready for the festival?” You passed your arm around her shoulders, America nodded grabbing Wanda’s hand and putting her closer to you.

For a brief moment, America could sense the tension around the three of you. Wanda was almost touching your arms, and you were close enough to see her clear, green eyes gleaming warmly at you. Something inside your heart shifted, and you knew glancing at those eyes was dangerous.

“I am, but I just…” America trailed off looking back at her friends. “I mean, Wanda came over and Kathe and the others are waiting…”

The breeze went pass you brushing your heated skin for a moment, you shot America a quick glance trying to gauge her real intensions but not seeing anything beyond her eagerness to be a part of the festival. Wanda was holding her breath; her whole body was hurting due to the tension she was putting on her posture.

“Go on, I take care of Wanda.” You finally replied, the words of Natasha running around your mind as you realized this could be a chance to have that conversation you have been avoiding the last couple of days.

“Good, you guys are awesome!” She hugged the both of you at the same time before walking back waving. “See you in few!”

A long uncomfortable silence filled the space left by America.

You stood there feeling a pair of eyes on the back of your neck, and you were pretty sure Wanda and Vera had their attention on you. The last couple of days had been strange, to say the least. Wanda, America, and you had been left alone with a great house and a feeling of familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time. The last conversation you had with Natasha and Yelena had been dancing around your mind ever since they left, and the intensity of those conversations only increased whenever you were alone with Wanda.

And she had been in your mind at all times.

Even when you were dreaming.

The conversation you knew the both of you needed to have had been postponed mainly because you were a coward. And you didn’t want to fall all over again in the same pattern with Wanda, this time around you needed to let everything out and make sure Wanda understood how badly she had messed up.

“You don’t have to, you know?” Wanda broke the silence, her eyes downcast and her posture showing the defeat she had been feeling as of late. “I…I understand and you don’t…I know you don’t want to…”

Wanda shook her head, thinking herself and idiot for thinking perhaps you would want to talk to her, that perhaps this day was what they needed to start building a shaky friendship. But of course, your resentment was strong, and Wanda could not pretend to have the conversation she was dying to have with you to happen anytime soon.

The young witch was turning around ready to stroll around the city before going home when a warm hand wrapped around her wrist. She stopped death on her tracks, turning to face you and finding uncertainty in your eyes.

“Where are you going?” You furrowed your brows, uncertainty filling your mind. You were hoping to break the huge wall that was between you and Wanda, to try and lower your defense and start the process of forgiveness.

To finally hear the advice from Tony, Natasha and even Yelena.

“I…I just thought…” Wanda tried to speak but she had distracted herself with your hand holding her wrist, your eyes glancing at her intently. “I just thought I…walk around the city, you can…I know you must be busy.”

This kind of thing used to be easier.

You remembered all those times in which you would merely whisper a plan, and Wanda was dragging you around to comply with them. Now, everything was uncertain, and your mind kept on playing the treason but also the moments in which Wanda had been hurt, lost…miserable.  You took a deep breath, taking a step closer to her, you let go of her hand and made sure she was listening to you.

“I would like to talk to you, I think this is a long overdue conversation between you and me.” You mumbled shrugging. “But, I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to…”

“I do!” Wanda blushed at the abruptness of her answer, she almost fell on her face while trying to hold her emotions.

You couldn’t help but snicker, Wanda wincing before nodding briefly.

“Yes, I think…we…we need to talk.”

“Good then, now that we’re on the same page I know a place you may like, wanna come?” You offered a single smile, that Wanda returned tentatively.

You were very conscious of the growing tension between Wanda and yourself.

It was something you had been living with in the last couple of months since the witch returned to your life. It was almost impossible not to experience it after the myriad of emotions going through your system whenever you thought of Wanda Maximoff.

Now that the both of you were finally alone by circumstances, more so than by election, and the conversation you and her never have was something quite inevitable right now.  The streets of Ulsteinvik were filled with people all making their way to the harbor and the shipyard, the conversation in a mixture of Norwegian and English made a cacophony of sounds that surrounded Wanda distracted her from her current situation, her mind had been a pool of thoughts and emotions she had been too scare to face but now that she had the possibility, she wasn’t sure how to approach.

Her eyes fell upon your figure, the confidence with which you strolled down the streets made her falter. A tingle filled with anticipation started growing on her stomach, and it spread out to her chest and limbs; Wanda was trying to organize her thoughts, to think on what to say…she thought she was prepared for this confrontation but, as you guide her inside a café and requested for something warm while sitting in front of her she realized, she was not ready.

“You mingled with the people around here quite well.” Wanda commented lightly, lowering her gaze to the table while wiggling her hands. “You have been living here for a long time, right?”

You pursed your lips nodding curtly, if Wanda was nervous about this conversation, you were ready to explode from anxiety this brought to you. Right there was Wanda, as you had always imagined her. Her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders and back, her deep green eyes gleaming with uncertainty and shyness like that very first meeting in which you bowed to love her. How many years had passed since then? How many wounds? How many treasons?

The waitress offered a kind smile while placing the cups on the table.

The warmness of the liquid brushed your mouth, and helped you distract yourself from the inevitable. Wanda played with a napkin, her gestures revealing the same nervousness you had been hiding ever since she got to your place.

“I have been living here for seven years.” You finally revealed leaning back on the chair, your eyes wandering around refusing to look at the woman sitting in front of you. “This place was refreshing for me, a new beginning.”

Wanda chewed on her lower lip, her trembling hands grabbing the porcelain cup warming up her sweaty palms.

“Can I…” She hesitated lifting her face only to see your eyes on her, you nodded curtly raising a single eyebrow at her. Wanda shivered before asking her question. “Can I know what you did before coming here?”

Wanda had never heard of you after you left the Avengers’ compound, you had disappeared and no one, not even Natasha, was able to provide any news about your whereabouts. You tensed lightly remembering those dark times in your life, the traveling through the shadows and accepting random jobs to get some money and make yourself forget the pain of your broken heart.

You rested your hands on the table, knitting your brows together you pursed your lips thinking about an answer. Your whole body ignited when her hand placed itself on yours, and her eyes were showing regret and begging for you to forgive her.

“You don’t…you don’t have to tell me, I just…” Wanda sighed squeezing your hand tenderly. “I was just curious.”

“I was in a dark place, Wanda.” The sound of the customers filling out the café made this conversation a private one, Wanda went rigid at these words.

Your eyes fell on your hands still wrapped comfortingly under hers, your heart was beating fast and a part of you wished you weren’t in love with her anymore. That your heart had healed enough for the woman sitting in front of you to not affect you the way she was doing at the moment.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks, her words carrying with them the weight of your history with her.

You shrugged bitterly, taking your hand away from her while drinking your coffee.

“It doesn’t matter, I was hurt and lost and I just need a way to vent over my frustrations and my pain.”

“Y/N…” Wanda started but now that you had spoken it was impossible for you to stop.

You clenched your eyes closed, before making sure Wanda was hearing everything you had to say. Everything you had always wanted to say to her.

“I was broken, Wanda, I…travel around trying to harm myself, to make my physical pain greater than my emotional one.” You let out a snort looking out of the window. “I didn’t make it, and I grew tired…that was when I let Natasha find me.”

Wanda heard as you told her everything you had done, and a part of her felt grateful for this. It was the very first time she had accessed you, in a way she had lost after that day. You told her about your misgivings, about your findings, how you came to Norway and ended up being a double agent for Tony and Steve. You told her about your falling out with Steve when the man tried to make you find reason and confront Wanda.

“Then, a few months ago I received some tapes…” You shrugged, tired and suddenly lighter, “Westview…my anger and resentment were back and now…I can’t keep living my life hating you, Wanda. I can’t live my life with resentments and without daring to look at you. Not anymore.”

Wanda wrapped her arms around herself, she didn’t know what to say or how to react to your story. The side of the story she had always been curious about, but no one was ready to reveal to her. She heard about your lovers, and her heart broke into a million pieces knowing you had found comfort in other’s arms. She knew she didn’t deserve your forgiveness, the knowledge of you forgetting about her little by little brought pain she had been experiencing all her life.

“It was never my intention to hurt you, Y/N.” She all but whispered, you snorted shrugging once more. Your lips broke into a bitter smile while your eyes shone with unshed tears.

“We can’t help who we fall in love with, right?” You replied in a broken tone, Wanda scrunched up her nose ready to be honest with you for the very first time in a long time.

“I wasn’t in love with Vision.” Wanda noticed the shredded napkin on her hands, her heart was beating painfully hard against her ribcage while she made herself look at you.

Your back and shoulders were hurting for all the tension you were putting in them, this revelation was something you were not expecting. Your eyes finally looked with those of Wanda, and for a brief moment you saw red swirling around her green irises. The dreams that had been plaguing your for a long time coming in several images, Wanda and Scarlet mixing up just as you heard her voice.

Mine. Only mine.

As much as I have always been yours, my love.

“You have a funny way to show you are not in love with him.” You broke the spell shaking your head, frowning while clenching your fists. “You slept with him, and then you spend your time travelling with him, that and let’s not forget Westview and the happy family you had there.”

Anger was far easier than any other emotion, you clenched your jaw watching as Wanda broke in front of you. So much different than Scarlet, and yet…

“I was never in love with him. I was just…a coward. I was afraid.” She mumbled, her head pulsating painfully. Sparks of red appearing on her fingertips, and the blackness she had come to associate with her blackouts flickering in and out of her fingers as she spoke.

“You’re telling me you…you cheated on me with someone you didn’t even love?” You clenched your jaw putting money out of your pocket and leaving it on the table.

Wanda watched as you stood up and left, she hesitated, the pain inside her head almost unbearable a tug on her abdomen making her stand up and follow you.

“I…yes! Yes! I…god, Y/N, I was afraid and I was confused and I just…” Wanda followed you speaking louder, she didn’t realize she was crying until the cold winter wind touch her face. “I didn’t know…It went against everything I had been taught and my parents…my brother…I thought…”

“I was in love with you, Wanda!” You turned around screaming at the top of your lungs. “ I had the ring, and the house…I even had the names of our children…”

“I know…I found them in the compound, I just…” And Wanda felt the pulsating pain in her head mixing up with her thoughts. Scarlet tried to push the other woman away, tried to tell you that the children were yours…that she had seen it all and that she had created the world for you and her, but at some point, her counterpart, this Wanda had messed up.

The people walking down the streets all turned to look at you and Wanda, the both of you were close enough to touch one another yet it was quite evident there was a distance neither one of you knew how to close.  Wanda winced hugging herself tightly, she opened her mouth and closed, the push inside her chest breaking her resolution and her eyes gleamed red for a brief moment until you finally saw it.

One red.

One green.

Her voice, their voices…sounding like one.

“I have lost everything, Y/N. I lost my parents, and I lost myself in hatred and revenge, I gave myself to be an experiment, and then I lost Pietro.” Wanda spoke with a broken voice, she shook her head trying to tell you how she felt. “I could never tell you…you were such…god, you were such a powerful force that made me feel I could do anything, I could be anyone…but then…they started talking about the reconstruction of Sokovia, and Tony brought my parents to be buried alongside Pietro.”

You were trembling in rage and helplessness, Wanda talking about her upbringing. She talked about her mother’s teachings, the church’s teachings and what was expected of her. Wanda spoke about the fears she was not brave enough to tell you for fear of your rejection. She spoke of her papa, and how he had taught her a lesson at some point when she showed her attraction for another woman. The confusion she felt when Vision approached her with a speech about logic, biology and philosophy, about the wrongness of what she was feeling, but also about the nature behind experimenting.

“I couldn’t I just…I didn’t…” Wanda almost felt on her knees, but you were faster than her. She rested against your body, crying with tension building around her body refusing to return your embrace. And in all of this you saw them, Wanda and Scarlet, and your fears and suspicions were clarified at that moment.

They were one and the same, yet two different entities.

“I’m sorry, I never…you…I don’t know why Westview…but they are yours…just yours…” Wanda was crying now trying to get away from you. “I just messed up…I…I’m so broken I just…”

Your heart broke at the sight.

It didn’t justify her, and in all honestly the conversation had not been clear enough. But a part of you, the one that had been running in fear for what you were and who you are, understood.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda repeated over and over, and you put her tighter against yourself.

“It’s…It’s okay.” You mumbled placing a comforting kiss on her head. “It’s okay, Wanda.”

“I can’t…I couldn’t…” Wanda cried softly, and Scarlet pushed through what Wanda had to say all along. “I love you…I…never…I never stop and you…”

Scarlet stirred inside Wanda; she was so close.

It was the right time to make her move. Scarlet was finally at her breaking point, your warmness and your words, the feeling of your skin and your kisses. It was time to get rid of Wanda and for her to come forth. America was around the city and Natasha and Yelena were no longer there.

This time around, the spell would be successful, and Billy and Tommy would be back. And no one would dare to intervene.

“N-No…N-no, please, not…not again…” Wanda screamed in pain, and just as Scarlet was ready to come forth, the humming sound of a flying object approaching broke into the sky.

You tensed.

That humming was familiar, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up at the energy surrounding such an individual.

You were so distracted you never noticed when the green eyes were lost replaced by the crimson of Scarlet. When you lowered your gaze, the woman was smiling at you, this time around she was not afraid to wrap her arms around you.

“You are mine, detka. Finally.”

“Get your hands away from her, Maximoff!” The golden blast almost made you falter, but your shadows and Scarlet’s reflex were enough to prevent the blast for harming any of you.

Carol Danvers landed with a heavy step, the blasting of energy coming out to put Wanda away from you. The shadows engulfed you separating you from Wanda, while at the same time protecting the redhead form any harms.

“You!” Scarlet growled out, her hands wriggling around with a red mist, while her fingertips started taking in a black colouring. “I won’t let you take her away from me!”

Carol advanced ready to fight the other woman, you opened your eyes wide.

Scarlet wasn’t the only one there.

The red mixed up with purple, and the sky started igniting with runes you had never seen before. The world started trembling, and the smirk Scarlet was wearing told you she was the one working on her magic.

“Carol, wait!” You approached both women, Carol hesitated turning to you with a concern frown when she noticed the blood on your forehead.

“Y/N…” She whispered turning to you, “Strange told us he thinks it is her…”

“I know.” You replied running to the blond woman, Scarlet clenched her jaw refusing to see as Carol’s hand went to your forehead cleaning up the blood in there.

“You knew?” Carol scowled turning her golden eyes to Wanda.

“You won’t have her, Y/N is mine and no one will get in the way.”

At that moment several things happened.

Carol decided to attack Scarlet without hearing your screams of warning, your powers igniting to try and prevent an ever-bigger incident when Scarlet exploded in a bubbled of red mist while the sky above your heads went purple and the runes shone with energy.

Everything around you went black and then, all of a sudden you knew no more.

______________________________________________________________

You heard the beeping of the machines breaking into your unconscious state.

Your body shivered, and this only made you aware of the deep pain you were experimenting. You opened your mouth, for a minute it took all your energy to get out the simplest of moans charged with pure pain. You tried to remember what had happened, what you did and what exactly did Scarlet and Carol did to put you in such a state.

Your eyelids were heavy, but you tried to open your eyes to see exactly where you were at.

Another moan, this one firmer. Your eyes fluttered open, and you had to blink a couple of times due to the intensity of the light.

“MOMMA!”

“MOM!”

Whatever pain you were experimenting, whatever reluctance you had in regards to opening your eyes completely were soon forgotten when you heard those voices. Two boys voices.

You sat up sharply, this time around a scream of pain left your lips, but your eyes were seeing blurry trying to focus on the two figures standing by your bed. Their little hands grabbing yours, and as you blinked away you started focusing them.

“Momma, momma you’re alive!” One of them said hugging you tightly.

You blinked trying to get away, looking around desperately until you saw her.

Wanda Maximoff standing by the door, heavy bags under her puffy eyes. The tears still fresh and she came right at you closing the space in between you and her, her lips soft and tender against yours. For a brief moment you forgot about everything, your head tilting to deepen the kiss, to get reacquainted with Wanda’s taste. The softness of her lips, the warmness of her body…god you missed kissing her.

“God, detka I though…” She whispered smiling soppily when the twins made gagging sounds at the display of affection.

Wanda smiled at you leaning in to get another kiss, but you backed away almost falling from the bed finally registering what was happening. What you had done moments ago and what the woman in front of you was trying to do.

“What the fuck did you do, Scarlet?!! Where am I?! Where is Carol?”

Wanda stood right away, her hands spreading out protectively in front of the twins. She furrowed her brows tilting her head at you.

“Y/N?” She asked tentatively, you were about to speak but a wave of nausea came right at you.

“What’s…what’s going on?” You asked just before falling unconscious on the bed.

Wanda stood there for a moment, Billy pulling at her hand while glancing at your unconscious form.

“Mom, is momma okay?”

“Yes, dear, she is just…” Wanda trailed off turning to the boys. “Momma hurt herself really bad. Go find uncle Steve and Uncle Pietro.”

Tommy and Billy hesitated but then they nodded and left.

Wanda turned to you stepping closer, her hand placing itself on your forehead, while her eyes gleamed red. She hated to do this, it was an unspoken rule for her to never enter the heads of her friends and family. But your reaction, your questions…and what had happened with Strange’s death and the disappearance of America was enough for her to do this.

“I’m sorry my love, I promise you I won’t look beyond what I need to see.” She leaned in placing a kiss on your forehead, reading inside your mind until a whimper left her mouth. She opened her eyes big, stepping back just on time for Steve and Pietro to show at the door.

“Wanda?” Steve asked tentatively, Wanda turned to him nodding.

“I found America, and she…she is not my wife.” Wanda then wrapped her arms around her boys looking back at you then at Steve. “We are in serious trouble.”

______________________________________________________________

Tag List:

@username23345 - @wandanats-goodgirl - @catswag22 - @imadethisblogbecauseiamasimp - @marvelogic - @dumpaccdontmindme - @nikkinss - @reereeineedtopee - @kaisenblog - @your-internet-adviser - @dark-hunter16 - @wandabear - @justyourwritter69 - @wandasmarley - @imthenatynat - @bisexualnoodle - @trikruismybitch - @fxckmiupup- @justafoolinlove - @teenybean - @haunt626 - @itshouldvebeenme30 - @wandasmarley - @lonewalker17 - @alwaysgoodnight - @wandsmxmff - @iliketozoneout - @kacka84 - @get-the-fuck-outta-here - @charl-lally - @sadiesgf69 - @fanboy7794 - @yenmaximoff - @yenmaximoff - @the-mute1 - @the-mute1 - @when-wolves-howl - @mroyalll -@justhereformemes12345-blog - @justhereformemes12345-blog -@paaandiculations - @anaaam - @bibliophilicbi - @princess-kennys-rats - @danicarpediem - @iliketozoneout - @oh-thats-cute - @screechcat - @sheriffhaughtearp - @romanoffomixam - ohboiiitsbritneeeeey - @marveloussimp - @g-athenaathens - @mousecakez - cowboyboots236 - weird-shit-i-see-and-enjoy - esposadejoyhuerta - marvelogic

Please, tell me if I forgot anyone.

[thislovintime]

Photo (from Salt Lake City in May 1968) by Henry Diltz.

The following ad appeared in The Berkeley Gazette on May 24, 1968: “PETER TORK of THE MONKEES DAVID CROSBY of THE BIRDS [sic] STEVE STILLS of THE BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD Plus many other guest celebrities will perform at the [Eugene] McCARTHY FOR PRESIDENT RALLY Saturday, May 25, 8:30 p.m. at the Berkeley Community Theater” As yet, I haven’t been able to find any additional details. But, on a political note… “You said that they were the funniest, zaniest, most lovable guys around. Now I’m a believer, too! Wouldn’t you be, too, if you had danced backstage with Peter Tork? Frankly, we tough old newspaper people weren’t prepared for the naturalness and charm of the whole Monkee troupe. […] Were the Monkees ‘caged’ in a dressing room waiting for their act? Not on your life! Peter Tork was leaping around behind the curtain like a wild, free thing. His strawberry-blonde hair was flowing in the air. Peter is kind of a Huckleberry Finn. And he’s just as gracious as the others. ‘I have to change. I’ll be right back,’ he said politely. […] Peter returned and did a fast dance that seemed like a combination of flamenco, the swim and the old Lakewood bop. Sorry, kids. Your Auntie Jane didn’t keep up too well. ‘It’s a very complex movement,’ Peter consoled me. Peter, who’s had three years at Carleton College in Minnesota, may be light-footed but he’s not lightheaded. He’s fascinated by politics. ‘But I felt cheated by the Pat Brown campaign in Caliornia. All he kept saying was “You don’t want him. You don’t want him” Meaning Reagan. It was so negative,’ he said. What about this impatient youth bit, as recently reported in a national magazine? ‘Yes, and youth has every right to be. The Establishment has been very, very slow in granting some of the basic human needs,’ Peter said. Suddenly, the signal. Peter, [Micky], [Davy] and Mike put their heads together in a football huddle. They muttered something that sounded like ‘Reeba, reeba, scheeba, beeba,’ and darted onstage. You know the rest. ‘What a bunch! I was out with them until six this morning at Otto’s Grotto and they’re gentlemen all the way,’ said American Limousine chauffeur Charles P. Augustine Jr. If you’re still not a believer, check Nancy Larkin, 17, of St. Peter High. Or her aunt, Mrs. Florence Gioitta. ‘We were waiting at the airport to see them. We were the only ones there. It was awfully cold. But the Monkees came right over to us and talked for 15 minutes,’ reported Mrs. Gioitta.” - article by Jane Scott, The Plain Dealer, January 20, 1967 “Remember that in the 60's the political officeholders had lost all touch with the needs of the nation…kind of like the Bush administration now. […] Those of us who were truly interested in liberty, fraternity and equality, however, knew we were onto something good and real.  What had been called democracy was, and to some extent still is, a pretext for wrapping the will of the greedy and aggressive in a mantle of public acquiescence. Now, the business of wresting power away from those who make a specialty of wielding it will be a long and protracted struggle, with a lot of setbacks along the way.  The outlines of the new style of governance are only dimly perceivable, and won't become clear for a long time to come.  In the meantime, our job is to practice the principles of fairness and service to the extent possible.  One thing is clear: there is a much higher joy in service than there is in acquisition of wealth.  (Remember that it isn't money that's the root of all evil, it's the love of money.)  Hanging together in brother - and sisterhood is so happy-making you want to sing right out loud. Yeah, I feel the same about those ideas as I did then…in case you couldn't tell. heheheh, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork, 2008 (x)

[that-dreaming-dragon]

My Draconic "Element" — Dream

I've talked about my relationship with the color orange, but somehow, I never really talk about me and the element, or perhaps the concept of dreams. And with the linking of the cosmos dragon, my connection towards stars has strengthened.

When we talk about dragons, people in general think of the association towards the basic four elements: wind, fire, water, and earth. Depending on the region, dragons are often tied to a specific element, like western with fire, and eastern with wind and water. Sometimes there's elements like lightning or ice, shadow and light. Sometimes dragons are tied to the four direction. Or just one. When you go into more complex elemental system, there are dragons with holy power, dragons that belong to chaos, dragons of arcane and magic. And well, a star dragon isn't all that uncommon.

It was easy enough to see where stars had been there all my life, and how it easily translates into becoming a identity.

Prior to Aurelion Sol, wei always had a bit of extra fascination with stars, space, and galaxy. The aesthetic and beauty are something dear to muis. Perhaps it's where the dreaming conscious goes, the wandering mind following the trail of comets, bursting new worlds of the solar systems, and the stories sung from the shapes of the horoscopes.

Excerpt from Birth of a Star, Cosmos Dragon

But dream, dream isn't usually thought of as a dragon element. Dream isn't usually thought of as a element for creatures and characters, period. And maybe calling it a element is rather misleading, yet the relation I have with it, calling it a element is so far the best word I can work with.

As a dragon, I do not have any breath weapon. I don't work with offensive magic, or actively controls or governs anything. You'd think with me being a dream dragon, I'd at least be something that has some power with, or over dreams. Unfortunately, it seems all I'm capable of is being a naturally lucid dreamer, has penchant for daydreaming, and perhaps the vivid mind visualization. Don't ask me how I associate that with the idea of dreams.

How did I land on "I am a dream dragon"? Honestly, couldn't tell you, I have even less of an idea in regards to that origin than my own appearance. At least I can trace where I realize orange is my color, and able to see where the element of stars came in (in regards to Aurelion Sol). I can figure out where birdness came from, and how I feel aligned to celestial and divine. But there's absolutely nothing I can see or remember that can lead to me finding dream as my personal element. Or perhaps it's just because how dream permeates everything in life, yet so mundane at the same time, that even if I do have a starting point, I'm unable to recall it in exact detail.

It's not really important though. I am who I am today, here and now.

SO, how am I a dream dragon?

While my feathered wing is tied to my birdness, I think it being white feathered has a bit of symbolic connection to the concept of dream. Aesthetic wise, people may thought of soft and fluffy when it comes to dreams, and maybe a little angelic in some way. I'm merely speculating, because why would a creature that have wings be a completely different color than their whole body? I'm once again a little baffled at my own appearance.

What really ties my draconity to dreams though, I'd like to say is the power of shapeshifting. Dreams are ever changing, shifting thing. Abstract in form, an ideal, a concept, a mere thought turned world, a inspiration, aspiration. All of these are mutable, fluid. And perhaps why my sole power as a dragon is shapeshifting. Yet dream, never mind how it changes, it is still dreams. Day dream, night dream, a dream for the future, a dream or idealized version of someone or something. There is something, a strong essence that ties all these together, I may not be able to word it, but I don't think I need to. It is something like "love", or even, "dragon". Well, maybe not so the last one.

If I say what is love, there will be a thousand and more answers, but everyone knows of it, regardless of the form it took. I think dream is like that. I am like that. Regardless of what shape I change to, whatever form I may be in, people know I am Ryuu, I am the dream dragon. There is this sense of core essence about me that stays the same. Maybe that's my essence of my draconity.

On a sillier side, apparently I don't fly, according to my noemata. I float. I think that sounds pretty dreamy.

Beyond that, it really comes back down to "it's all feelings". I feel that I am aligned to the ideology, concept, and overall essence of what "dream" is, so I am a dragon of dream.

[aceofsnacks]

I did a tour of GO filming locations

It was around London, so I didn't get all of them, but the trip has been such a blast I just have to share the pics!

1. St James park: so many birds! And tourists. Which is good because the secret government agents wouldn't be able to feed so many ducks. I saw pelicans too—they were huge and pink and funny!!

2. Berkley Square (they actually didn't film anything here, but still): it's a giant construction site now. The only birds I spotted were parrots, so many of them, at least 5 nests, and loud too. No sane nightingale would ever come there, this much is true. But the song is referenced on one of the bench plaques <3

3. The Ritz / The Criterion: they both look nothing like the restaurant in the show (maybe the Criterion changed since 2019?) But both are fancy! When my rich uncle leaves me a giant inheritance and I find my 6000 year soulmate, I am so taking them out there, just you wait.

4. The Globe: this is my favourite theatre now!!!Macbeth was magnificent! And the standing tickets were so worth it: actors were down in the crowd and interacted with everyone! I got some of Macduff's blood on me! (Can't get this anywhere else :D) The Globe is closed in winter, so I'm already planning to buy tickets for next year.

5. The Bandstand and the-place-where-Gabriel-was-running: after marinating on Tumblr for so long I felt shocked seeing the word "bandstand" on a physical sign in the park. Like, put up a warning at least, my heart needs to be prepared?? The actual bandstand was at the same time smaller and bigger than I expected. Also those red bits—apparently they were there the whole time; I was imagining it black and white for some reason.

Also I met another crazy fan taking pictures of the bandstand in the rain, and I remember thinking, they have to be just as crazy as me xD

6. Tavistock square (where they switched bodies): the filming crew must have moved the benches around, because the square itself is so tiny and you can only match the scene background if you stand all the way back in the bushes. Surely there must have been a better way.

7. Crystal palace: just as I suspected, you can't see the dinosaurs from the bench because of all the trees in the way. The dinos are hilarious though, they look more like🗿and not like 🦖. In the show Warlock seems to have written a rude word on the teleosaurus info card, how dare he!

8. Tadfield (Hambleden, really): I thought, it's just two hours from London, easy day trip, in and out, what could go wrong. Cue to me stumbling over muddy fields in the dark surrounded by menacing sheep and regretting everything. The village is cute and English and has literally three streets and a post office and nothing else. And sheep.

9. Bonus round, my take on Aziraphale's bookshop xD "Seducing women? I think you've got the wrong shop!"

10. Bonus bonus round, food! (am I or am I not the ace of snacks after all?) An oyster recipe from Marcus Gavius Apicius' cookbook (Rome, 1c CE, stumbled upon it in the museum of Reading), and Eccles cakes (soooo sweet they don't calm people down but give them instant diabetes)

And that's it!! Thank you for reading all the way <3 Here is a secret snack 🍎

[red-velvet-0w0]

Okokok

This coupon is redeemable at any time for an oc rant, a worldbuilding rant, or both! Or anything else relevant to your stories!

OKAY!

so basicaly:

the story takes place in the town of Watchton Massechusets, which is just an ordinary town with nothing strange or suspisious going on and no cults whatsoever.

Suddenly, one day, the world gets stuck in a time loop with 5 teenagers being the only ones (or at least the only ones at first) who can remember anything from the previous iterations of the time loop, and have to work together to try and figure out why they are in a time loop and how to get out of it

now to be more specific, the rules of the time loop make it so that even those 5 can barely remember anything from previous loops, only really able to remember overall information about their situation, such as the fact that they are in a time loop, how each of their abilities work, and what their relationship is to other people, but cannot remember specifics of what happened previous loops. however, they each also have a special ability allowing them to remember a bit more of what happened before called a Memorabilia

the characters are:

(in order)

Amelia Augur: lesbian genderfluid cottagecore artist with an interest in the supernatural and a pet raven named Ray who can remember everything from every loop but is a bird and therefore can only do so much to help

Jane Hare: transfem lesbian writer trapped in an abusive relationship with the god of mirrors (its complicated) who wakes up every morning with a limerick explaining what happened the previous day in cryptic and poetic wording

Ida Vidya: aromantic pansexual reporter who needs to know everything to the point of having a death wish, who has a special disposable camera which keeps 10 pictures she takes in a day into the next loop

Jack Edmund-Kang: bisexual jock son of the mayor with a dead mom, a dad he wishes was dead, and serious self esteem issues, whos body doesnt get reset between days, meaning he can grow muscle and learn muscle memory, but also keeps all the scars hes ever gotten. he can also remember all the blood hes ever seen in any loop

Blake Payne: gay emo transmasc/enby drummer with mommy issues, a knife, and the ability to remember things based off of sound.

As they start investigating though, they soon realize that there are other forces they need to watch out for, just about all of whom want to kill them

Special Agent Booker, CIA: a secret agent sent every morning by the US government with all of the resources and manpower she could ever need to figure out why everything is weird, though her investigations are always cut short by the fact that none of it carries over between days, though she still manages to make for an obstacle when she and the kids are trying to investigate the same thing

Mayor Kang: Jacks father and the mayor of the town, who is secretly a centuries old cult leader with a mission to guard a magic artifact called the Pentagramic Pocketwatch, that he was hoping to use to revive his dead wife, only for it to to get stolen, and him to assume it was stolen by his son, directing the cult to try and hunt down and kill them to try and get it back

The Day: Minor god of Days. dies every night and is born every morning. Was actualy the one who stole the pocketwatch in order to save itself from having to die over and over again, but that isnt revealed till the finale of the fourth arc

The Mask: Minor god of Manipulation and Lies. Wants the Pentagramic Pocketwatch for itself so it can become more powerful, and is ready to lie, cheat, and manipulate its way to the top. its by far one of the physicaly weakest characters, but makes up for it by being smart enough to have others fight its battles for it

The Beast: Minor god of the Hunt. wants to steal the pocketwatch to become more powerful, and is ready to kill as many people as it has to to get what it wants. also has some weird toxic old man yaoi going on with the mayor

The Reflection: Minor god of Mirrors and Self-Perception who manages to just be the worst person ever. Decided to effectively traumatize Jane and force her to work for it/be in a relationship with it just for shits a giggles and so that later it can consume her and steal her face

(anyways i might actualy need to leave for school soon so ill keep this brief)

the story has 5 different arcs, which basicaly boil down to

"Oh no were in a time loop! What are the rules of this time loop actually?"

"Okay so now that we know how the time loops works, lets try and figure out whats going on-HOLY SHIT IS THAT A CULT?!" *gets murdered* "HOLY SHIT IS THAT A MIRROR?!" *gets murdered* "HOLY SHIT IS THAT A WEIRD BEAR?!" *gets murdered*

"Oh shit you mean gods and magic are real?"

"well if everybody thinks we stole the pocketwatch, and we didnt do it, we should probably try and figure out who did."

"Well now that we know that The Day was the one who stole the pocketwatch, we should probably try and get our hands on it before and of the other people do."

[battle-of-the-birds]

Remember to read about the contestants before voting!

Baltimore Oriole

Bright orange and black, this backyard bird standouts against the green. Their colors are also where they got their name! Lord Baltimore (an English nobleman who governed Maryland) had orange and black colors in his Coat-of-Arms. Their nests hang from branches, made of twigs and plant material. They often eat insects, berries, and nectar, which means sometimes they’ll visit hummingbird feeders! Learn More!

Eurasian Wren

The KING of birds, the Eurasian Wren! These little fellows dart around the forest in search of insects, mainly larvae. They are also said to be what the Queen of the Fairies transforms into. They build many nests at the same time and when a female chooses the nest, she lines her preferred nest with feathers. Learn More!

(Baltimore Oriole photo by Ryan Schain) (Eurasian Wren photo by Daniel Santos)

[oleworm]

Though unjustly reviewed as a film that one suffers through, or that is too brutal to watch, I enjoyed my experience of The Nightingale (2018) very much, especially the developing friendship between the characters of Billy Mangana, an Aboriginal tracker who has decided that he will no longer work with the British, and Clare, an Irish convict in unwilling service to the colonial forces—both of whom lost their families at the hands of the British and who can never go home, one because the land and his people have been destroyed through genocide and the other because she was transported with no means of return, as a consequence of the class system that drove her to commit theft. The music and the nature stand out, the sounds of Tasmanian birds and marsupials, the vegetation and the geological features—one of the most subtle horror details is the appearance of an English farming village near to the end of the film, the consolidation of British lifeways in a land that was not originally empty but that is being made so, to create scenes of country life that would not be out of place in an Austen film.

It’s interesting that though it came out the same year as The Terror (2018) and they deal with similar topics it appears to have appealed to a completely different audience. Perhaps because one work is more subtle in its criticism of imperialism, while also being an adventure story among other things, to the point where those who choose to ignore it can easily do so, while for the other it is a central theme, and the violence employed to enforce the structures of the empire is directly shown. The Nightingale has good acting and writing, proper costuming, beautiful landscapes and music, all the things that made The Terror great—maybe people never heard of it, or were put off by hypersensitive reviewers, but it does surprise me that not many have seen it. Myself included! I only watched it yesterday. But why I didn’t do so before is a subject to explore in a personal journal, not a blog post, though if I come to a conclusion I would like to share I will certainly do so.

One of the biggest contrasts between both works is how the hierarchies of the Navy and Army are treated. In The Terror, it is up to the viewer to decide how they feel about these structures and those at its head. I can’t think of any character at the top of the hierarchy who is portrayed with more negatives than positives, even Franklin—whose presence in Tasmania is alluded to, but not dug into, an Easter egg for those who have read about it—is portrayed more as a pompous fool than the overseer of a genocidal colonial government, and while Fitzjames’ exploits in China are explicitly described and he dies as a result of injuries received in the First Opium War his character is sympathetically portrayed, to the point that like with Franklin it is often treated as just a bit of historical flavour. Class and rank structures are deeply ingrained in both sets of characters, but where mutineers in The Terror were interpreted as villains for sabotaging and breaking away from the group, and imperfect leader Crozier becomes one of the best loved characters, in The Nightingale we have Lieutenant Hawkins, who while initially charming and played by a conventionally attractive actor—he even looks similar to Edward Little, a popular character in The Terror fandom—consistently brutalises not only the convicts and the Aboriginal people, but also his own men. They are both loyal and afraid, like dogs abandoned, threatened and killed when they have fulfilled their purpose or no longer perform to the level that their superior expects of them. One could say, they are in it for personal gain, but after a certain point in the film there is nothing that he can give them, and yet they persist. Why do they follow him? Why don’t they run away into the bush? When I was thinking about this question, I remembered the character of Thomas Hartnell, who after being lashed does everything he can to please Crozier, the one who gave the order, but except a few people (you know who you are!) many viewers saw this positively in contrast to Hickey who developed a hatred of Crozier and ceased to respect the hierarchical order.

There’s also the fact that we see what happened to the Tasmanians after the British arrive, but we only see the beginning of what will happen to the Inuit. At the time that The Terror ends, only a few of the many search-and-rescue expeditions have made it to the Arctic, whose explorations led to the establishment of a stronger European presence in the North, with all that it involved.

So what was it? 126 white men syndrome, which makes this show attractive to people with an especial interest in men? Are more realistic portrayals of imperialism and colonialism too uncomfortable? Since many fandom participants are women, is it too heavy to think that women can be—and regularly were—assaulted under such circumstances? Are we not too different from the Reddit men who love adventures and the friends we made along the way, to the detriment of other themes important to the story? You decide. For me it’s a little bit of everything.