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ikroah · 4 months

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A girl can get somewhere in spite of stringy hair or even just a bit bowed at the knees if she can show a faultless…personality! —“Personality,” Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1946)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #26 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding V

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

ohhhhh my god why did i make this script so long my hand hurts this took forever aaaaagh

Welcome to the Lucky 38! This is a script that has remained basically the same for a long time but went through COUNTLESS extremely small rewrites over the course of production just to really nail Mr. House's dialogue. He's a long-winded guy, this whole issue is basically just him doing monologues, and I wanted to make sure it was all interesting and non-repetitive. I think I took out at least three uses of "merely" from the first draft.

One of the biggest production decisions of this issue was whether or not to cut the scene with Agnes and Cass and Victor, which immediately follows the end of the previous issue. The reason to include it was because it very necessarily established the change in location from the Vegas Strip to the Lucky 38 penthouse, which would have been jarring otherwise; the reason to exclude it was that it the issue was already extremely long and I thought opening right on Mr. House would have been more impactful. Ultimately, I did keep it, which was a good decision, but only because of the literally issue-saving idea to convey it as closed-circuit television footage instead of actual panels. Every single attempt at overlaying them with the lead-in to Mr. House was way too busy, but that idea really tied the page together like a nice rug.

And lastly, the framing device of the tarantula and the tarantula hawk was actually an extremely late addition to the comic. I had already finished the first three pages when I thought of it. My problem was that Mr. House's constant monologuing and Agnes' sad expressions got pretty repetitive. I needed something to break the action up while adding thematic heft and artistic variety. I've become a real enthusiast for wasps and tarantulas over the last couple months, so this one really was just a stroke of luck. It took only minimal revisions to make room for the framing device, with the most dramatic change being the complete replacement of the last page (which was originally just a splash page of the Lucky 38 in Vegas; bookending the first and last pages is so much better). So you see, the only reason for weaving a scene into this issue of a skittish desert-wanderer getting paralyzed and dragged toward a certain demise by a predator almost perfectly evolved to destroy it was just that I like bugs a lot. That's the only reason, yep.

Original Pencils:

Due to all of the photo-collage in the final version of the comic, there's a lot of panels and details that I (thankfully!) didn't have to draw myself. Sorry that the pencil isn't blue on the last three pages, I've been on the move for the holidays so they got scanned in grayscale by accident.

I did experiment with drawing the tarantula framing device myself, but ultimately went with the photo-collage method because the artistic juxtaposition actually made it much more readable when interspersed with the proceedings in the Lucky 38.

Transcript:

EXT. DESERT OUTSIDE OF NEW VEGAS. The city glitters in the distance, nestled between the shadows of mountains, with the spire of the LUCKY 38 towering above all else.

In the wilderness, a TARANTULA emerges from its burrow.

EXT. THE NEW VEGAS STRIP. On closed-circuit television monitors, a SECURITRON ROBOT approaches AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, saying

VICTOR: Well howdy, partner! Fancy meetin' again here in Vegas!

CASS: What the fuck?

AGNES: Victor?

Unlike the usual police units, VICTOR's robotic "face" is that of a cowboy.

VICTOR: And heck, ya clean up nice! Sure lookin' a lot better now than when I rustled ya outta the bone orchard back in Goodsprings*--

CAP: *As was explained to Agnes way back in IKROAH #2. --Lou

VICTOR: --so how's about ol' Vic skips the rigamarole, huh? 'Fore all my yappin' makes ya want to go back, heh-heh-heh! I'm the welcome wagon, see. I'm to come and collect ya.

CASS: Agnes--

VICTOR: Boss wants t'see you, is what I'm sayin'.

AGNES: Boss?

VICTOR: Only of all of Vegas, friend!

CASS: Agnes.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA crawls beneath the starlight.

VICTOR: So why don't we mosey on over to the Lucky 38? And your good pal can come along, too!

CASS: I need to know what the fuck is going on, right now.

AGNES: I...I don't know.

VICTOR: And y'know, boss ain't ever let a soul inside before, least for not as long as I've been rollin' around on my spurs, so this ain't just an everyday social call, mind...

On the closed-circuit television monitors, VICTOR escorts AGNES and CASS to the entryway of the LUCKY 38.

VICTOR: ...but heck, I reckon ya'll oughta get along like franks on a fire! So come on! Lift's in the lobby here, and up to the top floor--and we can get the formalities out of the way before ya'll get [cut off]

INT. THE LUCKY 38 PENTHOUSE.

AGNES stands awestruck, looking upward, bathed in electronic green light. With horror, she ekes out a single question.

AGNES: ...what are you?

???: A "Hello" would have been preferable, but it'll take more than a crude faux pas to tarnish this moment. Who I am, Agnes--

What AGNES is looking at is a gigantic SUPERCOMPUTER and terminal, flanked by closed-circuit television monitors and guarded on both sides by SECURITRON police units. On the supercomputer's massive screen is the green-lit image of a face. The face

MR. HOUSE: --is ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE. The President, CEO, and sole proprietor of New Vegas--and more to the point, the intended recipient of a long delayed package.

AGNES: Oh, you...you mean the platinum chip?

MR. HOUSE: Correct. It's a...very precious artifact of the old world.

MR. HOUSE: My world, once.

In the back of the room, beyond AGNES, is an oil painting of MR. HOUSE, standing outside in front of what must have been a very large robot.

MR. HOUSE: In that world, I was the founder of RobCo Industries--a titan of innovation. We created a litany of robotic solutions for diverse markets, such as the Securitrons that you see here, and even a line of consumer-grade devices like the wrist-mounted Pip-Boy. But the platinum chip was, more than any other, my design. It was my vision.

MR. HOUSE: But it never left the factory in which it was originally made. Before it could even cool off from its assembly...we had the Great War. An international, thermonuclear bombardment of unimaginable power that annihilated the world in all of two hours.

MR. HOUSE: But not the entire world. Not Vegas. Not my Paradise. From my fortress of the Lucky 38, I saw to that. But as for the rest of the world, and my platinum chip--it took generations.

MR. HOUSE: First for the scarce remnants of humanity to crawl out from under their rocks, and for the world to at least resemble a functioning society again in which to do trade. And then for the work itself--of countless scavengers, treasure-seekers, and the like, all contracted to comb over the wreckage of Sunnyvale. It cost millions of caps, and later, New California dollars. And a not insignificant piece of my pre-war fortune as well. I, quite literally, moved mountains.

MR. HOUSE: I do not believe in providence, Agnes, but I do believe in destiny. How else to explain it? It was pristine when it was found. Neither the bombs nor the passage of time had so much as scuffed its sheen. But still...its value far transcended the mere market price of pure platinum.

MR. HOUSE: Amusingly, despite the discovery, I was still only as close to acquiring the chip as I had been originally in 2077. A final ordeal remained for me: how to ensure the safety of the platinum chip en route to its destination, from Sunnyvale to Vegas, without broadcasting its preciousness to thieves, armies, and raiders--or worse, to heavily armed fetishists for pre-war technology like the Brotherhood of Steel?

MR. HOUSE: Misdirection. Through a network of anonymous liaisons, I contracted the Mojave Express for a batch of deliveries, all superficially similar knick-knacks, to various intermediaries of myself. All but one of the orders were totally worthless decoys. But your identity as the carrier of the one genuine item was somehow compromised, leading to you getting attacked, and to the second disappearance of the chip.

MR. HOUSE: But look around you. Look where you are. You've made it, haven't you?

AGNES, still staring up at the visage of MR. HOUSE on-screen, doesn't respond. She frowns, nervous. The SECURITRONS guarding MR. HOUSE observe her stoically.

MR. HOUSE: Let me clarify: I had nothing to do with Benny's ambush. Heavens no! It goes completely against my interests. It would have been a perfectly quotidian day's work for you if not for his, and I stress, unexpected involvement. The platinum chip...belies its significance. For Benny to have not only discovered its delivery route but possibly enough of that significance to motivate such an act, this constituted a very troubling breach of my security. And I had been looking into it...but in a way, the issue seems to have resolved itself. Hm?

MR. HOUSE: A wild card. Now removed from the deck.

AGNES' gaze sinks to the floor.

MEANWHILE, a small shadow blots out the starlight in the desert outside of Vegas. It flies over the exploring TARANTULA.

AGNES looks back up at MR. HOUSE.

AGNES: I killed him.

HOUSE: So you did. I only wish that we could have spoken before you went rogue on my former protégé: if this story breaks, I can grant you amnesty, but not without controversy. And your infamy as an assassin could make our further arrangements quite difficult.

AGNES: Um...I didn't think there would be more to it than delivering the--

MR. HOUSE: Oh! Of course, of course! My apologies. Two hundred years of anticipation and yet I'm still getting ahead of myself. Well--would you mind? I've been waiting a long time for my mail.

The SECURITRON closest to AGNES wheels forward with its claw outstretched. AGNES reaches her fingers into a pocket beneath the belt of her dress to produce it: the PLATINUM CHIP. She holds it in her hand for a brief moment.

MEANWHILE, the shadow descends; the TARANTULA HAWK engages the TARANTULA.

AGNES relinquishes the PLATINUM CHIP to the SECURITRON.

MR. HOUSE: Thank you--it's a relief to pay for this chip for the final time.

The SECURITRON inserts the PLATINUM CHIP into a slot in MR. HOUSE'S supercomputer, feeding it into the drive with a CLIK.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA is fighting the TARANTULA HAWK.

From behind AGNES, another SECURITRON presents her with a stack of NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC DOLLARS, which she gingerly takes in her hand and looks over.

MR. HOUSE: And I trust that you're satisfied with the agreed-upon compensation from the delivery contract, yes?

AGNES: Yeah, it's...it's fine...I'll be going now. Thanks.

MR. HOUSE: Oh? But you've only just arrived. I insist that you make yourself at home.

SFX: KZZSZZZTTT

The faces on the screens of the SECURITRONS in MR. HOUSE'S penthouse suddenly change from policemen to soldiers. AGNES recoils and tries to step away.

AGNES: H-hey, uh--

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK pierces the underbelly of the TARANTULA with its stinger.

SECURITRONS surround AGNES.

MR. HOUSE: You are the first guest ever through the doors of the Lucky 38, you know. Nobody has so much as checked a coat inside since the war, so this meeting confers you a significant level of privilege...and inevitable celebrity. The people of Vegas have always gossiped, after all. Many have even clawed at the door desperately with dreams of being where you now stand. Surely you can comprehend how this compulsion to leave after such a deliberate and remarkable invitation risks considerable insult--to both myself and my citizenry? And very deliberate this invitation was. Don't you realize: if handing off my package was all for which you were needed, why wouldn't I have just had Victor relieve you of the chip outside? No, no, you see, as necessary as its acquisition was, the chip is ultimately just a key, for unlocking a new frontier...of possibilities.

MR. HOUSE: Possibilities for prosperity, peace, and technological advancement that haven't been seen in two hundred years. Possibilities greater than anything the New California Republic or Caesar's Legion could dream of, let alone achieve, by playing pretend in the clothes of their forebearers and convincing everyone else that it's statecraft. Possibilities--which if they key is turned by human hands--become certainties.

AGNES (a whisper): Are you not human?

MR. HOUSE: Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you: I am a living human. No less so than you. I just live with a particular set of, well...handicaps.

AGNES: You said you'd waited hundreds of years to--

MR. HOUSE: One could argue that the world has been waiting hundreds of years for this moment. Waiting for me. For the chip. For the long-dormant doors of the Lucky 38 to finally open, to a single and specially ordained individual: you, Agnes. And there are tremendous things waiting for us, waiting for us to accomplish them, together. I certainly couldn't do them with Benny. What do you say?

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA has become completely paralyzed by the TARANTULA HAWK'S venom. The TARANTULA HAWK seizes its prey.

AGNES: ...no.

MR. HOUSE: I'm sorry--"No?"

AGNES: Yes--I mean, no. No! I don't want to help you! I...

Tears well in AGNES' eye.

AGNES: ...I just want to go back home.

MR. HOUSE: ...I see. Hmm.

MR. HOUSE: How do I put this in a way you'll understand?

MR. HOUSE: The die is cast.

AGNES, crying, looks up at MR. HOUSE again. Fear bulges on her face.

MR. HOUSE: Throughout the long delivery of this chip, several precise plans and fortuitous coincidences have aligned in just such a way as to make you, you specifically at this exact juncture, an irreplaceable asset in the ongoing endeavor of this wounded world's recovery from otherwise hopeless ruin.

MR. HOUSE: Your cooperation going forward is not merely crucial to this endeavor's success, but it's utterly non-negotiable. Should you entertain the moral issue of what's at stake, it's obligatory, even. It's why your refusal comes as such a...genuine surprise. Can't you see?

MR. HOUSE: I'm not a fascist, Agnes--I would never force you. But given the circumstances, I'm entitled, wouldn't you agree, to at least a brief demonstration of my vision? The vision that the platinum chip promises? Victor has surely seen your companion to the presidential suite by now--my other Securitrons can escort you to the basement, where I'm sure you can make a...properly informed decision.

The SECURITRONS close in on AGNES, who screams in protest.

AGNES: No! I said no! I already delivered your chip, I--I killed Benny! I-- I-- ...what do you want with me!?

MR. HOUSE: Haven't you been listening? I want what's best for you--for us. I know it's a lot, but bear with me for one moment longer, and I can assure you--that this is the beginning of something very incredible.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK has dragged the paralyzed TARANTULA back to the entrance of its own burrow.

The TARANTULA HAWK shoves its helpless prey into the hole, and then crawls in after it.

The TARANTULA is not seen again.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #courier six #rose of sharon cassidy #victor #mr. house #agnes sands #ikroah archive #volume 02 #26

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cass-the-mess · 6 months

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Was it Real?

Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell!Reader SMUT 18+ MDNI

Photo cred: @pricescigar

A/N: This has been brewing in my drafts since MARCH lol, and I suddenly felt the urge to finish it today so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Synopsis: Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)

CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.

P.S. this one is dedicated to @stararch4ngelqueen because she's great and she makes me wanna keep writing so :)

P.P.S. Dialogue in Italics are flashbacks, dialogues in bold are russian.

You see him right away when you turn the corner of the hallway, his imposing form walking out of the elevator surrounded by some of his most trusted men. The silvery scar tissue cutting through the left side of his face and into his eye adding onto the threatening aura around him.

You remember him, you remember the relationship you had with him before you got taken away and had all of your memories jumbled and carefully rearranged to fit into the narrative the Americans wanted you to be a part of.

Vikhor Kuzmin aka “Stitch”, current leader of Perseus, your mentor, the man who had taught you everything you knew. The man who had made you into the woman you were. That woman was long gone, that thought angered you. You had no loyalties to the American cause, nor to the men who you were currently working for.

Your loyalty to Russell Adler, the leader of this operation, was especially treacherous. You knew what he did to you, the lengths he had taken to turn you against the very people who had built you from the ground up, whatever charade you were currently playing by “helping” him sneak into the KGB to recover intel, was about to end. Sooner rather than later.

You watch intently through the shaded glass of the door you’re hiding behind as Stitch walks through the empty corridor, the armed men at his side posting themselves at strategic points in the hallway as he continues to make his way through the space, not sparing them a second glance, his patterned eyes ice cold and constantly searching and analyzing. The hood covering his head as well as the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face keeping his true emotions from shining through.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, you knew just how important Perseus’ cause was to him, and how loyal to it he was. You doubted he’d ever forgive you, no matter the circumstances surrounding your disappearance, people didn’t just leave Perseus, and if they did, they were found and dealt with. You knew because that was your job, the executioner. The shadow of death, you were the last thing traitors saw before the light left their eyes.

At one point in time, you were his most trusted advisor, his right hand, his friend. You’d spent countless hours with him, the both of you planning, scheming, organizing, a myriad of different operations to spread your influence through the western countries. Most of which had greatly succeeded, you were always five steps ahead of the Americans.

You don’t know when exactly it changed, when your relationship with the stoic, brutal man, changed. When you became something more, when he started looking at you with a glint in his eyes, when his face relaxed a little when it was just the two of you in the same room, or when he started removing his mask around you. Exposing the gnarled, scarred skin of his face to you, letting you see just how truly broken he was.

But you didn’t think he was broken, you saw a man that had overcome challenge after challenge, continuously coming out on top and never giving up. Your respect for him grew, as did your heart. Butterflies swarming your abdomen whenever he looked your way, not needing to say a single word to you, his eyes always speaking so loud in the silence of the room.

Then he started smiling at you, not a full-blown smile, you didn’t think the man was even capable of such a feat, but a small, subtle quirk of his lips. So small you thought you’d imagined it at first. A fleeting curve of his full lips towards you, gone as fast as it had appeared. The memory makes you blush slightly in the dark space of the office you’re hiding in, chewing at your lips anxiously as you wait for him to dispatch the men around him, giving you an opening to talk to him. Hoping your connection plays in your favour, hoping the man won’t shoot you where you stand, knowing that he would, knowing that he should.

Afterall, you’d not only betrayed your cause, but you’d also betrayed him. That realization had weighed heavy on your shoulders ever since you woke up from whatever trance Adler had you in, all of your memories coming back to you in painful bursts, flashes of images blinding you as they assaulted your brain. The pain you had felt as each memory hit you, still sizzling inside you, causing a shiver to trail up your spine.

You take a steadying breath as you watch him through the tinted window, his white, scarred eye, glinting under the artificial light emanating from the fixtures above him. You’d asked him once if he could still see out of that eye, out of curiosity, but also because he seemed to see everything, all the time. Nothing ever escaped him, you wondered how he was able to be so alert with half his vision gone.

“I see.” Had been his curt answer, not giving you anymore detail than that, leaving you to speculate in silence about it, you found it unlikely that his vision had remained intact after taking a knife to the eye, though you supposed miracle stories could happen and he might’ve just been very lucky.

What had surprised you the most though, was weeks later, when you and him had been working together late one night, both absorbed in your respective tasks, you weren’t really paying attention to him, too preoccupied with finishing your own paperwork. He was though, you’d come to learn that he always was, his eyes always straying back to you, no matter how many times he tried to scold himself. You remember it like it was just yesterday, the scene playing out in your mind like a movie. That had been the start of something that meant so much more.

“it’s colour. I can’t see colour.” He’d said suddenly, his voice gruff from lack of use, the heavy Russian accent wrapping clumsily around the syllables of each word, startling you out of your state of deep concentration and forcing you to look up at him, your mouth agape at his sudden answer. The dim, amber lighting of the light above you, bouncing off the discoloured surface of his eye as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

“I- is it, weird…? Seeing colour with one eye and not with the other?” You’d replied to him after a beat, your voice coming out unsure as you took a hesitant step towards him, his two-tone eyes following your every movement like a hawk.

He’d never really given you a clear answer, his shoulders lifting in a shrug before dropping his gaze from yours and going back to his work, pensive look on his face as he continued to meticulously organize the papers before him. You didn’t blame him for not answering, hell, the fact that he even talked to you in complete sentences was something to marvel at. Considering he usually only interacted with his men, and even then, he would only really bark orders at them before dismissing them.

He tried though, you could tell he did, his English was choppy at best when he tried to talk to you, sometimes jumping back and forth to Russian when he couldn’t find his words. You’d started to learn Russian that way, and he started to learn English. It was beautiful really, now that you thought about it, he would teach you words in Russian, and you’d teach him the same words in English. He’d get frustrated when trying to pronounce some words and you’d giggle in your sleeve as he grew more and more flustered, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment until he huffed out a curse and gave up.

Your throat grows tight at the memory, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as emotion threatens to overtake you, he was a complicated, brutal man, and yet he was so patient and gentle with you when you were together, his naturally gruff voice growing softer when he spoke to you. It hadn’t always been that way, of course, at first, he dismissed you as just another body in the sea of men he had to direct, not giving you his time of day, and barking orders your way the same way he would the rest of the men.

But then you’d started to make your mark, your work within the organization gaining more and more recognition from your peers, whispers growing and growing until they became a loud roaring in each room you would walk into, eyes tracking your every breath. Soldiers hanging onto your every word like they were prophecy.

He noticed, like he always did, way before everyone else did. Taking matters into his own hands and tracking your progress, reviewing everything you did himself before approving it to be passed down the chain of command, reeling in the few men who thought acting like dogs would get them anywhere but six feet deep with a bullet between their eyes. And so, the whispers started to change, echoes of Perseus’ executioner leaking from the cracks in the walls, men thrice your size averting their gaze when you walked by, in fear of angering their leader, knowing him as the type of man to not make threats, only promises.

He would seek your advice more often, confiding in you and asking your opinion on certain aspects of operations he wanted to greenlight. You’d been privy to the birth of many successful missions, a lot of which you’d tweaked and reworked under his careful guidance, the subtle glint in his eyes growing more and more every time you managed to surprise him, the pride in his voice unmistakable when those plans came to fruition.

One of those nights after a successful mission, he’d finally kissed you, it happened out of nowhere and even he seemed surprised about it. He’d been watching you all night from across the room, ice cold eyes trailing after you as you mingled with men unworthy of your attention, men who had no idea just exactly who they were talking to. His own thoughts surprised him, the sudden possessiveness coursing through his veins startling him and causing him to stiffen up in the corner of the room he was standing in, the men attempting to congratulate him on yet another successful operation immediately backing up at the sight of their leader so wound up.

You weren’t paying attention, not really, the sudden peak in popularity you were going through quite hard to digest at that time, going from “just another body” to Perseus’ Executioner was already taking its toll on you. So when a harsh slap resounded from across the room, startling everyone into silence, you took a second to understand what the buzz was about, your Russian at the time not as fluent as it was now, add to the fact that your brain was fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol you were drinking, the only words you caught amongst the whispers of the room currently staring in muted fear at their leader were “fucking mongrel” and “kill you where you stand.”

He'd stormed out after that, his anger palpable in the now silent room, the man victim of his wrath left to lick his wounds on the carpeted floor of the decorated conference room you were all left standing in, he wasn’t one for parties to begin with, he’d told you as much during one of your many late night conversations, social gatherings made him feel uneasy, especially when they served no purpose.

The remaining guests had slowly started to leave after that, some of them throwing you a questioning look as they walked out, forcing a frown to form on your face, sure you were still considered an outsider to this whole operation but you’d been with this team for months now, your work was paving the way for generations to come, Stitch was the first one to back that statement, his trust in you unwavering.

With that in mind, you decided to follow after him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in your endeavours as the fuzziness in your brain started to dissipate from the alcohol you’d been indulging in earlier. His usual hangout place in the late hours of the evening tended to be in a room adjacent to his office, he used it for multiple different purposes, and right now, that room held most, if not all, of your joint findings for future operations. You decided to check there first.

You found him hunched over one of the tables, a piece of paper crumpled in his large fist, his shoulders heaving under the thick charcoal material of his jacket, the hood covering his head doing little to conceal the man’s current emotional state. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to startle, or anger him further in the state he was in.

“Vik…?” You’d called softly, the nickname somewhat new and foreign to you, but you’d taken to calling him that when it was just the two of you alone, his alias always felt wrong to say, you were never quite able to put a finger on why exactly you felt that way about him, but when he’d given you his real name after countless nights spent working with you, you’d decided to go with it, accepting the gesture as what you could only imagine meant something far greater to him.

He never did answer you, his hooded head shaking back and forth in the confines of the room, the flickering light above you doing very little in terms of actual lighting, mostly casting shadows on every corner of the room, illuminating his figure but not highlighting any of his features.

He was mumbling something under his breath, the heavy notes of Russian syllables registering in your mind and forcing you to get closer to him in an effort to understand his tense ramblings. He’d heard you for sure, but he was probably too far into his own head to really acknowledge you at this point.

You took another hesitant step forward, coming to a stop next to him, his words sounding clearer now that you were next to him, but your brain still couldn’t find the right associations at that moment, too overwhelmed with the events of that day to make sense of it all.

“Vik- Can you slow down? I can’t make out what-“

He’d turned around then, his bright eyes pinning you in place, his right eye as blue as the iciest lakes of Russia, and his left eye, as white as the tallest peaks of the motherland’s mountains. He rarely held any warmth in them, even when he looked at you, it didn’t surprise you, after all, the man was a product of his environment, and his environment had been nothing but harsh and unforgiving. All in all, he’d come out of it mostly unscathed, a smart and intimidating man with a steel resolve and an ambition for revolution, it was hard to not admire him in that sense.

“Fucking pigs. Have no respect for their superiors.” He finally answered after a long moment of looking at you, his breathing had calmed down some and he was finally able to slow down when he spoke, the harsh, grating sound of his dialect oddly comforting to you.

You frowned at him then, not understanding his anger, closing the distance between the both of you and gently grasping onto the scarred hand that was holding onto the piece of paper you’d seen him crumpling up when you walked in, extricating it from his grasp and straightening it.

Your eyebrows shot up as you carefully unfolded the paper to reveal the source of his anger; a crudely drawn stick figure with pigtails and enormous breasts, bent over in front of a hooded stick figure holding a knife. The drawing obviously representing you and him engaging in something obscene.

At the bottom of the piece of paper you made out the words “Perseus’ whore”, scrawled in sloppy writing, no doubt an attempt at humor from whoever gave this to him. You shook your head as a deep sigh escaped you, crumpling the offending art project and throwing it in the bin next to the table.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” You whispered as you gently placed your hand onto his broad shoulders, the soft fabric of his jacket warm under your touch, your head tilting slightly to catch his eyes. “The men closest to us respect me as they respect you Vik, this will not go unpunished.”

“No matter. I will not allow such vile conduct from lowly insects. He will pay with blood.” He’d said, carefully enunciating every word to make sure you understood his meaning well, his voice had grown rougher with barely contained anger.

The tension in the room had suddenly come to a boiling point, you remember the feeling vividly, his eyes had slowly dragged up your body until they’d landed on your face. The intensity he’d held in his gaze at that moment seared in your mind forever. You feel your breath hitch just at the memory, your throat bobbing as you swallow uneasily.

“My executioner. Together we’ll watch the world burn.” He had finally said, his rough hand carefully taking your much softer one from where it lay on his shoulder, fingers intertwining as he’d closed the distance between you and him. His mask long forgotten on the table next to you, he’d probably taken it off when he walked in, chucking it carelessly onto the pile of paperwork currently taking up most of the surface.

You remember smiling at his ruthlessness, the rough Russian words had somehow seemed so romantic to you in that moment. You remember the way his scarred lips had felt as he’d finally pressed them onto yours, so warm in contrast to the cold man they belonged to. You remember the way he’d held you that night, the way his muscular body had felt against yours, the way he’d whispered your name almost reverently in between soft kisses, his body gently crowding yours against the desk, pushing you up onto it so he could fit himself between your legs, his lips never leaving yours.

He'd taken you, right then and there, on the desk. Pushed everything off the wooden surface so he could have access to all of you without restraint. His lips explored your skin, worshipping every inch of it, every scar, every blemish as if the simple touch of his lips would somehow atone for the sins of others against you. The words he’d whispered to you alternating between Russian and English, he wanted to make sure you understood just how much you meant to him.

You’d done the same to him, ensured to kiss every scar you could see, your fingers gently traced the damaged skin of each and every one of them as you whispered your own words of worship to him, the taste of his skin burnt into your DNA, the shape of each of his tattoos engraved into your mind forever.

That night changed everything.

The memory fades, your heart clenches in melancholy at the knowledge that you’ll never be able to regain his trust, his softness, his love. All that you were eclipsed, and all that could’ve been was now nothing but wishful thinking on your part.

Vikhor didn’t forget, most of all, he didn’t forgive.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally dismisses his men with a curt nod followed by a rough command, the armed men hastily retreating to their assigned post, leaving the hallway deserted for the most part and the path to his office clear.

You follow his gaze as he sweeps the hallway himself one last time, the iciness of his eyes as they take in every detail one last time makes your heart beat faster in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s out of fear or excitement. After a moment his critical gaze lands directly on the door you’re hiding behind, his eyes squinting at the tinted glass as you duck, a curse escaping your mouth.

The majority of his face is hidden by the gas mask he constantly wears outside, coupled with the thick hood obscuring his head, it’s hard to make out his expression as he finally turns around and enters his office, the door clicking quietly behind him. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth, you shuffle quietly, gathering your thoughts and trying to calm the storm raging in your mind as you get closer and closer to what you came here to do.

You hope he’ll listen, at the very least let you apologize and explain to him what happened to you, maybe even believe you when you tell him that your heart never left this place, that your purpose was and still is to be at his side, to rule the empire you helped him build over the years.

You know your chances are slim to none, but a small part of you hangs on to that sliver of hope that he’ll spare you, that he’ll accept the information you bring him. You swallow uneasily as you get up from where you were crouching on the floor, you throat suddenly dry and constricted. Most of all, you hope that he’ll remember his love for you, the love you both shared for one another before all of this went down, before your entire identity was ripped to shreds, before you were ripped from him.

You scan the hallway one last time before opening the door as quietly as possible, your eyes jumping from corner to corner to make sure no one sees you. You know this place like the back of your hand, spent countless hours walking through these very halls, working with some of these people, and yet, you’re nothing more than a ghost now, another soul lost to the cause, another name whispered, another body never recovered.

You step carefully, gracefully to his office, the blinds behind the tinted window are always closed and today is no exception. You strain your hearing in an attempt to decipher what he’s doing behind the closed door, nothing reaches you but dreadful silence. You grasp the door handle with a sweaty hand, fingers shaking as they wrap around the cold metal, your breath quickening as you slowly turn the handle and push open the door, one foot stepping in before you stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening.

The sight before you is enough to make your stomach drop, you see the man you love lounging behind his desk, relaxed as ever, one foot propped on top of it, the heavy military boots he wears resting on the worn wood as he stretches his body out. His right hand wrapped around his gun, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room as he slowly rocks the weapon back and forth in his hand, dragging it over the surface of the desk every so often.

His other arm hangs on the side of the chair, out of view. His head is inclined slightly to one side, eyes pinning you to the spot as he glares at you with an intensity you’ve only ever seen directed at insubordinates within his ranks. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head in the very room you’d engineered Perseus’ most successful hits.

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, your breath rushes out of you as you try to find your footing.

“Close the door.” He finally says, his English rusty and broken, his eyes unwavering as he tracks your every move like a predator waiting to pounce. You fumble with the door for a moment before finally closing it.

“Lock it.” He tells you, his voice coming out as growl and forcing a shiver of uneasiness to trail up your spine, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to get away, to save yourself before it’s too late.

“Vik-“ You start quietly as you turn around to face him, not moving from where you stand in fear of angering him further.

“Vik? After all this time?” He interrupts you roughly in Russian, his tone dripping with venom and disdain at your use of his given name. You miss the way he flinches at your voice, the lighting in the room too dark to perceive the slight reaction.

“Please listen to me, I promise- I promise this isn’t what you think it is.” You answer back in Russian, your voice quivering with unshed tears as you take a hesitant step towards him, imploring him to find it in him to listen to what you have to say.

“Do you know how many men I have looking for you, executioner? Do you know the price there is on your head right now, my love?” He spits that last part at you like the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he can’t believe he ever called you that to begin with.

He gets up then, slowly, confidently, his foot slowly dragging across the desk before falling heavily on the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it making the desk tremble slightly. The barrel of his gun drags against the wooden surface as he slowly rounds the desk to come face to face with you, standing well over a foot above you.

His smell assaults you then, clean linen and a hint of fresh mint overshadowed by gunpowder that sticks to every piece of clothing he owns. A smell that was once familiar and comforting now eliciting a shiver of fear in you, pale eyes that once held your entire world now only hold anger and hurt, a hurt that runs so deep you feel your heart crack under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m sorry Vik, I’m so fucking sorry, you have to listen to me please-“ You whisper as your voice breaks under the torrent of emotion raging through you.

“The Americans, they took me, they experimented on me, forced me to forget everything, made me into their puppet so I could feed them information on Perseus.” You tell him, stumbling over your words as you try to make him understand what’s at stake. His eyes harden, the scar running through his left eye looks even angrier like this, the usually pale blue of his right eye now looks almost black as anger simmers in it.

You swallow uneasily as cold metal presses under your chin, forcing your head up and straining the muscles of your neck.

“And? Did you? Did you betray us? Did you betray me, my love?” He whispers as he presses the cold metal harder against the delicate skin there, the heat in his gaze igniting something inside you, it feels wrong, so fucking wrong but you can’t help yourself as a whimper escapes you.

“No. No, I- “ You swallow uneasily as you try to keep your head upright and your gaze on his, refusing the let him see how scared you are.

“I told them nothing, I invented false leads to throw them off your scent. I convinced them to let me come here to get information because I wanted to warn you- They’re coming Vikhor, they want your head, Adler wants your head.” At the mention of Adler his other hand shoots up to wrap itself around your neck, pushing you against the door violently, the hand holding the gun lets go suddenly, the weapon clattering to the ground.

His now free hand comes up to his masked face, ripping away the constricting contraption to reveal more of his scarred flesh to you, his full lips pulled back into a feral snarl as he lowers his head to your ear. “You’re telling me Russell Adler is outside this fucking building waiting for you to bring him intel on ME?!” He rasps out in a deadly whisper, the hand around your neck tightening as he slaps the other one against the surface of the door, making you flinch.

“No. Not here. I’m alone, I promise I came alone, they trust me, I made them believe they could trust me. You need to move to a different location NOW Vik, I’ll give them a random location to give you time to get your men mobilized but you can’t stay.” You reply, one of your hands closing gently around the one at your neck, squeezing gently, reassuringly. Your eyes pleading with him, trying to get through the thick layer of ice between you and him.

He smirks then, his lips twisting in a deformed grin, exposing perfectly white teeth from the corner of his mouth as his hand loosens and his thumb slowly drags across your lips, his breath fanning across your cheek as a humorless laugh escapes him.

“I should fucking kill you, make an example out of you, discard you like the dog you are.” He whispers seductively, his eyes fixated on your lips as his thumb continues to rub gently across the delicate skin there, trying to coax your tongue out to wet them.

“Vik-“ You whimper breathlessly, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“No, instead I think I’ll let you continue on this mission of yours, you keep feeding them faulty information and you keep giving me information like the good little bitch you are, and maybe, MAYBE, I’ll let you live.” He growls out, his lips now dangerously close to yours, a wicked glint in his eyes as his tongue pokes out, dragging across his own lips as hunger starts burning through the glaciers nestled in his eyes.

His mouth is on yours then, he’s kissing you like he’s never kissed you before, desperation driving his every move as both of his hands cradle your face, one of his knees pushing your legs apart, forcing your core against his clothed thigh, the thick muscle under you flexing to accommodate you.

Your own hands grab onto the sides of his face, his strong jaw speckled in stubble, the rough texture of it making you moan into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours for the first time in almost a year. A guttural groan escapes him at the taste of you, his desperation increasing tenfold as he suddenly scoops you up, one hand securely around your waist, while the other grabs a handful of your ass, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

You hear commotion as he drops you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours as he sweeps everything off the wooden surface, in one swoop all the clutter occupying his desk is sent flying across the room, you hear what you assume is a mug, shatter as it hits the floor.

His hands are grabbing everywhere at once, pulling at your clothing as he tries to get as close as possible to you, his need presses insistently against your stomach, pulling a moan from you as you try to move against him, your own delirium getting the best of you, all previous thoughts or worries gone from your mind as you finally feel him against you once more.

“Need you, Vik, please” You whine out, your hips straining towards his for any kind of relief, the Russian words coming from your mouth in such a needy manner pushing him into a frenzy, his hands dipping under the fabric of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to tear the piece of fabric off of you, exposing more of your skin to him. His hands immediately going to your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra low enough to expose them.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t say my name like that, not when you ripped my entire fucking heart out when you left, not when you left and took my soul with you. I couldn’t fucking think without you, I can’t fucking live without you.” He growls out, his voice betraying him as it cracks with emotion at his own admission.

Your answer comes as a moan as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue curling over the sensitive bud, your hands tighten around his neck as you throw your head back in pleasure, hips grinding against his pulsing erection, the friction not nearly enough to provide any relief through the thickness of both your pants, you let out a frustrated cry at that, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you slide your fingers down his muscular chest, the wild thumping of his heart vibrating through your skin.

You reach his belt buckle a few moments later, nimble fingers working through the loops of his belt in quick efficient movements, finally freeing it. You hurriedly unzip his pants, his hips push into your hands as he continues to explore your skin, kissing and biting every inch of exposed flesh, making you his once again, making sure you’re real and not just a figment of his imagination.

When your hands finally wrap around the thickness of him, his forehead drops against your sternum, a grunt escaping his mouth as you slowly pump his length, your own mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along his jaw, his name like a prayer on your tongue, reassuring him that you’re actually there, that you’re real, that you love him.

“Can’t- can’t wait. Need you, right here, right now.” He breathes out, his hands fumbling with your pants impatiently, almost tearing them in his haste to get them off of you, not even caring to remove them completely.

“I’m here, I’m here my love, take what you need.” You whisper reassuringly, your lips catching his in another kiss as his big hand cups your core, fingers dragging through your arousal before pushing one thick digit inside you, the tight ring of muscles relaxing around him as he starts thrusting his finger in a steady rhythm, more of your arousal leaking out around his hand.

You push your face against his clothed shoulder to muffle the sounds you make, not wanting to get caught, your teeth sinking into the thick layer of muscle when he adds a second finger, the soft squelching of your wetness resonating throughout the dark room, coupled with the soft curses leaving his mouth occasionally as you continue your own assault on him, precum leaking steadily from his tip and onto your hand, making a mess of his own.

“Always so fucking wet for me aren’t you? Even when you betray me, this pussy knows who it belongs to.” He growls possessively in your ear, his movements growing more relentless as you start clenching around him, the degrading statement only adding to your growing arousal.

You cum suddenly, violently around his fingers. Tears spring to your eyes as you throw your head back, a broken half sob, half moan escaping you as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly inside your pussy, your legs shaking from where they’re still hooked around his waist.

His fingers slide out of you, forcing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness, but the feeling doesn’t last long, you feel the thick head of his length pressing against your opening, the familiar feeling causes a shiver to rip through you.

“Look at me. Wanna see you when I make you cum.” He commands, breaching you with a steady thrust. You struggle to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure overtaking you, your eyesight blurry from tears of pleasure threatening to spill out, but you nod clumsily, one hand twisting into the material of his sweater when he starts working himself deeper into you, his breathing growing ragged at the feel of you taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You lose track of the words coming out of your mouth, Russian and English coming out as a jumbled mess, different variations of his name as well as pleas to let you cum fade into one another, his hips stuttering every so often when your voice cracks around the syllables of your prayers to gods who gave up on the both of you long ago.

His hands end up around your jaw once again, the roughened skin holding your face softly as his piercing eyes hold yours, his own jaw clenched hard enough to make the vein on his forehead jump with strain as he wrestles with his feelings and with the pleasure coursing through his body, wave after wave assaulting his senses like an unrelenting storm.

When your release comes, it’s an all-consuming inferno, the muscles in your core collapsing onto the heavy thickness of him within you, forcing his thrusts to turn erratic in turn. Your head thrown back in a silent scream as you soak the desk beneath you with the proof of your pleasure, a pleasure that gets stretched out as he chases after his own release, pumping into you with abandon, strong hands holding onto your head as his own eyes roll back into his head as he finally cums deep inside you.

You both lay there panting for a moment, your minds reeling, your hearts clenched tight with emotional turmoil, wanting to stay here forever, and wanting to disappear at the same time.

When he finally pulls out, a hiss escapes him, his eyes fixated on the evidence of your coupling slowly leaking out of your abused cunt as he tucks himself back into his pants gingerly, the mask of tense indifference he wore earlier falling back into place seamlessly.

“Go. Grab your shit. I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He grunts, turning around and exiting his office without another word, leaving you there.

#call of duty #call of duty cold war #stitch call of duty #vikhor stitch kuzmin #bell call of duty #fanfiction #Stitch x Bell #Stitch x Reader #russell adler #adler call of duty

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slutforsilverfoxes · 6 months

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Letters From the Sky

[A/N: Bruv I so rarely write angst because I am a weakling and it makes me Big Sad, but this has been floating around in my drafts and I just binge watched a bunch of NCIS episodes that made me cry so 🤲🏽 a ficlet for u, here u go. It's not really the saddest ending so there's that, at least? I hope? I sorry] Pairing: Jethro Gibbs x wife!reader TW: references to funerals/loss, implied character death

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Settling down on the couch in your living room, you tuck your knees underneath one of your husband’s old USMC hoodies and create a makeshift table out of your lap. Writing a letter can help you deal with your emotions, help you move on with life, your mother had advised, and so here you were, pen in hand, staring at the blank piece of paper before you. Hi, I love you and I miss you didn’t quite cut it. And were you supposed to keep adding to the letter daily, filling him in on your life? Was time passing differently for him? How long would it be until you heard his voice again? Could you ask your friend for her thoughts, or would your questions bring up too many bad memories? Head growing fuzzy and eyes growing watery from your endless stream of questions with no answers in sight, you opted to just start writing. Foregoing a greeting, figuring your husband would know exactly who this was from, you let out a deep breath and put pen to paper.

Funerals are such a funny thing, aren’t they, Jethro? The many faces from your past and present gathered around to celebrate life, lament loss, and say things aloud that they should’ve said to the person who needed to hear it most.

I miss you more than I could ever put into words. It was so strange being there today without you. How many of those solemn events did we attend together throughout the years? Family, friends, colleagues… Too many to count, and most of them senseless losses.

I don’t know how to keep going without you by my side, but it’s been such a blessing to be surrounded by your loved ones. We’ve been trading so many wonderful memories, stories about your fearless feats, your never-ending pursuit of justice, your stubborn nature, your devotion to those lucky enough to know you. I even met one of your former lovers after the funeral, and honey, let me tell you, we got to gossiping. Turns out you’re a regular Casanova, huh? It’s those steel blue eyes that keep you coming back for more, I swear.

I like to think that, even though we’re physically apart now, you can still hear me. After all, you always did say that about my optimism- “from your mouth to God’s ears, sweetheart”. Do you think, if I yelled loud enough, I could get a message delivered to you?

This big house feels even bigger without you. I guess I can think about it like those cases that would last for days, where I wouldn’t even get a glimpse of you until your perp was behind bars, but we both know it’s not quite the same. At least I can raid your closet without hearing you grumble about your favorite hoodies going missing- silver linings, my darling Jethro. I’m not sure how long they’ll keep smelling like you, but I’m determined not to wash them, just in case… My secret’s safe with you, right?

Speaking of secrets (more like hidden gems), I found a stash of Kelly’s artwork upstairs and I’ve started adding her drawings to the gallery of photos on the walls. I know I made some changes after we got married, but the sheer lack of decor when I moved in still astounds me. You’re such a man, she said lovingly.

Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased to know that

The sound of the front door opening alerts you to your friend’s return, and you hurry to jot down your last few thoughts.

Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased to know that your girls are all together in this big house of yours :) Hopefully, we’ll see you soon.

P.S. Not too soon. I know I call you my old man, but you’re not that old- yet.

Gibbs puts his truck in park on the driveway, returning home after another day added to the list of longest days of his life. He sits in the cab for a few prolonged minutes, trying to muster up the courage to enter your big house that feels even bigger now.

When he finally trudges up the walkway, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and releases a heavy sigh before pushing the door open. And then, for just a split second, he swears he hears you calling his daughter’s name and her answering giggle overlapping with her mother’s voice.

The moment is fleeting, and no matter how hard he strains, he can’t conjure up the sound again. But the house feels warmer, lighter somehow.

And he smiles.

—————

LJG tags 🖤 @ilovemark1951 @doctorwhofan24

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cheesybadgers · 4 months

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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 21)

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, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 7,356

Summary: After arriving in Manizales, Horacio introduces Javier to his family, leading to a long overdue heart-to-heart and a drinking game with a twist.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Discussions of coming out, grief, parental loss, canon-typical violence, allusions to period-typical prejudices, drinking game, smoking, swearing.

Notes: Firstly, I will soften the blow of leaving it so long since my last update with the news that chapter 22 will be posted within the next week or so! I decided to split it in half to give more space to the conversations between the characters. So, hopefully that will make up for my elongated silence lol.

Secondly, I finished drafting the rest of the fic at the end of last year 👀 So, I just need to complete editing on chapter 23 and the epilogue. Then, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this, it will be time to leave these two messy idiots to it.

I think it will take me some time to get my head around it coming to an end, not least of all because it's been almost 3 years since I started working on this behemoth. And I can't believe how much has happened/changed since then, yet my love for this ship and this story has stayed strong and close to my heart. So, a bit of a premature thank you to anyone who has supported it at any point since March 2021, it's been quite the emotional rollercoaster ❤️ As always, I love hearing from my readers, so feel free to drop me a comment/message!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 21: For Old Times' Sake

A haze of mist hung low on the horizon, clinging to the rolling waves of verdant peaks that bled seamlessly together with worn asphalt until it was impossible to tell where the sky began and the earth ended.

Luckily, the tyres of the hire car were built for rougher terrain, and it wasn’t the first time Horacio had driven this route. Admittedly, it would have been easier to fly. But this had the added benefit of giving Javier a taste of undiscovered territory.

If truth be told, it gifted them more time to mentally prepare for what was getting closer with every hour that passed, each stop off to admire the view and refresh a stubborn way to prolong the status quo.

Progress had been slow for the last hour as the congested traffic crawled along the sharp angles of the road with its treacherous drops only a few inches away. They had come to a standstill behind a bus that allowed passengers off to take photos, and with little room to manoeuvre around the vehicle, a trail of cars had no choice but to wait.

Javier lounged back in the passenger seat, one foot resting on the opposite knee, his elbow leaning on the door, and the window half open.

He watched Horacio’s hands on the steering wheel alternate between clenching and tapping, a particular kind of rigidity returning to his jaw for the first time in months – if not years.

Javier made an executive decision by reaching into the glove box. He pulled out an emergency pack of cigarettes and a lighter they had stashed away before setting off from Medellín.

He lifted one out of the pack and sparked up. “So, did you say it’s a farm we’re heading to?” There was no point asking the obvious, so distraction it was.

“A coffee farm on the outskirts of the city, yeah. It belongs to Fabián’s family. He and his brother, Santiago, do the bulk of the work now their father’s winding down.”

“Sounds nice. And kinda familiar.”

Horacio’s eyes finally left the windshield and met Javier’s with a shadow of a smile. “Yeah, it does. A lot hillier than Texas, though.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Javier held out his smoke across the car, their first one that wasn’t post-coital in a long time. But needs must.

Horacio apparently agreed as he accepted it with a huff of resignation. “Fine, one for the road.”

“I think it’s allowed on roads like this one.”

“I did warn you.”

“Hey, no, I like it. Keeps you on your toes.”

“It reminds me of when Papá drove us to visit Tia Salomé and Tio Jairo in Bogotá. He and Mamá let us have sweets for the long journey but warned us the Mareco would take them away if we didn’t behave.”

“The Mareco?”

“La Leyenda del Mareco. It was a story we were told as kids. The Mareco’s a red devil that looks like a lizard on two legs. He steals children’s candy and conjures up a whirlwind to blow them away if they don’t obey their parents.”

Javier nodded in recognition as Horacio passed their cigarette back. “La Llorona was the story used to scare me and my cousins.”

“Oh yeah, we got that one as well.”

“I gotta say, the Mareco explains a lot.”

“About what?”

“About how you developed a problem with authority.”

“What’s your excuse then?”

“What can I say? I was led astray.”

It was a blatant lie, but Javier didn’t care when it caused laughter lines to materialise in the corner of Horacio’s eyes.

“We both know you were drawn to it as much as you resented it.”

“Only where you were concerned. Anyway, you were just as bad even though you'd never admit it.”

“Maybe you were my exception too.”

A moment of silence fell as memory after memory collided, snapshots of how the push and pull between them had evolved with their relationship.

"Listen, I was thinking,” Javier started before taking a drag, “would it make things easier if you wore this? Just while we’re here, I mean.”

Horacio’s gaze drifted to Javier’s exposed skin, the taillights of the car in front catching on the crucifix at his chest. “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s yours now.”

By the time their cigarette was finished, the traffic edged forward, and the road ahead and Javier’s hand on Horacio’s leg soon replaced conversation.

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Two and a half hours and several bursts of heavy rain later, the muddied hire car pulled up by a complex of buildings nestled amongst a sea of lush green and vibrant flowers. The buildings sat atop steep slopes of vegetation that led to the coffee plantations below, the foggy skyline above etched with rugged ridges and the ominous outline of Nevado del Ruiz in the distance.

Any sounds from life on a working coffee farm were drowned out by birdsong and their feet crunching beneath them as Horacio and Javier walked up the gravel path towards the main finca. It was typical in its style with a rustic tiled roof, whitewashed bricks and wooden pillars around its perimeter painted in the same shade of terracotta red as the doors and window frames. At the back of the property was a large garden with a patio area, pool and a spectacular view for miles on a clear day.

As they lugged their suitcases onto the porch, Alejandra waited to greet them at the front door. Her dark hair was styled in a bob with waves bordering on curls, the kind Javier imagined Horacio could grow if he wasn’t so insistent on keeping his hair short. At least since leaving the CNP, he had been less strict about cutting it.

The family resemblance between the two siblings was evident in their facial features, particularly in the shape of their noses, charcoal eyes and Cupid’s bows. But Alejandra was a few inches shorter, and her frame was slimmer on account of not carrying the same muscle as Horacio.

“The wanderer finally returns,” Alejandra announced as she pulled Horacio in for a long hug, neither of them keen to be the first to let go. “At least you remembered how to use the phone before turning up on my doorstep.”

“Of course. It's good to see you. But I am sorry I left it so long. There’s, erm…a lot to catch up on.”

“I’ll say.” She peered curiously behind Horacio. “But first, let me say hello to this handsome new face.”

She all but pushed Horacio to one side, forgoing any formal introductions he might have had planned. All Horacio could do was stand and watch two parts of his life converge that, for a long time, he believed would never – and could never – meet.

Javier had hung back by several feet, his hands self-consciously stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he kept his eyes on the ground until he was spoken to.

“Hi there, I’m Alejandra. You must be Javier?”

“Oh, er, yeah, hi.” For reasons unbeknownst to Javier, he raised his hand in a stiff wave rather than the relaxed handshake he had planned and felt the heat instantly rise in his cheeks. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Beautiful place you’ve got up here.”

“Likewise. And thanks.” Much to Javier's relief, she took the lead and held out a hand for him to shake with a reassuring smile. “Although you’ve got Fabián to thank for that. He’s down there giving a tour to one of our new buyers.” Alejandra turned back to face Horacio. “Mamá’s shopping for school supplies and tonight’s dessert with Juan José, Sofía and Mateo. Ana María’s out with friends. But they should all be back in the next few hours.”

Horacio nodded but remained taciturn, keeping to himself his strong suspicions that Alejandra had made sure she was the only one to greet them upon arrival.

“Come on, you can show Javier around whilst I make us something to eat and drink.”

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It had been a long time since Horacio’s last visit, but he could just about remember the layout of the place. He took Javier through the downstairs rooms, moving from the hall to the living areas and then the kitchen, which appeared tidier now than in his dreams.

The décor was all tiled or wooden floors and earthy tones, contrasting against large airy windows that made the landscape outside seem like a part of the finca. Evidence of three generations and two cats was scattered everywhere in the form of toys, games, videos, tapes, books, various coffee products and photographs from over the years. In one corner stood a home altar containing a large crucifix, prayer cards, rosary beads, candles, and a statue of Virgen de Chiquinquirá. In the opposite corner was a shelf full of old vinyl with Lucho Bermúdez taking pride of place, naturally.

Upstairs housed six bedrooms and three bathrooms, on account of the brood of four children, three adults and a spare room. The spare room was their last stop, where they dumped their luggage, sharing an amused glance at the double bed with a smaller fold-out one laid out in the corner with a pile of fresh sheets.

“As your guest, I take it I get the bigger one?” Javier asked with a spark of mischief in his eye.

“Well, technically, I’m also a guest here. And I did do all the driving.”

“Maybe I’ll, er, flip you for it later.”

Horacio merely raised a brow at the suggestion in Javier’s tone before they headed back downstairs.

They sat under cover of the terrace in the wildly growing garden, just in case the rain returned, which was always a distinct possibility in Manizales. An impressive platter of fruits was laid out on the table alongside freshly made coffee.

“So, how was the wedding?” Alejandra asked as she poured from a pot into three cups, the dark, rich aroma diffusing into the same crisp air the beans were grown and harvested.

Horacio accepted a cup with a thanks and passed the other to Javier. “It was nice. Good to see everyone again.”

“How’s Trujillo doing? It’s been strange seeing his face all over the news.”

Rather than his, Horacio thought with a strange lurch to the gut he wasn’t expecting. “He’s doing well; he’s a Major now. He deserves some happiness after everything.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Alejandra gave Horacio a pointed look, one he wasn’t ready to entirely meet, so he reached for a slice of guayaba instead.

“And Javier...I take it this is your first visit to Manizales?” she continued, offering him the fruit tray.

“Thanks. And yeah, it is. Never got the time to explore much beyond Bogotá and Medellín.” That wasn't exactly true, but Javier didn’t think talk of Cartagena or Tolú would be welcome right now.

“Well, I hope it won’t be your last.”

Horacio could feel another look directed his way but pretended not to notice it and sipped on his coffee.

Once they had eaten their weight in fruit, Alejandra had some business calls to make, leaving Javier and Horacio to unpack and freshen up before reconvening to make a start on dinner.

Of course, it had to be sudado de pollo. Horacio and Alejandra worked as a team, issuing sporadic instructions to Javier when necessary. But he was happy listening to them catch up and reminisce.

“That smells amazing already,” Javier said as he finely chopped onions across a wooden board, gesturing to the dishful of chicken thighs that Alejandra had just finished marinating.

“Mamá’s secret blend,” she replied as she set the dish aside to move on to dicing several tomatoes.

“Oh yeah? What would I have to do to get the recipe for that?” Javier reflexively caught Horacio’s eye across the kitchen.

“If we told you, we’d have to kill you.” Horacio shot Javier a warning look that indicated he was only half joking before focusing intently on cutting up a large batch of yuca and potatoes.

“Yeah, not even Fabián knows.”

“Papá never knew either. But he was happy for us or Mamá to make it for him.”

“My Mamá was the same with her Abuela’s morisqueta. Although, not long before she passed, she left me and my Pops the recipe.”

Alejandra paused her knife to look up at Javier, the surprise on her face soon transforming into recognition and sympathy. “I bet it’s delicious. You should make it for us some time.”

Now it was Horacio’s turn to stop, his eyes travelling from Alejandra to Javier and back again as the implication of his sister’s words hung as heavy in the kitchen as the aromatic spices of her marinade.

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Once the chicken and vegetables were all prepped and placed in a pot on the stove, the front door opened and closed, a loud chatter of voices soon filling the hallway.

Before Javier knew what was happening, he was being introduced to the children, shaking hands with Fabián, then kissing Elena’s cheek.

“Welcome, Javier. It’s good to put a face to a name at last,” Elena said, thoroughly taking in his appearance, apparently satisfied with what she saw.

At last. Javier wasn’t sure whether those words put him at ease or made him more nervous, but he managed to push such thoughts behind a smile. “Nice to meet you, and likewise.”

Javier had briefly seen pictures of Horacio’s family in the past. But he, too, spent time studying Elena now that he was close enough to smell the floral notes of her perfume. Neat oval glasses and a mix of dark and light grey hair cut short and choppy framed her sharp features, the shape of her nose and Cupid’s Bow matching those of her children.

“No thanks to this one here, mind you.” Despite her chastisement, Elena embraced her son tightly, reluctant to let go. “I think he’s been hiding from us.”

“You know it wasn’t like that, Mamá.” Although, over his Mamá’s head, Horacio gave Javier a sheepish look that said otherwise. “It is good to see you. And I’m sorry I left it so long.”

Upon greeting his nieces and nephews, Horacio was struck by how much they had all grown up since his last visit. Ana María was the spitting image of her mother. Juan José was several inches taller than Horacio and resembled his father more than ever. And Mateo and Sofía had presumably become resentful of all the matching outfits in their younger years of being twins, going out of their way to dress as differently from each other as possible. Once they had said their obligatory hellos, they scattered around the house and no doubt wouldn’t re-appear until dinner was ready.

Right on cue, when Alejandra brought out steaming and brimming plates full of sudado de pollo, everyone rapidly took their places around the table.

Silence fell as they tucked in, the warmth and comfort of childhood cocooning Horacio from what he knew was inevitable. A welcomed interruption from his thoughts came with a soft brush against his leg, his instincts telling him it was one of the cats issuing their own greeting. But he should have known better.

As they ate and endured the usual family small talk, Javier's foot became Horacio's anchor, subtle and soothing rubs against his ankle unseen under the table. Steady, grounding, home.

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Horacio carried the last few empty plates to the kitchen, where piles of dishes were already stacked high. He had left Javier with Juan José and Mateo, who were showing off the latest video games they had got for Christmas – and were comfortably beating Javier at them, too.

“I’ll wash; you dry. For old times’ sake,” Alejandra said without looking up from the sink where she was filling the basin with water and suds.

“Okay. On the condition we both tidy everything away afterwards.”

“Deal. You’ll just put it in the wrong place unsupervised anyway.”

Horacio swatted the tea towel he’d picked up in her direction, only for her to retaliate by flicking bubbles in his hair.

“We did okay with dinner, didn’t we? I haven’t made that in a long time,” Horacio said.

“You had a good teacher.”

“So did you.”

“Oh, I know. I think that’s why Papá always loved it. We were all in there somewhere.”

“Like our Christmas tamales.”

“Oh, yeah, he couldn’t get enough of those. Remember we always had to make an extra batch for him to take to work?”

“He said they were to share with his unit, but I’m not sure many made it that far.”

Now they were laughing as they worked in tandem, Alejandra changing the water as Horacio cleared the draining board, ready for the next load.

“Did you ever feel like you let him down?” Horacio asked after a long silence, both siblings seemingly waiting for the other to fill it.

“Of course. You know Papá didn’t approve of Fabián at first, right?”

“What?”

“You must’ve heard the arguments?”

“To be fair, there were plenty of arguments between you and Papá.”

“Yeah, and they were mostly about me daring to marry someone other than a cop.”

“That’s what it was about?”

“Mostly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Fabián; I just think he had suitors picked out for me. People he knew he could trust.”

“But they got along in the end, didn’t they?”

“Once Papá had got over himself, yeah.” Alejandra let out a nostalgic laugh, which Horacio quickly joined in with. “He could be tough when he wanted to be, but…he meant well,” she settled on. “Once he saw how happy I was and how Fabián had taken after his father with the farm, he came around. It was never personal with Papá. It’s just the way he was.”

“So, you don’t think he’d be disappointed in me…” Horacio paused to swallow, his throat drier than a Texan summer. “For quitting?” he got out eventually.

Alejandra gave Horacio a look he’d seen countless times over the years. One only a big sister could give her little brother when she had to feign ignorance of something she had already discovered for herself. The perks of being the eldest.

“How did you know?”

“Horacio, are you really asking that of someone who has been surrounded by cops all her life?”

Horacio rolled his eyes but let Alejandra have that one unchallenged.

“I thought you might have been discharged on medical grounds, to be honest. I hoped you’d seen sense. Or maybe met someone.”

“I wasn’t discharged, but I negotiated a payout after my injury.”

Alejandra released a self-satisfied hum, a whisp of a smile threatening to break free from the corners of her mouth. “Two out of three’s not bad, I suppose.”

Horacio gulped hard enough for Alejandra to hear; he had no doubt about that. But no words followed, not even when he caught her eye.

“You love him, don’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation or an interrogation. In fact, it was barely even a question.

“Yes.” It caught Horacio off guard how fast he answered. How direct and concise he’d been.

“And he loves you.” There was no pretence of a question mark now, but rather a clarification of a well-established fact. A rite of passage both parties needed to hear.

“He does.”

“Enough to walk away from it all, too.”

Horacio nodded, scared the lump in his throat would give way to something else as his glassy gaze met Alejandra’s.

“His father – Chucho – owns a ranch in Laredo, Texas. That’s where I went after…” he trailed off, not wishing to dwell on the finer details of the ambush. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I hated lying after everything we’ve been through. But I figured the less you and Mamá knew, the safer it was.”

“I had a feeling you’d left Colombia. But Texas?” Alejandra blew out a low whistle. “That’s the part we’ll need to prepare Mamá for.”

“They’re Mexican-American. And the ranch is right on the border by the river.”

“I’d lead with that part if I were you. Not sure you can avoid a lecture about fraternising with Spanish colonisers, though. Twice.”

“I got that the first time I moved over there. But she went quiet when I reminded her Madrid was good enough for Simón Bolívar.”

Alejandra’s shoulders shook in unison with Horacio’s until a comfortable silence fell between them.

“So, you were there a whole year?”

“Just over. I couldn’t do much to help for the first few months – whilst this healed.” Horacio flexed his right arm to prove to Alejandra that everything was back in working order. “But it was good to have a routine eventually.”

“Wait a minute…you worked on the ranch?”

“No need to sound so surprised when you live here. I was actually pretty good at it. And I liked it.” Although Horacio understood and returned his sister’s bemusement because even he had shocked himself.

“No, I’m not. It’s just…oh, Horacio...” Alejandra broke off to bring her hand to his cheek, her brow creased, but her eyes caught between being on the brink of a smile and tears. “Look at you.”

Horacio made a show of wiping away the suds from his cheekbone, hoping he wouldn’t still have an audience afterwards. But no such luck. “It’s not what I expected to happen – any of it. But it just....felt right. I know that probably doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, it makes perfect sense.”

“Does it?”

“Well, for starters, I can see the appeal. Obviously. Can’t blame you for going for a younger man, either. And taller.”

Horacio rolled his eyes and hoped his face didn’t look as hot as it felt. “Not by that much. On either count.”

“Hey, no judgment from me. But seriously, of course, it makes sense. I know we all used to joke about you being married to your job, but…after Juliana, I did wonder if there was more to it than that.”

“I think burying myself in work killed two birds with one stone.”

“It was killing you.”

“I know.”

“And Papá would have told you the same.”

A hollow laugh escaped Horacio’s throat, Martínez’s words from the wedding still ringing intrusively in his ears. “I’d have been kicked out of the force. He’d have made sure of that. And I wouldn’t have blamed him.”

“Right, because you were the first officer on Colombian soil to commit violence or be used as a political weapon.”

“He was against it, Alejandra. La Violencia was enough for anyone to see in a lifetime.”

But that was just another in a long line of civil wars. Even if his father's life hadn’t been cut short, he would have seen yet another bloody outbreak in which the state did more to perpetuate the death toll than bring peace to the country. And Horacio had plenty of blood on his hands. At least his Papá was spared witnessing that.

“And you don’t think he was ever put in a compromising position back then? You don’t think La Violencia was why he didn’t want the same for you? You won’t remember much, and Mamá and Papá never spoke about it around us, but I got pretty good at listening through doors.”

“He never did talk about it. Even when I was older.”

Not that he really needed to, Horacio conceded. Even though they were kept relatively safe and away from the violence in Medellín compared to other regions of Antioquia – particularly the rural parts – he had heard enough over the years to fill in the blanks.

He remembered his Mamá’s stories of helping the displaced, those who sought refuge in the city. Thousands who had been forced to flee the violence and start over again, often in makeshift housing on the outskirts, the irony never lost on Horacio that one of those neighbourhoods became Comuna 13. But for all his Mamá’s tales and the work she continued to do until she left for Manizales, his Papá never spoke about those years.

“He was protecting you. Like Mamá was with us after he died. Sometimes silence is easier.”

“I know. I get it. Before he died, the cocaine trade hadn’t got going in Colombia yet. It was mostly marijuana. But with FARC around and the gringos spreading their anti-communist propaganda, he knew it was a question of when, not if, another war was coming. I think he hoped things would be different this time.”

“You did what you had to do, Horacio. Just like he did. Just like every generation of our family did to survive. What’s done is done.”

“I’m not sure you’d say that if you knew everything.”

“You think I never heard any of the rumours out here? Or picked up a newspaper once in a while?”

“You never said anything.”

Alejandra shot Horacio a cutting glare, the kind he was an expert at delivering, but only a select few could get away with throwing back at him. “I knew you wouldn’t talk about it even if I asked.”

Horacio scoffed. Touché. “Not all of it was true.”

It was Alejandra’s turn to laugh. “Well, I kinda figured you weren’t dead after you called.”

“I don’t just mean the ambush.”

“I know,” she said briskly.

But Horacio couldn’t ignore the relief in her body language. Even though he understood it, a wave of shame hit him for even planting a seed of doubt in her – his older sister, the mother of his nieces and nephews – mind in the first place.

“But that’s all in the past now,” he concluded, shutting down his own train of destructive thought. “And you’re right; Papá’s not here. But Javier is.”

“So your future’s in Laredo, then.”

“Are you mad?”

“Am I mad that my little brother is finally getting his shit together and is head over heels in love? Oh, yeah, I’m livid.”

An inferno had spread across Horacio’s cheeks, and he struggled to think of a response. But luckily for him, Alejandra wasn’t done yet.

“It’s…safe, though, right? For you both to live together?”

“As safe as anywhere else. Every country has its problems. I’m sure there’ll always be people with something to say. But we’ve been careful.”

“Just promise me you’ll keep being careful.”

“We will, I promise.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll convince Mamá to visit in the summer, though.”

“That’s fair. But you do think she’ll want to visit?”

“She might be strong, but we know what she lost – what we all lost. So, if there’s a chance for you to share your life with someone as she did with Papá, to be safe – to be happy after everything – yeah, I think she'll want to visit.”

“Do you think Papá would if he could?” Horacio knew it was a loaded grenade of a question and unfair to ask. But he couldn’t help himself.

Alejandra hesitated, seemingly aware she was between a rock and a hard place. “Maybe in his old age. Or if he knew Javier saved your life.”

“How did –?”

She expelled a comedically dramatic sigh. “Keep up, manito. When you called, you told me the DEA came after you that night. I don’t need to hold a badge to guess who that was.”

Horacio was banged to rights once more as he tried to recall the exact information he had relayed to Alejandra in the hours after the ambush; evidently, it was more than he thought.

“He – and his partner, Steve – went against orders and got suspended for helping me and my men.”

“So, they took a leaf out of your book then?”

“Something like that.”

Before Horacio could overthink it, he took a deep breath and told Alejandra everything. From the blackmail to his and Javier’s resignations to their year in Madrid, it all came tumbling out whilst she kept washing and he kept drying. Just like old times. Just like their Papá was in the next room along with their Mamá. And in so many ways, he always would be, not as a ghost of their past, but forever a part of their present and future.

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Arriving during the week had its advantages, as it wasn’t necessary for Horacio to make excuses to get an early night. Work and school beckoned in the morning for most of the household, so the evening had ended in a low-key fashion.

That was more than fine by Horacio after a long drive and an overdue heart-to-heart. He lay on his side, his back nestled into Javier’s chest in the centre of the spare room’s double bed. They made up the fold-out bed for pretences, but it was purely extra space to store their luggage.

A bedside lamp and hints of moonlight peaking around the edges of the curtains cast the room in soft shadows, the low murmur of a telenovela in one of the nearby bedrooms the only sound to be heard at this hour.

“How old were you there?” Javier asked, his voice muffled against Horacio’s shoulder where he’d temporarily paused his trail of kisses after picking out one of several framed photos on the wall.

“The one from Alejandra’s wedding? I’d have been 24.”

“Cute curls.” Javier’s nose nuzzled against the back of Horacio’s head, which was sadly lacking the same unruliness as in the photo.

“Fuck you.”

Javier sniggered. “Hey, I was being serious! They suit you. Plus…more to grab hold of.” He slid a hand into Horacio’s hair as his mouth resumed its work along bare skin.

Horacio’s back arched with a sigh as he leaned into Javier’s touch. “You know we can’t get carried away. Not here.”

“I know.” Of course, Javier understood. It was one thing for him to have sneaked in and out of the guesthouse back in Laredo; it was quite another to be under the same roof as Horacio’s whole family. But that didn’t stop the almost petulant tone in Javier’s voice. He was still human, after all.

“I promise we’ll make up for it once we leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Despite their flirtation, exhaustion was thick in their throats and pressed heavily on their limbs, pushing them closer towards sleep as the butterflies in their stomachs finally settled.

“The wedding wasn’t that long after Papá died. Alejandra asked me to give her away instead. At first, I didn’t think I deserved to take Papá’s place. But I think she needed me there with her, so, I said yes.”

“Of course you did, and I bet she never forgot that.”

“No, and I’ll never forget tonight."

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It was still dark in the spare room when Javier stirred and untangled himself from Horacio as slowly as possible. He had woken up thirsty and threw on a precautionary pair of jeans before tiptoeing down the wooden staircase towards the kitchen.

The clock on the oven read 01:30am, so he wasn't expecting to find the spotlights above it switched on. He searched through the cupboards until he found a tumbler and filled it with water from the tap, taking large gulps until the glass was drained.

“So, you’re a night owl too, then?”

“Shit!” Javier hissed, spinning around with a sharp intake of breath, almost dropping the glass on the tiled floor.

“Sorry,” Alejandra whispered. “I was just reading before heading off to bed.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I just needed some water. Didn’t think anyone else would be up.” Javier was suddenly very aware of the fact he was standing half naked in the middle of the kitchen, Horacio’s necklace like a flashing beacon at his chest. “Obviously,” he added with an awkward huff, looking down at his state of semi-undress.

“Right,” Alejandra replied with a stifled laugh. “How about you avoid catching a chill whilst I find something a bit more…authentic than tap water?”

Once Javier came back downstairs with his chest now covered, Alejandra was sat at the kitchen table with two shot glasses and a bottle of aguardiente.

“Not sure my stomach can handle any more of that after the wedding.”

“Lightweight. And just think of it as an initiation.”

Javier sighed in defeat, accepting the challenge as he took a seat opposite Alejandra.

She unscrewed the bottle and tipped measures into each glass. “Wanna make this more interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Three shots, three questions each. But you can only ask a question after you’ve emptied your glass.”

Javier laughed for a second, unsure what he imagined Alejandra to be like, yet somehow, she surprised him anyway. “Okay. Already sounds better than every other icebreaker inflicted on me. Who goes first?”

“Guest’s choice.”

He stared down at his glass as though it was the barrel of a gun, remembering why he had eventually insisted whiskey was his and Horacio’s go-to drink. When he first arrived in Colombia, Horacio would offer him a shot, pouring liberally from the stash of aguardiente in his office drawer, and Javier accepted on multiple occasions. But it was over and done with like a spoonful of caustic medicine. At least whiskey could be drunk slower and delayed saying goodnight.

That wasn't the order of things now, though. So, Javier grabbed the bull by the horns and threw back his glass, wincing at the aniseed burn as it slid down his throat.

“New rule: you’ve got 30 seconds to come up with a question. Otherwise, you take another shot.”

“Alright, alright, I’m thinking.”

Alejandra’s gaze fell on the oven clock, ramping up the pressure. “10 seconds left…”

“Okay. I’ve got one. What was it like growing up with a younger brother?”

“Annoying, obviously. Especially after he got the highest grade in his English class. I don’t know where he picked them up, but he knew all the swear words. Of course. He drove me crazy testing them out.”

“He did that to my old partner, Steve – his Spanish isn’t great, and Horacio sure liked to remind him whenever he got the chance.”

“Sounds about right. No wonder he liked you – best of both worlds.”

“Maybe.” Javier knew what Alejandra meant, but it didn’t stop heat from spreading through his cheeks regardless.

“He was generally pretty quiet at school,” Alejandra continued, "but not afraid to take the lead…or break a few rules.”

“Again, I’m not surprised.”

“Nope.” They both laughed at that. “He always liked to be moving, though. Doing something with his hands. Or playing sports – he was a good runner. We used to race each other around Jardín Botánico, and he would always beat me. I think he already knew he was in training for the Academy. So, obviously, he was accepted. No doubt some thought he got a free pass, but he was determined to prove himself. Then he had to grow up.”

The joviality faded abruptly from Alejandra’s face, transforming into a wistful smile.

“We both did. But at least I’d had more time with Papá. Good job I did have those few years to myself ‘cos Horacio followed him around like a shadow. Until he couldn’t. Then he thought he had to be the man of the house. Even when there were two much more qualified women for the job.”

“He thought it was his duty."

“Yeah. He did.” There was something akin to awe in how Alejandra looked at Javier, as though she was simultaneously taken aback and impressed that someone summed up and understood her brother so accurately and succinctly.

“Isn’t it your turn, now?” Javier asked after a moment of silence.

Without further hesitation, Alejandra downed her shot. “Why Colombia?”

“Why not Colombia?” He tried a feeble laugh but knew that wouldn't cut it. “I studied Gabriel García Márquez in high school. Although, can’t say I really got him at the time. Took me another try when I was older.”

Now he thought about it, Javier wasn’t convinced he exactly got him the second time around either, considering García Márquez’s views on extradition aligned fiercely with Horacio’s. But that was the luxury of hindsight.

“By then, my Mamá had long since passed, my fiancée had just become my ex, and I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life. Guess I needed to get lost in someone else’s problems for a while.”

“Tell me about it.” Alejandra held a book up in the air that had been abandoned on the table since Javier joined her.

“Smart move. My teacher loved telling us how García Márquez moved to Mexico and wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude over there. And with how things went down in Laredo, I could see the appeal of starting over in another country. Mexico was…too close to home. The drug war was getting out of hand. More and more agents were being transferred. And what’s the line?” Javier broke off, eyes cast towards the ceiling as he licked his lips in concentration. “‘We came’, they said, ‘because everyone is coming’.”

Alejandra let a pause of bewilderment pass between them as she studied Javier with intrigue. “You’re not at all like the other gringos he’s worked with in the past.”

“Did he bring any of them home to his family?”

“No. You’re the first. As I’m sure you're aware.”

“Maybe.”

“Drink up.”

Javier did as he was told, repressing a cough as the potent liquid worked its magic. “Why did you choose farm life over being a cop?”

Alejandra laughed a little too loudly, considering the time. “There are other career choices, you know.”

Javier gasped. “There are?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But that’s not quite how it went for me. The farm came with Fabián. They’re sort of a package deal. I’m sure you can understand that.” She threw Javier a knowing smile. “But I ruled out being a cop years before I moved here or met Fabián. I knew from Papá that women in the force were few and far between back then. They’re still pretty scarce now. I wasn’t up for putting myself in the firing line being a General’s daughter. They never would have respected me or believed I got there on my own merit. I didn’t want to spend my life trying to gain anyone's approval.”

“Makes sense. It’s not easy in the force if you’re…different from the rest."

“Exactly. I’m not sure it’s what Papá even wanted for me anyway. Because he knew what it’d be like. Then there was Mamá with her social work. She was in her element. Always fighting someone’s corner, especially during the suffrage movement. I think I was the odd one out in the family, ‘cos everyone else seemed to have…a calling except for me. So, I studied, got a business degree, became a buyer for various companies and ended up in the coffee industry. And the rest is history.”

“Good for you. And I guess that explains Horacio’s, er, distaste for a badly made cup of coffee.”

“Yep. He’s got no excuse. And neither do you anymore.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Your turn.” Javier took the bottle this time and filled Alejandra’s glass.

She downed it in one go. “¿Por qué no un llanero ahora que has descartado ser policía?” (Why not a llanero now you’ve ruled out being a police officer?)

“¿Por qué no un vaquero?” (Why not a vaquero?) Javier corrected with a glint in his eye that Alejandra returned with an eye roll. “Like you said…there are other jobs. That one was just never for me. I need more variety day-to-day. Like I’m making a bigger difference somehow. But preferably without the pretty fucking significant risk of death or blackmail.”

“A fair demand.”

“Right? It’s not like I’m asking for a raise.”

“When I moved here, I didn’t know where life was taking me, especially when the kids came along. I couldn’t keep my old job because of all the travelling…and being a mother was the priority until they started school. It took me a while to find my place on the buying and selling side of the business. So, all I’m saying is, things might get clearer once you’re settled back in Laredo.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Javier raised his glass and nodded his thanks to Alejandra, touched by her unprompted advice.

His third and final question had arrived, and the pressure to make it a good one pressed uncomfortably on his increasingly fuzzy head. “If your father was here now, what would you say to him?”

For a brief second, Javier feared he had overstepped some forbidden and invisible line and been overfamiliar with someone he only really knew by proxy at this stage.

But whilst Alejandra’s smile was permanently stained with traces of grief, warmth flickered then grew in her charcoal eyes. “I’d tell him we’re fine. That we miss him and wish he’d come back for good but that he needn’t worry. Because even though Mamá didn’t always get things right, she steered us through it as best she could. And we didn’t turn our backs on the world. That we found love in the dark.”

Alejandra sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Sorry. I think it’s the alcohol.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Javier paused to clear his throat, blinking his vision back into focus. “It was beautifully said.” His hand reached for hers across the table, hoping again that he hadn’t gone too far.

But she let his hand rest there until she shook her head like a wet dog and poured her final shot. “Same question to you about your mother, obviously,” she said before downing the aguardiente in one.

Javier scoffed. “Well, I guess I deserved that.” He took his time, collecting his thoughts as though he was preparing an important speech. As though he’d been trying to find the right words for most of his life – and how rarely he’d succeeded.

“I’d tell her I miss her morisqueta. I’d tell her Pops visits her every week. But then I think she already knows that. Same way I think she made sure he never re-married.”

Javier couldn’t help but laugh, seeing with perfect clarity where his own loyal streak came from when his Pops was still as devoted to Mariana as the day they married. Siempre tuyo was no exaggeration.

“I’d make sure she knew he wasn’t alone, though. That he was known as Don Chucho to most in Laredo. That she’d be proud of him for growing the community she helped start. I’d brag about all the tamales we’ve made and quote her favourite poems. I’d introduce her to Horacio.”

He envisaged showing her Horacio’s poetry book, knowing that all it would take was for her to read Javier’s message in the opening pages to understand everything about who they were to each other. He’d even dreamed of it, waking with a ridiculous hope that she had somehow intercepted it.

“She sounds as incredible as your father. I hope one day I can thank him for taking my little brother under his wing when he needed it the most.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“I can’t – and don’t want to – imagine where he would have ended up without either of you, to be honest. He told me about the ambush…and everything else. And even though it doesn’t feel nearly enough, I just want to say...thank you.”

At first, Javier could only nod and swallow the lump bobbing at the base of his throat. “He did the same for me. It wasn’t easy walking away from my job, don’t get me wrong, but it was different for him. He felt like he’d betrayed Colombia and his Papá. Yet he did it anyway.”

“When it’s the right person, the sacrifices are worth it. And I can’t think of anyone more worthy of wearing that.” Alejandra’s sightline had fallen to Javier’s neck. His chest may have now been covered, but the silver chain still poked out from beneath the seam of his shirt.

She poured them a bonus shot each and raised her glass. “Welcome to the family.”

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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inkabelledesigns · 11 months

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What’s the most complicated doll/doll piece you’ve made?

Do you have headcanons about your dolls?

(I can’t make this text regular size, tumblr is being wacky </3)

It's all good! Thank you for sending in your questions, they're a delight! ^^

22. What’s the most complicated doll/doll piece you’ve made?

This is a tricky one that can have about five answers. XD So I'm gonna give you a top five, with photos!

First is the most recent of the bunch. This is Elara Roux, she was for an Autumn Court collab. This doll's dress is one of the most elaborate garments I've crafted (and here I am wanting to sew it again for a Christmas tree doll, send help ^^''''). She's one of the hardest dolls to get to stand properly between the poofy dress not playing well with stands and the antlers adding a bunch of weight. I have to say, I'm very proud of her antlers, they were difficult to sculpt but a lot of fun, and proof that I'm getting better at polymer clay. She's also my first doll with vitiligo, which was a fun challenge to take on. I love her, so so much. She's difficult to photograph, but we're learning.

Dina the Dryad was a lot. She has a bunch of body sculpting and painting, a new arm and hand, and during her project, the humidity was hurting my sealant so much. Her face went through a couple iterations before I could fix it.

Kendra is one you don't hear me talk about much. I was in hell trying to make the resin work. I mixed up too much pigment (and the wrong pigment, seriously don't use alcohol inks with UV resin, bad idea) and it wouldn't cure properly, so her gems and the ball details on her lower half were difficult. She's also my only doll with alcohol inks coloring the skin, which I like the look of, but it was very messy. XD I love her face so much though, the lotus details on her eyes are something I need to give to another doll.

Norman is the most unconventional doll I've made. He involved full body sculpting and painting, additional sculpted pieces for his speaker and shoulder reel, a head made out of craft foam and a hinge joint so it can open to hold the candle light, wires and chords, aaaahhh, he's a lot. XD Attaching the projector to the doll's head was also a challenge. Honorary mention to Belphene, the doll with the red dress and horns, she's also complicated with those horns and having to draft her clothing pattern for myself. But I have one more pick that's not her.

It probably surprises no one that Auran is one of the most complicated dolls of my collection. XD For starters, he's one of my few hybrid dolls. His parts consist of an Invisi Billy head on an Obitsu male body (yes I ordered a special body for him, it was VERY IMPORTANT), and I had to modify the nose with apoxie sculpt to fit his design. His head used to be blue, and painting it to be smooth and have a matching skintone to the body was tough. My dad actually stepped in on this one, we needed to change out the neck peg for a different sized one so the head would stay on. His hair was redone a couple times, as were his clothes. His resin gem on the collar took multiple attempts before I could call it good, and the shoes were a nightmare even though I used a My Scene shoe as the base. I'm super proud of his epaulets, they're polymer clay shaped and glossed to look like turtles, which is caramel with pecans in it and chocolate on the bottom and top. It's one of my favorite things that Mom makes around Christmas time, so naturally he had to have them. He's one of those dolls that I put so much into, and I'm glad I did, but I needed a long break when he was done because it was so taxing. XD Worth it.

24. Do you have headcanons about your dolls?

Oh I have so many headcanons about my dolls! Who gets along, which ones like being next to each other, the things they might talk about while I'm away, there's a lot to think about.

These two sets surprised me a lot. I made Gail and Delilah separate from each other, but during the time that I was moving, I had to pack up all of my dolls so I could carry them over. These were the two I kept out during that time, and then I photographed them together, since Delilah is one of my favorites, and Gail was recent that summer, and they're both pink and delightful. I think the two of them are long distance girlfriends in my Equinox story, with Gail hailing from the spring kingdom as an assistant to the royals there, and Delilah as a pastry fairy that lives in the central kingdom. They send letters, and maybe someday they'll get to live together. They certainly do on my shelf, these two are rarely seen apart, I never want to put them away.

Marnie and Valencia are a similar story. I made these two beverage witches for the first collaboration I ever hosted, and somewhere in there, they ended up as girlfriends. XD Marnie is the studious bookworm that's always working hard while at the cafe, whereas Valencia is very chill and embraces the vibes of the beach. There's something charming in how opposites attract.

Thank you for the questions! If anyone would like to ask more, the ask game is here!

#doll asks #doll ask game #doll artist #ooak doll #doll photography #doll customs #long post

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creatrackers · 1 year

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Seven Snippets Seven People Tag

tysm for tagging me @talesofsorrowandofruin !

Rules: post seven snippets from a WIP and then tag seven people

I chose to share some snippets from Creatrackers! I’ve been editing the first draft so it feels right :)

Willa’s POV:

The speakers in the van sing songs of different genres. Some are what people now call indie-pop, other songs feel like camping in the mountains, a few acoustics, and a soft rock song every now and then. All of which I really quite enjoy. I’m so caught up in the moment that I almost answer honestly when Jo asks me, “You planning on going to university?” I had gone. So long ago it feels like a dream… To a college in Germany, the oldest one still standing in fact, in 1900 when they finally became coeducational. I studied medicine and am a certified nurse.

We’re driving slowly down a small paved road, one that likely could not fit another vehicle. To my right are endless fields with houses every so often, their windows illuminated making them pop in the dark. On our right stand thousands of trees. Trees, and trees and bushes and trees. I assume they’re all part of our final destination.

We trek, cutting through the dark with the blade of our lights, humming tunes I don’t recognize but eventually pick up, stopping to take photos of cool trees and the moon and a giant toad we find by a tiny stream who was singing to the night sky, we laugh and tell stories until, CRACK! What was that? “What the fuck was that?” Holly echoes my thoughts, a little more vulgar than I was. “Huddle in close.”

I spot the head of something. It’s skipping along, barefoot and camouflaging with the trees. Big ears, an almost human face and body, but the skin is textured like the trunk of a tree. The right colour, too. It’s smiling and it’s round green eyes sparkle like a gemstone. Like an emerald. It stops, surprised by us and our lights, and tilts it’s head. Then, it disappears. Like the lifting of fog, it just fades away.

I wonder, would anyone rather stay a human if given the choice?

I hum along to the song that is playing so softly that I bet only Adrian and I are able to hear it. Not Nineteen Forever by The Courteeners. A song that Kelvin added to our playlist some time ago. You're not nineteen forever, pull yourselves together. I know it seems strange but things they change

“Yeah, it really is no issue…” he trails off, indicating he has more to say but doesn’t quite want to. I smile and nod slowly, giving him a chance to try. “Um… Do you? Uh, can I have your phone number? Or your snap or something. So I can message you what I want for supper, if I think of anything. I’m Jewish so I only eat kosher. And I have… I haven’t any allergies. But I will send some of my favourite meals, if that’s okay. Doesn’t have to be fancy, of course”

And I’ll be tagging @my-cursed-prince @minutiaewriter @vanessaroades-author @comicgoblinart @little-mouse-gardens @toribookworm22 and anyone else who wants to join in :)

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morimakesfanart · 1 year

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2020 Oct 10 -Lucid Dream: The Last Push to Make Sindria's Prophet

*It's my birthday, so I'm adding another chapter to the Adventures of Simpbad :D

*I have been lucid dreaming since around the age of 6. I keep a dream diary and draw parts. Sometimes I like what happens in my dreams so much that I use it in my stories; that's why I go by "Mori's Lucid Stories" for my original work.

*I have had several dreams involving Magi so I've decided to add them to the Adventures of Simpbad Collection :3 The art will mainly be edited photos of what I put in my dream diary. I will draw things digitally if I didn't end up drawing anything traditionally.

*This dream happened when I hit the first road block in writing Sindria's Prophet and was the push I needed to fix it and what lead me to choose to post Sindria's Prophet online :3 Also, I didn't think I would be posting this dream when I started drawing it, so the first half isn't as well drawn as the last few pages.

*The original versions of this are still up on Tumblr, Instagram, and Twitter. This version has a novel version of the dream added, and cleaned up art of the original photos of the pages.

*I did rewrite a bit of the text in the images, but please let me know if there's any part that still isn't legible. Also so everyone knows, all of the purple and pink was done with colored ink traditionally, so I tried to keep that feel with the edits.

~POV Mori~ I was having an anime convention dream. I get those fairly often since cons are some of the most liberating experiences I've had. I had finally accepted that I had been hyper fixating on Sinbad for the past 5 years. I had tried my hand at writing fics but most stayed as concepts and drafts. I decided to try writing my first self insert Isekai, and had hit a road block. Thinking so much about an anime/manga was probably why I was having an anime convention dream.

I passed by a manga seller and decide to take a look. The only official English translation of The Adventures of Sinbad was a short run the first few volumes in Singapore. But here in this dream someone was selling official English versions of every volume. It didn't matter if this was a dream, I was going to buy them!

Having successfully made my dream purchase, I wanted to go somewhere I could sit down and read them. As I was about to leave, a familiar color palette appeared in my peripheral vision. King Sinbad was standing by the same bookshelf I was just at!

I knew he was tall, but it's different seeing him in person. Even with all of my fixating on him, Sinbad had yet to appear in my dreams. He was right there though! 100000% That was Sinbad! But this was a convention dream. He could be a cosplayer and not the real deal. The line often gets blurred in my dreams so did it even matter?

Two gold eyes turned towards me and I ran for the cover of another bookshelf. He was gorgeous in person and my heart could not handle it! Who knows what would have happened if I actually talked to him?!

'But this is my dream!! There's no reason for me to run away.' This dream has no signs of becoming a nightmare, so I could still change or remove anything I didn't like. Sinbad would never be able to hurt me in a dream unless I let him. 'I have been under a lot of stress recently though...'

It was worth some risk, but not a big risk. I took out my phone and used the zoom function of the camera to get a closer look at him without having to get close enough to risk him talking to me. That was something I didn't think I could handle yet. I also didn't know how long I could handle being around him so I sneakily made my way to the exit like I originally planned. As I got close, the gold eye in my phone screen made contact with me, and Sinbad smirked. 'ABORT!' I ran the rest of the way out.

That was more than enough Sinbad for me, thanx. I was no longer used to experiencing any form of attraction, and it had become a bit of a trigger honestly. Liking someone could always be used against me. My ex fiance made sure I'd learn that lesson....

This was a good dream so far, so I would not dwell on such things!!! There was a whole rest of a dream con to explore. I could go to more venders for impossible finds, or a panel, or watch cosplayers or stalk Sinbad Watching cosplayers, it is!

--- I find that the dealers room is one of the best places for spotting cosplayers, so guess where I went back to?

Cosplay is always really cool regardless of skill level or accuracy. It shows passion and love for a story. And some can be very creative in taking characters into different styles. In this dream there was a crossover cosplay of someone dressed as Inuyasha, but done in the style of Hollow!Ichigo from bleach. They even had on white body paint, and contacts that made their corneas black. Given how full demon mode Inuyasha was, the idea of a hollow version was scary, and rad as hell. His claw attack would be devastating- And he was destroying the venders with the exact attack I was just thinking about! The cosplayer was no longer a cosplayer! This is the part of lucid dreaming that isn't always the greatest. I thought too hard about something and it became a real problem.

I yelled at my mistake, "Stop that right now!!"

To which the once cosplayer yelled back, "This is a dream! I do what I want!" And what he wanted was murder.

The audacity! "This is my dream! Step off!"

He attacked me! "You can't tell me what to do!"

I dodged it, and I was done playing. "Yeah, no." If diplomacy wasn't going to work then there was no reason to keep him in my dream. "If you're going to be violent, you can go. This whole part of the con can go." Sometimes it's easier to get rid of the whole area than just one person since the area can hold onto the emotions and make the same type of thing keep happening. If I don't nip it in the bud it could become a nightmare or night terror, and God knows I've had more than my fair share of those.

The entire room got cleared into a white void. There was a floor and walls where doors into the room were, but everything else was gone. My emotions returned to normal too. This empty room was still attached to the rest of the dream world, so convention goers started walking in and getting confused about the missing dealers' room. Creating a new place for venders would only risk things going violent again. I made comfy chairs and cushions for people to rest on while I figured out what to do with the cleared space.

--- My safest bet was to change the genre so I could have a different type of environment. It had been a while since I had a fun adventure dream. To keep it from going potentially violent again I made it like a play ground or obstacle course instead of an actual place with real danger. I grew up during the PS2 era of games so beaches and platforming like in Kingdom Hearts, Jak&Daxter, and Ratchet and Clank are hugely nostalgic, and have become symbols of safety and fun for me. And so I made a beach with an obstacle course, platforming, and a fake broken ship. And of course, with a change of scenery comes a costume change. I went for something that was a mix of dance clothes and reenactment clothes from when I was in a reenactment pirate band -there was fake broken pirate ship here after all. (I decided it was a pirate ship because that seemed more fun.)

There was a cuddle puddle of three people in one of the chairs I made. I left the manga I bought with them, telling them, "Guard this manga with your life!" before heading out to the obstacle course I had made.

As I gave them a two fingered salute, I noticed that a familiar purple haired King was standing behind them. Everything inside me knew it was the same Sinbad from earlier and, that like the Inuyasha cosplayer becoming real, this Sinbad was real. Those metal vessels weren't only for show. What's more was I was not emotionally ready for coping with feeling attraction and fear at the same time again.

So I jumped down onto the sandy platforms below.

I made dream versions of my some of my friends appear. Hopefully, they would be enough of a distraction to make the Sinbad vanish. I ended up summoning art friends from highschool and college though, so they refused to explore with me. Instead, they actively reminded me who had shown up. "If you don't get running, he's gonna catch up."

Sinbad jumped down onto the starting platform and I bolted down the obstacle course. It was clear that my subconscious wanted me to face this; even if I changed the dream Sinbad would appear again. I had two options: face Sinbad and my fear of my own feelings of attraction, or turn the dream off into nothingness. Ahead of me, the platforms were leading to the ruined pirate ship; the next part would be inside it. And like a video game, the water around us meant death.

Sinbad calling behind me, gave me my answer. I jumped into the water.

--- The dream above the surface couldn't reach me here. It was quiet and calm. I could drift there forever if I wanted to -or at least until I woke up. As the feeling of safety washed over me, I started feeling bored. I had made a whole puzzle plaformer and I didn't even get to go through it! I had been in the nothing for a while; maybe Sinbad was gone.

There was no way I'd be that lucky. If nothing else, I could come up far enough away to have a chance to brace myself before he reaches me. I swam to the edge of an area further down the course. When I breached the surface of the water, I tried to will myself out faster than I could climb up. Two hands reached down to help pull me onto land. 'Who was I trying to fool...?' Of course, Sinbad would appear as soon as I returned.

He smiled down at me as I was finally standing on land again. "There you go."

"I could have gotten out on my own." Gosh, even to my own ears I sounded like a tsundere. This was the best I could do with my trust issues, huh? Dreams make emotional regulation harder too.

Sinbad's smile didn't waver. "Of course." In fact, he looked amused.

I grumbled, accepted my fate and sat down with my legs hanging over the edge. Looking at the water from here, it was obvious that I wouldn't have been able to reach high enough to pull myself out of the water on my own. If my subconscious was this determined to make this interaction happen then it was something I really needed to work through.

Sinbad walked over to where I sat down. "You're done running away?"

"I guess."

He sat down next to me, and crossed his legs and his arms. "So why were you avoiding me all this time?" He didn't look at me directly, and kept his smile.

I watched the water in front of us. "I'm scared of the things I like hurting me because I like them."

"Are you scared of me sitting here?"

"I'm not running right now, am I?" I wasn't scared of Sinbad. He was non-violent unless there were no other options, so he'd never have a reason to hurt me.

The King's voice was boisterous, "That's great news!"

I smiled at myself. "I guess I am doing a bit better." That gave me back some confidence. My smile broadened, and I made of show of shrugging as I continued, "I do still have plenty of reasons to be scared that you're close. You're also a greedy, egotistical, over powered asshole who has killed a lot of people -not to mention manga spoilers." The man was a walking death machine when he wanted to be, especially towards the ends of both mangas in the series.

"-Ah," was all he said in response. Sinbad was always the type to refrain from commenting when he couldn't deny the truth.

Now that I was thinking about the situation instead of panicking I was realizing some things. "I'm pretty curious on why you're talking to me." Flirting with con goers would probably be more in character.

He finally looked at me. "Why don't you tell me since you know me so well?" His eyes sparkled with interest and curiosity.

'Smarmy piece of- how dare he be this pretty! Fine!' My thoughts got stuck on his face for a moment since I was finally looking at him too. I thought about his question. Sinbad was power hungry by the time he became a king. And he had a growing god complex. And he actively sought out the strongest people in the world like the Aladdin, David, and Arba.

'Oh...' I had basically just erased and remade part of the world in front of him. That was why he hadn't followed after me when I first saw him; I wasn't anything special yet. 'My subconscious couldn't make him want to talk to me for nice reasons?'

I sighed. "I might like you but," that was obvious and I wouldn't deny it, "I'm not going to help you do whatever you want. I just didn't want violence in this dream." Now that I knew what was going on, I needed to set my boundaries.

Sinbad hummed, and looked out at the water. "I understand." After a moment he added, "We both prefer peace. It's a start."

That made me laugh. "You really don't quit, do you?"

Sinbad continued the good mood with flirting. "I got to make a pretty girl laugh so it's been a good day."

I gifted him another chuckle for the sentiment behind his words. I'm gender fluid, so not always a girl/woman, but I didn't think he'd understand that even if I explained. This wasn't the time to be pedantic. I was more interested in enjoying the improved mood.

We continued to talk in that light hearted manor about a handful of things. It was a bit of necessary self reflection involving my fears. It was okay for me to feel attraction, even if I wasn't ready for any of the steps that come afterwards. Maybe Sinbad was perfect for me in that way. In the whole series he never falls in love or gets married, and in that moment what I needed to feel safe was knowing that flirting was all it would ever be. I could enjoy feelings of attraction without the fear of being betrayed later because Sinbad would never promise himself to anyone.

#adventures of simpbad #lucid dreaming #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi

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estellamiraiauthor · 1 year

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The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 34, aka the end)

Well, here we are at the last chapter!

As always, spoilers under the cut:

So. The last chapter, which I actually wrote before the second to last chapter because it was easier. There’s no conflict here, just my boys finally getting to be happy together.

Rei has moved… and if you’re willing to wait until this chapter, I think this is the BIGGEST sign that he’s made some significant changes to his life for the better. Moving out of that apartment that’s practically haunted with memories of Saki and now of Teru? That’s HUGE. Plus the place he moves into is bright and has windows that aren’t blacked out and is accessible, and it’s just such a better place for him mentally and physically.

And of course he buys the piano from the previous chapter because it’s fate, dammit, and puts a photo of Saki on top of it, with Teru’s blessing… because just because a loved one isn’t with us anymore doesn’t mean they’re no longer a loved one, or no longer a part of their family… and I do think Rei and Saki WERE a family, even if the law wouldn’t let them be so on paper.

So, Rei and Teru can’t legally be married either, but they do what they can to make sure that they are both legal owners and residents of the new condo, and that either of them will inherit the other’s wealth if something were to happen.

One other thing that some same-sex couples in Japan do is adult adoption, which makes the younger partner legally the adopted child of the older partner. The system itself is mostly for people who have family businesses or assets that they would like to keep in the family, or a family name that either has a lot of value or is maybe very rare that they want to preserve, but who don’t have children of their own or whose children died, married into other families, went into a different profession, etc. I’m not sure if Teru and Rei would do this. I think Rei would want to, because one of the biggest benefits is that you become each others legal next-of-kin and can make things like medical decisions. I think Rei would want to know that if he were ever in a situation where he was unable to make those decisions for himself again, that Teru would be the one making the call. But I’m not sure Teru would love the idea just because, you know, he doesn’t want to be Rei’s SON, he wants to be his HUSBAND. So, it might be a choice they’d make eventually, but I don’t think they’d be rushing to do it at this point in time.

And then they go to visit Saki. I don’t really think there’s a lot to comment on here—it’s all there on the page?

I know not everyone loves the last line: “For as long as they had, until the seasons turned.” Some people have said that it implies that they didn’t live happily ever after, but that wasn’t really the intent. It was just to say that nothing lasts FOREVER, but that knowing That doesn’t make it LESS of a happy ending. Even if they grow very, very old together and die in each other’s arms at age 100 (and 115? See, already looking pretty unlikely), that still isn’t FOREVER. The relationship WILL end someday, because everything does. But that makes it MORE beautiful, not less.

And the book actually ends with “The End”. I know a lot of writers add “The End” when they finish a draft, but I never did. I only added it when I was ready to publish and (more or less) happy with the path I chose.

And that concludes my way-too-long annotations! Thank you for sticking with me till the end!

#the stars may rise and fall #annotated #phantom retelling #writing process #the end

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pearl-neo · 1 year

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writing log 1.

‹ last updated: 22nd of December, 2022 ›

» title: paranoia

» category: one-shot

» genre: contemporary / psychological thriller / suspense / mystery / angst

» cast: johnny⬩jaehyun⬩mark⬩reader's sister

» pairings: johnny + reader ⬩ jaehyun + reader's sister

⚘ pitch/synopsis: After a year spent living as a shut-in, you finally agree to go on a drive with your sister. When a storm steers your plan off course, you find yourselves brought closer to two charming strangers—but an unsettling tension lingers in your mind.

» warnings so far: anxiety; agoraphobia; implications of depression; ongoing feelings of helplessness and general discomfort and self-doubt; mental breakdown; minor violence; character death

» word count update: 13,644

» cover photo? complete ✓

⚘ Read on Tumblr | ⚘ on AO3 | ⚘ on Wattpad

⚘ thoughts & ramblings + updates:

‹ NOV 8 ›This is my first time attempting to write a fanfic, my first time working on a short story, and my first time attempting to post anything on Tumblr. I really hope I don't mess up somehow, or break any unspoken rules. ⋟﹏⋞)

‹ NOV 10 › (≈ 6k) Draft 1 complete! I'm stuck so close to the ending. Might have to brainstorm a way out of this dead end...

‹ NOV 18 › (≈ 9k) Draft 2 complete! Just changed something major that'll require me to overhaul a large portion of what I wrote. Had to kill a lot of my darlings. ಥ﹏ಥ)

‹ NOV 22 › (≈ 8k) Draft 3 complete! Okay, I know the word count is going backwards, but the changes went well, I think. It's getting fun! •̀⩊•́)

‹ DEC 1 › Draft 4 started . . .

‹ DEC 2 › At this point, I feel like I'm spending more time adding to and tweaking this blog than I am writing... ಠ‿ಠ) I even made my own png/gif headers for each of my main posts. Now that I'm done setting up everything, hopefully this will be the end of my distraction lol

I didn't put any tags on any of my posts yet, though. I'm kind of scared to, lmao... I think I'll start doing that after the story is actually ready to post, so I'm not just pointing at a blog that has nothing to offer yet. ( ˙▿˙ )

‹ DEC 8 › Today marks a full month of working on this fic! The last thing I wrote today felt like a long tangent (which I honestly have no idea whether it fits the genre or not.) But at the same time I feel like it’s relevant to the plot and character dynamics… Since I have yet to finish and proofread Draft 4 as a whole, I won’t give up hope yet that it’s salvageable. ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

‹ DEC 19 › (≈ 13k) Draft 4 complete!! I'm nervous. I genuinely don't know whether it's worth posting or not. I think I might gauge that based on the reaction of my proofreaders... Who are very much biased towards me. ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ

For now, I'll proofread it one last time, making some final minor edits!

‹ DEC 22 › Having someone else proofread it gave me a lot of confidence! And I didn't think of it as a mystery until two people pointed it out, so it was really helpful seeing it through a new light.

I don't know how many times I've read and reread this story, at this point lol. I think right now it's as good as I'm able to get it. I got so attached to it, and to who the characters turned out to be. I can even still imagine more scenarios of what happens after the ending.

I'm so excited for people to read it! I wonder if anyone will; The thought makes me nervous... ( 〃▽〃)

I will be posting it tomorrow! ♡

⚘ pictures / gifs I associate with the story:

#writing log 🏷️

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reddeadreference · 2 years

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Tiny Blog Progress Update

Drafts: 58 Queue: 3

Okay so I haven’t touched this blog or RDR2 in about a week. The queue (as you can see by the numbers above) has slowly been uploading mission posts (it had been doing one mission one POI for a few days but I had run out of POI - there are still a handful of POI I need to make posts for - so it’s been doing two missions a day until today it posted the final mission post.)

We’re gonna switch to one queued post a day until I get the queue filled up again. Tomorrow the final story-journal pages post will be up. Noon EDT/EST will be the post time.

I have all chapter 2 cutscenes recorded and half of them edited/transcribed. Those will be added to the queue and be the next things posted. (These are also what’s causing other posts to take so long because most of my time was replaying the same mission to get all choices and options recorded.)

What’s stopping me from completing the newspapers is I need to know which ones are only there after certain stranger missions/only there in certain issues/I need the actual transcripts for those that I don’t have yet.

What’s stopping me from posting character posts is I need a lot more photos and details, I’m going to try and get Abigail’s up before the end of the month to show what the posts will be like.

What’s stopping me from posting the remaining POI posts is just I need photos of the things themselves and I had been busy with other parts of the game.

What’s stopping me from posting certain location posts is that some locations change between the main game and the epilogue and I only have half the photos I need (one year or the other).

#not a reference post #blog progress update

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missaureus · 1 month

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It All Started with a Friend-for-Sale Post

Samuka. That was our very first response.

24th of June 2022. I was down to the last week of my Community Medicine Rotation in internship. Being tagged as the least toxic department, I had the confidence to finally book a ticket for a short weekend vacation with my girlfriends. I purchased that plane ticket months ago with the thought that I may not be able to ride it in case a change of schedule that would suddenly pop out of nowhere!

A week prior, a notice was given to our group, a schedule to have our graduation photos taken which on the day of my flight! It was a blessing in disguise since we were excused from our duty post the entire day and the photo shoot only lasted less than hour. Having all the glam that day, I asked one of my groupmates, Aike, to take a portrait of me because it was a rare occasion for us to dress up. I felt human. She then said, "Hala, Brey! Gwapa kaayo ka, ibaligya tika!". Then, Franz, also a groupmate seconded, " Doc, naa ra ba koy friend". I just shrugged off their silly banters and hurriedly went home to prepare for my flight later that day.

I decided to go to the airport a little earlier, which is an hour drive away, to cram up a 50-item online exam at 7 PM. I seriously had to pick my struggle but for sure, it would break me if I miss my first vacation after the pandemic hit.

Before hitting the gas, I was notified on Instagram that Aike tagged me on a friend-for-sale post. I was laughing so hard, this girl really did?! HAHAHA. While driving to the airport, I received a veryyyy long message from my sister. It dawned on me how making her some lunch before leaving to the airport as a peace offering did not make any difference. We had a fight earlier that day because I got irritated while she did my make up. We were running late for my schedule and I hastily demanded for her to finish it already. She did me a favor and I appeared so ungrateful. Seconds after, my mom also texted me on how I unappreciative I was to my sister. I was already making a draft of apology in my head.

So much was going on in my head at that time. Not to mention I had a hard time looking for a free parking slot to leave my car for 3 days. When I did, I paused and enjoyed the gorgeous orange. I realized, I had never properly breathe the last three years. I was missing so much due to medical school and it is a norm to miss out family events, milestones, vacations, etc.

I checked in and looked for an empty seat in the airport. I was aimlessly scrolling through my virtual notes when Aike chatted in our group chat, “Besh, willing ra ba ka mag LDR? Naa natay buyer!” I just laughed with the idea. She bombarded me with some forwarded photos and even sent the guy’s educational background!!! I just joked around to screen the guy before I check on him. We were just exchanging HAHAHAs in our group chat without even realizing that it was already past 7 PM and still no hint of our scheduled exam. My flight number was announced for boarding so I asked my friends some favor to answer my exam for me, which was luckily postponed later on.

And the moment I reached my friend’s condo, Niña greeted me with, “Naa biya nichat nako. Ibaligya daw nako siya sa imo.” What??? I was shocked! That very same guy. He sold himself hard, too. He added me on Facebook and started chatting casually. He asked me if I was able to attend their school activities back in college. It only happened once! Surprisingly, I recalled him on that day. He went on stage after being called for some sort of an opening remarks. What was even more shocking, he remembered me, too! That was 6 years ago.

We were just intermittently chatting. It was like a long-sought peace was experience for 3 days. When I had to get back to my hospital duties, I was reset like a robot. All the same but I brought along that friend whom I met virtually in Tagaytay. Funnily, I cannot help to associate him with that vacation.

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kissaarts246-01 · 1 year

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ARTS 246: Reflection #1 | January 9-14

The beginning of Typography 246 started with a Humans of New York poster assignment. We were given a corresponding image and story and were tasked with creating a poster containing both elements. The important part of the assignment was that we used a grid to arrange and manipulate the contents of the poster. We were also given several choices of complementary fonts to choose from. Open Sans is my go-to font, so I elected to use the Volkhov and Open Sans combination. I started by editing my photo in photoshop and adding a grain over the poster, I like that it gave the poster a blurred but rustic feel. I then toyed around a good bit with the position of the image in the background. I wanted to make sure my text was clear and legible so I found a section of the poster that had consistent colors while still showing the majority of the woman in the photograph. I then applied the grid and began messing with the position of all of the groups of text. Below is the first draft.

I have some ideas for improving the poster. I will probably increase the line spacing in the main paragraph and play around with the kerning. This will probably mean that I'll move up the title and paragraph to make sure that the text stays within the space of the trees in the background. I will also change the title quote. I slightly misunderstood that part of the directions and wasn't sure if choosing a quote from the middle of the paragraph would confuse the audience. However, after seeing some of my other classmate's submissions I saw that it actually draws the reader into the poster more.

This week's "reading" was actually a podcast from The 99u. I chose to listen to Dr. Vivenne Ming's "Share Your Vision With the World". She's a neuroscientist and mainly works with AI and machine learning. When she first started talking about it I was worried that I may have chosen the wrong episode to listen to, but as it went on, I was glad to have picked it. She talks about all the new abilities that AI has and how it has the potential to carry out a number of tasks without human assistance. However, humans program AI, therefore, they do not have the capacity for creativity. Humans are necessary for creativity. This not only filled me with hope for the future of graphic design but it also motivated me. I tend to be really harsh on myself and I have all of these ideas for pieces I'd like to create, but something inside holds me back. Maybe it's my fear that I don't have the ability to properly execute it, but as long as I maintain that creativity and work on problem-solving skills, I have the potential to carry that out. And I should. Creativity is the reason we have everything. It's important to stand out and be individual.

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misskatebishop · 2 years

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Easy Fix

Word count: 2.591

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort.

Summary: You come back from the Blip and expect to meet Wanda soon, when it doesn't happen, you go after her.

A/N: Gif's not mine, and this is saved in my drafts for so long that I don't remember where I took it from. Let me know if it's yours, please.

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

You gasped on your desk, suddenly hit by the real world around you. You dreamt of falling, endlessly. You were falling and no one could reach you. Your fingers slipped through your girlfriend’s hand as the void swallowed you. You straightened up on the chair, running a hand over your hair. How long have you slept?

Last thing you remember you were talking to Wanda. She told you she had to go to Wakanda to stop whatever was coming, to help save the world once more. You worried, of course. You knew who your girlfriend was, but you still weren’t used to her running after the dangers of this and outer space. You thought you’d never get used to it.

She told you to not stay up until later in the office. You were supposed to go home, take a shower, make dinner, call to check in on her later. You promised you’d call. What must she be thinking now? Damn it, Y/N!

You look around the desk for your phone, except that’s not your desk. You frown at the unrecognizable folders there and the photos. What the hell? You’re sure you were at your office last night and you fell asleep on a pile of documents you were reading. It couldn’t be changed overnight, right? It couldn’t.

You stand up, looking at the shelves of books. These are not yours, even though you had some titles from there. You certainly didn’t have a leather couch in your office, and these curtains are too dark, it fills with sorrow, though the view was amazing. The door opens, and you turn around.

“Y/N?” One of your co-workers comes in, holding a cup of coffee

“Josh, what–?” You start to say, but he places the cup on the desk and wraps his arms around you. What the hell? You had seen each other at the end of the shift yesterday, why so dramatic?

“Oh my God, you came back. It’s true then,” Josh pulled apart. “Everyone’s coming back. Oh my God,” he laughs, walking out of the room.

You follow him, but you stop at the door frame, seeing other confused faces outside. People hugging each other. What’s happening? You look around for Josh, hugging another coworker. You pull his shoulder, so he’s facing you.

“What’s happening? Are we celebrating something? What–?” You look around, still confused.

“Y/N. You’ve been gone for five years. Thanos snapped half of the population in 2018,” you shake your head. No, it’s not possible. The Avengers wouldn’t let that happen. They went to Wakanda to stop Thanos. “It’s 2023. I don’t know how, but they found a way to reverse the Blip.”

You shake your head in denial. Five years. What the hell was he talking about? Was it some sort of prank?

You don’t like how it sounds.

***

The first week back after five years was a mess. Fortunately, you still have a roof to sleep on. Your apartment was covered in dust due to the lack of cleaning. The mold has taken the walls, and you jumped when you saw a rat passing between your boots. You had so much work to be done. Most of your products had passed the expiration date, and all your cards were blocked because you didn’t exist for five fucking years. Luckily, you find some banknotes in a purse. You order something to eat, and sit on your couch, coughing when the dusk makes itself present.

Fuck, your life was such a big mess right now. You pull your phone out of your pocket, Josh borrowed his charger when all your belongings were recovered by the enterprise sector. They kept a track of everyone’s stuff when you were all missing and kept it, more in the hopes that this day was coming.

Your battery was low. You were in a rush to go home, to face the world outside the doors of the enterprise. Honestly, the whole world was chaos with so many people coming back and finding out that the others moved on. Everything moved on while they were still trapped in their 2018 selves. You look at the picture of you and Wanda on your lockscreen before you dial her number. You weren’t expecting her to answer it, but you had to try it anyway.

It rang once before a robotic voice declared that the number was non-existent. Well, a lot of things were nonexistent in the last five years. Could Wanda have been blipped as well? You needed to find out.

You get your laptop, abandoned in our room for five years. You feel lucky when it does turn on. You type Wanda’s name on Google followed by The Avengers in another tab. You read everything you can about the Blip. You see Wanda’s name along with the Falcon, the King of Wakanda, the Winter Soldier, and even the android, Vision, who you knew had a close friendship with your girlfriend. These are just a small portion of famous names who blipped. You’re going through the last news related to the return of half of the population when someone knocks on your door.

You had forgotten you ordered pizza for dinner. You were starving. You thanked the delivery boy and went back to your laptop, finding out that some great names had died in the battle against Thanos. You sigh. There must be a way to find Wanda, right? You still lived in the same place, maybe she’d come looking for you after all. You hoped so.

***

A week later told you that something was wrong. Wanda didn’t show up at your doorstep as you expected. She hadn’t tried to call you or get in contact with you. You wanted to believe that she was trying to adjust to this new reality, struggling just as much as everybody else. However, you couldn’t get yourself to believe in your own words.

Something was very wrong.

This proved right when you were watching the news while also applying for jobs. The journalist announced that the Sentient Worlds Observation and Response Department aka S.W.O.R.D. had been invaded at the beginning of the week and a valuable item was stolen. You’ve never heard of the organization before, you couldn’t help but Google it. If they deal with threats, then maybe you could find some information on it. These types of organizations keep information on anything they think might be dangerous for humankind, including superheroes. Including an improved human with powers like Wanda’s.

So the next morning you made your move. You went to S.W.O.R.D., wanting to deal with it face-to-face. You enter the enormous facility, going straight to the counter situated in the middle of the lobby. You timidly approached, not sure what to say or who to talk to to get any information.

“Good morning, I–” you stutter, then you see a wall filled with portraits of S.W.O.R.D. directors. You get the name of the last one because you suppose he’s the current in charge. “I’d like to talk to Tyler Hayward.”

The man on the side of the counter frowned.

“Mr. Hayward doesn’t have any visits scheduled for today,” he replies.

“It’s important,” you insist.

“Ma’am, I can’t allow your entry.”

“Does he have any other available date in his agenda? I really need to talk to him, please.”

“I’m not allowed to display this information.”

“Is he here?” You ask, looking around. “It’ll be quick.”

“Ma’am, I need you to leave or I’ll call security,” the man warns.

He can call whoever the fuck he wants, you’re not leaving without news.

“Please, it’s about Wanda Maximoff, sir,” you plead.

This immediately catches the man’s attention.

“What did you say?” He asks, even though you’re sure he understood very well.

“It’s about Wanda Maximoff,” you repeat.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” The man nods, he talks to someone on the phone informing of your presence, then he types something on his computer before standing and asking you to follow him.

You follow him through the white corridors, getting on an elevator he presses the button to the floor you expect it’s where Hayward is. When the door opens, he guides you through a few rooms, making you feel lost inside the facility, then he opens a door and you step in. The man in front of you is exactly like the one in the photo downstairs. There are other people in the room with him, advisors and agents, you supposed. Is there a threat you and the rest of the world weren’t aware of?

“Please, Ms. Y/L/N, take a seat,” Tyler Hayward waves the hand in front of him.

“Thank you,” you sit down, aware of all those eyes on you.

“You said you’re here to talk about Wanda Maximoff, correct?” Hayward asks and you nod. “What’s your relationship with her?”

“She’s my girlfriend. She’s the last person I talked to before I blipped, and since I came back I–” your voice cracks. “I haven’t heard of her.”

“And what makes you think we have information on her?” A woman asks, you turn to face her. She looked tired, and she wasn’t well-dressed as the others, so you suppose she’s an agent in action.

“She’s not an ordinary human,” you reply.

Hayward smirks.

“You’re right, Ms. Y/L/N. Right now she’s more of a threat to a small city.”

“What?” You frown. “A threat? What do you mean? Wanda would never hurt anyone.”

“She’s keeping Westview under her influence,” the woman replies. “I got in there, but once she realized I was an intruder, she expelled me,” you look at her badge, it’s written Monica Rambeau. She’s not just an agent, she’s probably the daughter of the founder you’d seen on the wall. You wonder why it’s not her sitting on that chair, though.

Hayward leans forward.

“You might be the help we need. We want to reassure everyone’s safety, including Wanda’s. If you can help us to make Wanda see reason…”

“I’ll help. I just want to bring her back home,” you agree.

“Good,” Hayward looks at Monica. “She’s coming with us.”

***

When you finally get to Westview it’s already dark. You look at the holographic wall closing the entrance of the city in awe. Everyone keeps their distance from it. Hayward and Monica lead you to a tent to discuss the plan.

On your way there, they’ve told you that Wanda invaded the facility because they were holding Vision’s corpse. Hayward talks about their disagreement about Vision’s final destination. Wanda wanted to bury him, he was a very dear friend, of course. You understand her point. Hayward, however, couldn’t allow her to bury one of the most precious metals in the world: vibranium.

A valid point as well, you think. Nevertheless, you also knew that Wanda has never dealt well with grief. She lost her whole family due to a missile in Sokovia, then her twin brother because of Ultron. She always whispered to you that she couldn’t handle losing you too. She begged you on the phone to stay safe when Thanos came.

The plan seemed simple. They’re going to send a drone in. Captain Monica Rambeau would try to communicate to Wanda in order to be as smooth as possible about the whole situation. If it didn’t work, then you’d be the one responsible to convince Wanda to stop.

You moved back and forth in the room when Hayward and Monica came in. There was a whole team working on it. What the hell was Wanda thinking about? You feared for her safety, the USA Government wouldn’t disregard it so easily. Wanda would be punished, and her sentence would be even higher if any citizen was damaged in this process.

The drone was sent in. You could see it approaching the red-haired. Wanda tilts her head, almost as if challenging the object to get closer to her. Monica speaks in a soft tone, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on Wanda, instead, her eyes start glowing in red.

“Engage,” Hayward orders.

“What?” You and Monica shout. You should’ve known he wouldn’t spare Wanda. For them, she was a threat they were determined to eliminate.

“No!” You say, approaching Wanda. “Let me talk to her!” Hayward pushes you backward.

The screen turns gray. You’ve lost signal. You can believe it. You want to punch Hayward, but that’s not the moment because a siren sounds.

“There’s a breach, sir,” an agent alerts.

Immediately, Hayward, Monica, and the other agents start to move. He stops for a second, signing for two agents. “Stay with her. Don’t let her walk out till my signal.”

“What? No!” You yell, but you’re held back by the agents.

Tears stream down your face. What are they going to do? Are they going to kill her? You can’t let that happen. You shake your head, wondering what’s going on on the outside. Hayward’s goons don’t let you even stand. Then, you heard the voice on the radio. “Bring her.”

You sigh in relief. If they had shot, you’d have listened from here. You walk out followed by the men. You see the jeeps, the men with their guns aimed somewhere. No, on someone. Green dots aimed at her chest. You can see her from here. Monica approaches in an attempt to talk some sense into her. Wanda’s hand glows red, ready to defend her territory.

“How? What could you possibly have to offer me?” Wanda asks. She sounds miserable.

That’s your cue. The agents push you forward, and you stumble on the grass. Idiots. They are all idiots if they think they can harm Wanda with their pathetic guns.

Wanda’s eyes focus on you. Hayward stands out his hand so the agents let you pass.

“Wanda,” you say, ignoring Hayward and Monica. You don’t care about the guns aimed at you. You run your way to her. God, how you missed her. You wrap your arms around her, pressing your face on the crook of her neck.

“Y/N, is it really you?” You feel Wanda wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You pulled apart to stare her in the eyes. “It’s me. It’s really me, Wanda.” You cried out. “I missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Wanda wipes off the tears on your cheeks, kissing them away. “I’m sorry for not going after you. I’m sorry.” Wanda sobs as she keeps mumbling a chore of I’m sorry against your skin.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you assure her. For a moment you forget where you are and what your mission is. You don’t care. You just want to stay here with Wanda and ignore the real world with real problems.

“Wanda,” Hayward calls her.

Wanda doesn’t let you go, keeping you pressed against your body.

“I have what I want, and no one will ever take it from me again,” Wanda declares.

Wanda’s eyes glow and Hayward yells. You turn around to see that the guns are now aimed at him.

“Are you coming with me, my darling?” Wanda holds your hand. She’s giving you a choice. It’s take or leave it.

You can either live a perfect life with Wanda or go back to the chaos your life has become. It’s an easy fix. You intertwine your fingers in hers. You smile.

“I’m never letting you go ever again.”

Taglist: @haeva @abimess

#thalia writes #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x oc #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #post endgame #avengers #marvel #mcu #ao3 #wandavision

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ur-riddikulus · 3 years

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You’re Worth It (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are the resident therapist for the Avengers and Steve asks you for a favor. He wants you to have a therapy session with Bucky. Then you find out that Bucky wasn’t exactly aware of this plan.

Warnings: some cursing, Bucky’s angsty past, a couple small sexual innuendo. Also like a ton of angst but I promise that it does get better lol.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on here. I posted some Harry Potter ones before this, but I reread them and thought I could do better. So, here we are! Thank you for reading and if you want this to turn into more parts, I can totally do that. <3

You had been in your office preparing for your next patient when Steve walked in.

“Hey, Dr. Y/L/N, can I ask you for a favor?” He asked, putting his hands in a praying motion.

“Yeah, absolutely! I do have a patient soon, though.” You replied. You were glad to help, Steve is a great patient and has been improving impressively. So well, in fact, you didn’t know if he would even need to see you much longer.

“Do you know Bucky Barnes? He’s an old pal of mine. He has been against going to therapy for a long time, but you’ve helped me so much and Bucky needs some help too I think. Plus, he saw you around the tower and thought you were cute.” Steve says.

You blushed at that last part, silently wishing you didn’t. You had a rule against dating any patient or anyone in the tower, since it would just be awkward when you inevitably break up. Every relationship you’ve ever been in hasn’t lasted long, considering you’ve never been able to find someone you truly liked.

“Yeah, of course I know Bucky. You don’t shut up about him during your therapy sessions and I’ve seen him sulking around the tower myself. I would love to help him, but like I said, I have another patient soon. I will only have therapy with him if it’s his choice though. And I think he’s absolutely gorgeous but I have a rule against dating anyone who lives or works in the Tower.” You explained.

You looked at the time, Tony Stark, your next patient, would be here any minute. You were the sole therapist for Avengers Tower. There maybe should have been another one, but Tony had one session with you and said that you were the best he’s ever had and no one would ever dare be a therapist and step into his tower again. He even gave you the title of ‘Chief of Mental Health’ despite being literally the only person in that department.

Steve must have noticed you checking your watch, because he said ,”Oh, and I bribed Tony to change his appointment and give it to Bucky, so you kind of have no choice.”

You looked up, “What? Who knew that Mr. Captain America himself was a cunning little bitch.” You joked, shaking your head. You and Steve, hell, you and everyone in the tower had that kind of relationship. And, he knew you swore like a sailor, so he even ignored it sometimes.

At that moment, Bucky walked in. He looked so handsome with his shoulder-length hair and baby blue eyes. He even looked a little nervous. Well, that’s not surprising, you thought. Everyone, even you, was a tad nervous on the first session.

Steve put up one finger and said, “Let me talk to Buck alone for one moment.” You nodded and he walked Bucky out to the hallway and shut your door. You heard whispers being exchanged and was a little confused but whatever, you thought. You were sure he’s just giving Bucky encouragement.

You went over and sat down on your grey seat and picked up your chamomile tea. That was probably your favorite part of being a therapist, getting to sit down in comfy chairs all day with your tea. Besides helping people of course.

The door opened once again, with Bucky and Steve reappearing. “Thanks for doing this again, Dr. Y/L/N! Bucky will love you.” Steve said, patting Bucky on the back. You smiled and he exited, leaving only a nervous-looking Bucky standing there.

“Why don’t you come over and sit on the comfortable couch across from me, Bucky?” You motion, pointing over to the couch across from your current chair. He nods and goes to the couch. Well, at least he looks a bit more comfortable, you think to yourself.

“So, what do you want to talk about? Anything is on the table.” You say. You’ve found that not going straight to the tough topics help patients build their trust with you more.

“Well, doll, how about you tell me about yourself first.” He says, getting a bit more confident now. Doll? That’s an odd name to call your therapist. But whatever, you’re sure they used it a lot in the old days. Letting it slide, you try to answer his question.

“Well, I was born and raised here in New York City. I got my PhD. in psychology from NYU and I have an apartment in Brooklyn. I got this job after only one session with Tony Stark and now I am the therapist for the Avengers.” Sure, it was a lot of work, but you absolutely loved your job. Helping the heroes who risk their life to save yours and everyone else’s was the least you could do, you thought.

Bucky nodded and said, “I’m from Brooklyn. Looks much different now than it did when I lived there though. A PhD.? Damn doll, you must be super smart.”

You smiled at his compliment. “Thank you. It wasn’t easy, but it was definitely worth all the late nights studying.”

“So, anything else you want to know about me before we get started?” You asked, getting your notebook to prepare to write notes about Bucky and how to best help him.

“Get started? Damn, doll. I was thinking we could grab a coffee before we ‘get started.’ But it’s good with me, I guess the girls roll a little different in this time than the 40′s.” Bucky says, chuckling to himself.

You were in the middle of getting to the correct page in the notebook but paused when you heard what he said. What did he think you meant when you said ‘get started’? It sounded very different from your meaning. And getting coffee? It almost sounded like he thought this was a date? You shook your head at that thought. No way could he possibly be that confused. And Steve said he thought you were cute, but you seriously doubted that the Bucky Barnes would even consider going on a date with you. So no, it definitely couldn’t be that. But whatever he thought this was, there was obviously a miscommunication that you had to clear up.

“Uh, Bucky? I think you must be confused. Steve told me that he convinced you to have a therapy session with me this afternoon. What did you think this was?” You ask, a little scared of the answer.

At hearing this, Bucky seemed very confused. “What do you mean, Steve told me that we were meeting here before going out on our date?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. What does he mean by ‘our date’?

“Uh, Steve never said to me that we were going on a date. He told me that he convinced you to have a therapy session with me...” You said, shaking your head in confusion. This made no sense, what was going on?

Apparently that was the conclusion Bucky just got to as well, because he looked up, a little embarrassed and said, “I’m so sorry. Steve told me that you wanted to go on a date with me and that we were going to meet in your office before going out. I never would have agreed to this if I knew what he was really doing. I’m just going to leave, I’m so sorry for wasting your time.” Bucky raced his hand through his long hair and stood up, walking to the door.

At first, you were a little stunned. The Steve you knew, the world knew, would never pull a trick on anyone, especially his best friend. You knew him enough through your sessions to know that he would only do this if he absolutely had to. Which means he must be desperate for his friend to get the mental help he needed. Also, Bucky was just so damn cute and you have had the biggest crush on him ever since you went to the Captain America exhibit in the local museum for a school trip. You always saw him in the pictures with Steve, his heart-stopping smile still doing wonders on you despite the worn black and white photo.

So, you jumped up right when his hand touched the door handle to leave and probably never see you again. “W-Wait!” You said, hating your stutter but just cringed and kept going when you saw him turn around curiously. “While you’re here you might as well just talk to me. If you hate it, you never have to see me again and can just ignore me in the halls. But, if this session does help you, maybe we can schedule a bit more and see where it goes. I really think I can help you, Bucky.” After you finish your awkward speech, you just smiled and waited for his definite and irreversible no. Well, at least you got the chance to help him, you thought.

He just sighed and shrugged saying, “Well, I’m already here I guess. But are you sure this could end at any time and that you even want to help me after my dumb friend tricked me into embarrassing myself?”

You smiled and that last part and smiled, just grateful for the opportunity to help someone so burdened and has done so much for the world.

Bucky walked back over the his chair and said, “So, Doc, how do we start this?”

You grabbed your notebook again and turned to the right page again. “This is your session, it can start with however you want. But it might help to start from the beginning. How did you feel when you got drafted into a World War when you were only 18?”

He looked deep in thought and said, “Wow, no one ever asked me that.” He sighed before adding, “Of course it was my duty to fight and all that, but I was angry at the world for forcing kids who just barely turned adults to fight their wars for them. I knew it was going to be an adventure, but honestly I was scared shitless, doll.”

You nod, your empathy for him skyrocketing even though you guys just started.

And that’s how your bi-weekly sessions with Bucky would usually go. You guys talked about a whole manner of things, like his past in the 1940′s, his brainwashing with HYDRA, Steve saving him, and his nightmares from everything included. You two were closer than you normally let yourself get to patients. You didn’t know if it was because of everything he had gone through, or maybe even that you finally got to talk and help the Avenger who needed you most, but you honestly didn’t care. Your sessions with him really seemed to help him and now he hasn’t had a nightmare in over 2 months. Bucky seemed a lot happier and waved and talked to you in the halls. Steve even said that he hasn’t seen Bucky like this since the 40′s. You thought that with all things considered, he had a ton of improvement. You two had only been meeting for about 6 months and his progress was truly great;

You tried to forget that in your first meeting he thought you were going on a date and even apparently called you pretty. You knew that nothing romantic should ever come out of your patient and therapist relationship since it was obviously wrong. Every therapist knew that under no circumstances should you date your patient. It would always hurt the patient’s mental health even more and that was the opposite of your job. You suppose it could technically happen if you stopped being his personal therapist but it wouldn’t be worth it. All of his hard work would have been for nothing.

But you couldn’t help but think what if? What if it ended up working out? What if he got another therapist and you could date him? What if he was the one? But no, you were getting ahead of yourself, you thought. Bucky was great and handsome and so, so perfect. He was honestly everything you wanted in a partner. And still, you couldn’t take the leap. If it didn’t work out and you were possibly the reason his mental health got worse you could never forgive yourself. So every appointment with him you just smiled and tried to ignore that pressing need, even though you were beating yourself up for either being a coward or for being so selfish that you wanted to take that chance.

One day you were in the middle of researching new ways to help a client’s recent mental health issue and trying to (and failing) ignore a certain issue when Bucky walked in with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a nervous look on his face. You stood up, very confused but nonetheless making yourself known.

“Uh, Y/N? Could I maybe talk to you for a minute?” He asked. You’ve never seen him dressed so well. Normally he just wore either workout clothes or sweatpants. You two even often joked together that he owned no normal clothes.

“Yeah of course. I’m sorry I didn’t know we had a session today.” You said, cursing yourself for making such a mistake. Usually you were pretty good with schedules, even though working with the entire compound was a bit much to remember.

“Oh, we don’t. I just wanted to ask you a question.” Bucky said, biting his lip. A nervous tick that you soon discovered in one of your early sessions together.

“Sure, ask away.” You replied. You were getting a little worried. Surely he didn’t want to end your appointments together, right? Did you do something wrong?

“First of all, these are for you.” He said nervously as he handed you the flowers. You smiled, surprised that he remembered you telling him your that your favorite was y/f/f while complaining that the local florist didn’t have them during one of your bi-weekly meetings. “Thank you, these are absolutely beautiful. I love them.” You smiled and walked over to a window ledge with a vase on it and put them in, admiring how they looked in the sunlight.

When you were finished admiring them you walked back over to Bucky. “Thank you again, they really are beautiful. I don’t even remember the last time someone was so nice and got flowers for me.” You said and hugged him. You knew he wasn’t that great with personal touch but surprised you when he hugged you back pretty quickly. For a moment you just focused on being in his arms but then soon thought of how inappropriate it would look to an outsider and reluctantly pulled away.

“So, what did you want to ask? Is everything okay?” You ask, quickly remembering that something could be wrong with him.

“Yeah, of course everything is fine. You truly are a great therapist, Y/N. You’ve got a gift.” Bucky said. You blushed at his words and hated that your color would give away your inappropriate feelings possibly. His words did calm you down though. But if it wasn’t about therapy, then what else could it be about?

Feeling your blush go down finally, you nodded and urged him to go on, now too curious to wait it felt like.

He sighed and nervously ran his hand through his hair. “You have to promise me that if this goes wrong, our relationship won’t be ruined. It’s too important for me to ruin by being an idiot.” You immediately promised. Normally you would be cautious about such a thing but you have never trusted anyone this quickly and this much with Bucky.

After he saw your quick agreement, he went on. “So, these past couple weeks, well since we’ve started meeting actually, I was interested in you. I was never going to act on it in a million years but you’ve helped me so much and I think we could really be great together. And Steve might have noticed me staring at you and telling me I should do something about it.” He chuckled. “So, want to go on a real date? I would go the whole 9 yards, nice restaurant and everything. But I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do and know that our relationship isn’t necessarily the easiest to become romantic. I just think you're worth it, doll. You're worth all of it.” He stopped and bit his lip again, waiting for your response.

Your heart soared when you heard his speech. No one had every made you feel this way. You were about to say yes, so close in fact, but then you remembered the real truth. You are his therapist, his doctor, his advocate. That was special and meant something to you. You knew he wanted this but it was your responsibility to make the hard choice, to do what you honestly hated to do but thought was right.

“No, Buck. I’m sorry but I can’t. I just think it could ruin all your hard work and that’s the last thing that I want to do. It just shouldn’t be risked.” You said. Telling him that felt like vomit was coming up and you felt even worse when you saw him look dejected and lose his smile so quickly because of you.

You moved your arm to touch his and try to support him the best you could within your boundaries but he saw you trying to do it and moved before you could touch him. And that really hurt.

You opened your mouth to try and say that you wanted to say yes, that it wasn’t him and just your job but he put up his hand to stop you and said,”No, I shouldn't have asked, I’m sorry.” before walking out.

After the door shut you just closed your mouth in surprise of how this could all go so wrong before falling on the ground and just sobbing. You were hyperventilating soon and snot was going everywhere but you just didn’t care. You were the therapist, the one who knew all the mental health tips and tricks but you were too broken to think logically and it felt good to just let yourself cry.

This stayed the same for two straight weeks. Bucky rescheduled every meeting and put himself into more missions, especially the more dangerous ones. You would cry yourself to sleep nearly every night and by the morning, your eyes were really puffy and swollen from the night before. Everyone in the tower knew something was going wrong and you could feel their stares of sympathy and worry. You felt terrible but what felt even worse was that you weren’t even speaking with Bucky anymore. And as bad as you felt, you couldn’t help but be even more worried for him. You were prepared to just wallow in your own self-pity and cry for the nth time when Steve knocked on the door and walked in when you were in your office, just drinking chamomile tea and looking at the flowers Bucky got you.

“Hey Doc, how’s it going?” He asked, sitting down and looking worried. You just looked up at him and decided to finally cut the shit and get right to what you were worried about. “Steve, how’s Bucky? And tell me the truth, I’ll find out eventually.” Steve sighed and said, “Honestly he’s not doing great. He looks like crap and is throws himself into missions. Bucky also keeps taking stupid risks that could leave him wounded or even worse. We’ve all spoken with him and he just ignores it. I think the only thing that would really fix him is talking with you. he’s never been like this before, I just don’t know what to do.”

You knew that he would probably tell you the last part, that he feels out of control. Control issues was what you most talked about with Steve during your sessions. Not that you could blame him, you would definitely have them too after everything he has gone through. But that could be discussed in your future sessions with him. Right now, you just wished everything was back to normal.

You nodded sadly, even more worried for him now. But Steve talking to you changed something. You needed to talk to Bucky. And right now. Your fear of rejection was high and you knew there was a fairly high chance that he was too hurt to trust you and that he would probably say no but you didn’t care. Even if he rejected you, you didn’t care. As long as he would be better and your relationship went back to normal, you could live with it. Even if it would take a long time to get better after this, he would be worth it.

So you just looked up, your mind set on what you had to do. “Where is he? I need to find him right now.”

Steve looked up surprised and said, “Uh, in his room I think. He just signed up for another hard mission and we asked him not to but he insisted. He’s probably getting ready since he will have to leave soon.”

After hearing this, you jumped up frantically while yelling “Thank you so much Steve!” as you ran out, not even caring to stop the door from slamming.

Now, even though you worked in a tower full of superheroes, you were only the therapist and still haven’t ran in a while. So you ran and ignored all the stares of the workers and Avengers. When you finally got there, you were out of breath and breathing hard. But still, you worked through your mini heart attack and knock on the door, still frantic.

You heard some rustling behind the door and a few mumbled curse words when he began saying loudly, “Steve, I’m fine. I’m going on that mission whether you think I should or no-” Bucky opened the door and once he saw you, a probably sweaty, red, and gross you, finished with a confused “-not?”

You put up one finger to signal for him to give you a moment to catch your breath. After that, you joked, “Guess I need to workout more.”

“No, I think you look great. Uh, n-not that my opinion matters or anything. If you think you need to work out then that’s what you should do.” He said, nervously stuttering but nodding at his final sentence like by catching it he saved himself from saying something wrong.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “So, how can I help you? I do have to leave on a mission soon though.”

It broke your heart how formally he was speaking, almost like you were complete strangers.

Maybe you should go, you thought. But no, you had to. Bucky was worth the embarrassment you could possibly face, whether you two were going to date or not. Forcing yourself to remember that, you steeled yourself and said, “I’m sorry Bucky, about everything I said. That date sounded amazing, it really did. I wanted to go and I still do. I was just worried about how inappropriate it would be for a therapist to date their patient. I didn’t want your mental health to backtrack and I honestly thought that I was doing the right thing. But I miss you, Buck. I miss you terribly. And you're worth all of the risks to me, you outweigh them all. So please don’t go on that mission, let someone else take the dumb risks. From what I’ve heard you have taken enough for a while. Please, just stay with me and we can talk?” You looked up at him pleadingly and saw him pull out his phone before shutting the door in your face.

That shut door hurt you, but you were prepared for it and sighed. It was too good to be true, you guessed. The fairytale ending, the white picket fence, the handsome husband. You turned around, prepared to walk away with the thought of going back to your apartment and drowning your sorrows in chamomile tea and tissues when you heard the door open behind you and felt a hand grab yours to turn you around.

And there was Bucky, smiling like an absolute idiot. And at first you thought that he was making fun of you, but even then you still thought he looked handsome with that smile. “Sam’s in. He’ll take the mission for me.” He said.

“What?” was all you could muster. You had no idea what he was talking about it sounded almost like... That’s when you heard Sam on speaker phone, “Yep, that’s right sweetheart. I’m gonna do the dumb mission. Kiss Bucky real good for me, sucks I can’t be there to do it myself.” Then you heard Sam make a bunch of kissy noises and that’s when Bucky said, “Enough of him.” And ended the call. Then he grabbed your hand once more and shut the door behind you. He backed you against his door with him so close to you that your chest was touching his.

You were still in shock of your luck when Bucky leaned in and kissed you. You were a little shocked but soon kissed him back, and hard. It was like you were underwater and he was the oxygen. The kiss soon turned rougher and you did not mind at all.

A couple hours later you were both laying on the bed, snuggling and watching a dumb movie that both of you weren’t even paying attention to. You were both just too wrapped up in each other’s presence. “Hey, I think you got some of that exercise you mentioned needing. Maybe we could even do some more if you want.” Bucky said, looking down at you and laughing.

You hit him lightly but couldn’t help from laughing hard as well. Only hours ago you thought that you wouldn’t get anything with Bucky. No happy ending, white picket fence, and with Bucky, the whole package. But no, you got much more than that. So much more.

#bucky x y/n #bucky #bucky barnes #x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcc fanfic #mcu #firstfic #love

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