#now everyone knows how shitty my handwriting is

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

~

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

~

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

~

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

~

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

~

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

~

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

~

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin. 

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good. 

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please. 

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald. 

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously. 

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. “Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

~

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

~

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

~

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking. 

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth. 

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

~

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

~

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

~

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

~

next

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Can you rec me the lawlu must-read classics?

Also, thank you for creating this!! You rock!! ❤️

Hey there, thank you for your aks! We actually collected some classics already so here you go:

Into the Sea by shishiswordsman (E)

He looks around, but the Sunny and their broken off battleground are both vacant. His crewmen and the Straw Hats are far away already, probably congratulating each other for their triumph, which means… No one else saw it happen. No one else knows that Luffy’s — Luffy’s sinking. And Law can’t swim.

talk without speaking by trell (qunlat) (G)

They’ve been fighting for days, in that complicated sort of way where everyone wants to be on the same side and can’t be.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T)

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

Your Pain on My Skin by GinnyRose (T)

In a world where you share your pain with your soulmate, Law had spent many years believing his soulmate probably hated him. And he wouldn't have blamed them – Law had been sick, beaten, shot at and had gone through hell not just once, but several times from when he’d lost his family to when he lost Corazon and in the struggling years after that. But now, at 24 years old, he knew better. Not only did his soulmate hate him, they were bound and determined to pay back every scrape, bruise, and cut ten times over. When Law finally found the bastard, soulmate or not, he just might kill them himself.

Luffy's Law by JadedCoral (G)

Law thoughtlessly starts a rumour about himself, and it doesn't take long for it to boomerang right back to him in the form of a bloody-nosed Luffy.

The Twillight Phone by huliganships (T)

Ace has a shitty handwriting. Is that a 9? A 0? An 8? Who even knows. Certainly not the person that Luffy accidentally texted.

Acclimating by justira (E)

There are things that Law learns the hard way. One is that, if you involve yourself in Luffy's life, the Strawhats will involve themselves in yours. The other is that he is allowed to want, sometimes. In which Luffy is goodness, and light, and love, and the Strawhats all saw it coming.

no matter how much everything hurts by Tsume_Yuki (T)

In a universe where you can accept half the pain your soulmate is feeling, Luffy wishes he could take it all on.

Curiouser by xairylle (E)

Law wondered whether there was any sense to doing this—reading to a younger pirate stripped down to just wearing boxers straddling your equally as naked self. And expected to be turned on while doing so. [LuLaw]

and all the things that keep us here by trell (qunlat) (G)

In which there is an invitation, and Trafalgar Law gets a second chance. (Or: the one where they get married, in secret, at someone else's wedding, and make Usopp late to his.)

My Love For You Is Choking Me by ObsidionWingsofMidnight (T)

Hanahaki disease: an illness born of one-sided love that causes flowers to grow within the infected patient’s lungs. If left untreated it will suffocate the host and kill them. The growth can be removed through surgery, but it will also remove the feelings along with the flowers. It can be cured without side effects if the feelings are returned. Law wished he had died back under Doflamingo’s gun more than ever.

Dots by petiteneko (T)

It all started out as a joke. But, there was some legitimacy to it too… (Soulmate [AU] where your tattoo shows the first thing your soulmate thought when they saw you, but same universe)

What's A 'Closed' Sign Between Friends by teaandtumblr (G)

A tired, hungry surgeon drops in after hours once and Sanji doesn't have the heart to turn him away. What he doesn't expect is for his friend and this doctor to fall in love right under his nose. A 5+1 story.

heartstrings by hopipp (fancy2na) (NR)

A retelling of events had the Ope Ope no Mi given Law a little more than he bargained for. AKA: the red strings au that's probably been done already

Meat Cute by marimoes (T)

“Meat? I’m hearing you correctly? Your dog is named...Meat?” Law asks putting together everything for the first time. His mind swimming much like his dignity at the moment. The man laughs ruffling Meat’s ears, “Yeah. Meat. Because she’s red and white like a good marbled piece of meat.” “And your name?” Law asks, twisting water from his shirt. “Luffy.”

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (M)

Law sneaks into the men's quarters of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro contemplates on how to deal with it. And Luffy, well, Luffy is just Luffy.

Sating Hunger by xairylle (M)

At the end of the day, even with all the major blunders that almost cost him his life, Law decided that this alliance had been worth it. Until he fucked it up by not being able to hold himself back from kissing Monkey D. Luffy.

This Is What Personal Looks Like by JadeFlicker (G)

So Law had thought the Straw Hats had taken the battle with Kaidou as a personal vendetta for all the tears shed by Momosuke and all sorts of new Wano friends. The Hearts captain had been badly mistaken. Apparently, this was what personal looked like. (In which, Law and the Straw Hats will get angry for Luffy when he's not able to.)

Exchanging of the Hearts by KivaEmber (G)

Post-Dressrosa AU. All they did was exchange hearts, just to make the alliance 'til death did them part. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

Falling by chenziee (M)

The timing for Law's heat couldn't have been worse; their attack on Doflamingo was just days away, and here he was, too busy fighting tooth and nail against hormones and disgust. Law would really rather jump into the sea and drown than deal with one minute of this.

-Mod Raiya

#Slow burn #Hanahaki #Soulmates AU #Fandom classics #Fluff #Angst #Angst with Happy Ending #Explicitly Lawlu #Asexual Luffy #Aromatic Law #Asexual Dom #Canon Universe #post-dressrosa #monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #lawlu #lawlu fanfic #lawluffy #lulaw #classics

[sapphicdib]

my headcanon is that nhs thinks that they are more powerful than sliver idk i just feel that they THAT full of themselves

I’m assuming this is about the rot au! I recently added SOS to it, so this was a perfect ask!!

Sliver is local group Senior of a nearby cluster of iterators, which includes Chasing Wind. She never got along with Sig in general, and Moon was on thin ice. Now? She’s fucking PISSED. More below the cut bc this is gonna get LONG (also a transcript in case my handwriting is illegible).

So because the ancients are still alive during the rot au, Sliver hasn’t died yet. She is one of the youngest local group Seniors, one of the first of the mid gen Iterators, (her arm design matches Sig and Wind’s!) so she feels like she has to prove herself to the others. She takes her purpose and duties VERY seriously, so I put Wind in her Group, because his intense personality in relation to his citizens matches more to how Sliver would mentor someone, rather than Moon or Suns. Speaking OF Moon, they have a very tense relationship. Moon is a lot more laid back with her Group because when her personality cores were still stabilizing, her citizens treated her more like an accomplishment, an amazing feat, her construction was met with jubilation! Meanwhile, by the time Sliver was built, she was just another iterator, and meant to work like she was supposed to. Of course there was celebration, but her citizens treated her more as a means to an end, so she picked up on this and integrated it into her personality. When she was first put online, she did idolize Moon quite a bit, but eventually came to see her as a kinda shitty leader and too soft on her local group, especially Sig. She refers to Moon as Sig’s “handler” because she thinks he acts incredibly immaturely, and Moon is the one who has to yank his leash any time he gets a bit too annoying (though she doesn’t do a very good job, in Sliver’s opinion).

Sliver does not like Sig. Never has, and this shit has pushed her over the edge. She is incredibly aware of the intense political ramifications Sig and Pebbles’ actions have caused, and as local group Senior, she feels it is her responsibility to calm her group down and prevent them from getting hurt. She knows certain factions of citizens want to literally kill their iterators thanks to this, and if one of her group died she would see it as a MASSIVE failure on her part. She thinks it would make everyone think that she is an incompetent leader. In terms of her relationship with Pebbles, she still didn’t like him before, but she at least respected the fact he actually had a drive to solve the great problem, unlike Sig. Now she blames him for this mess as well, and is just as pissed at him.

As the news of this unfortunate development spreads, many workgroups are created, all with different goals. Some want to find a cure for the rot, to help calm Sig and Pebbles back down and hopefully repair their relationships with their citizens. Others are considering joining them, terrified of their citizens’ reactions and confiding in one another about what they should do. Sliver wants them dead. She is in a small workgroup that is attempting to find a way to straight up deactivate Sig and Pebbles to restore order. The problem is, she is not their senior and has no seniority privileges over them, so she has to figure out a way to take matters into her own hands.

Wind…Wind is Sig’s best friend. He is barely 50 cycles older than her, and despite Sliver’s VEHEMENT disapproval, they are very close. He plays video games with Sig and rants about his citizens being annoying, he actually drops his stoic personality around him and can chill out for a little while. However, despite the fact that he demands his citizen’s respect and is practically a dictator over his city, he is terrified of them. So, he took initiative when he was put online and scared THEM into submission before they had the chance to. Now? He’s even more afraid. He thinks his citizens will take the first opportunity to deactivate him in a form of rebellion. At first, he’s part of workgroups to try to find a cure, but eventually joins a few groups that are considering joining Sig and Pebbles. As the rot gets worse and he watches Sig’s personality get more and more corrupted, he realizes there’s no way to cure this in time, and…that’s a spoiler I might keep to myself for now >:3€

Thank you for being interested in my silly au!! I’ve actually started writing it, and chapter 1 is almost done! Feel free to send more asks x3

————

TRANSCRIPT:

SOS: This idiotic stunt of yours has gone too far. I am not asking you to fix this. I am telling you to.

CW: Sig…

SOS: Quiet, Wind.

SOS: I fail to understand why your handler refuses to do anything. You take Moon’s foolish mercy for granted. I will not be so kind.

NSH: PFFT!

NSH: “Handler”? Well that’s a new one~

NSH: Unfortunately for you,

NSH: You have no power over me.

NSH: No one does anymore.

#rain world #rain world downpour #no significant harassment #sliver of straw #rain world au #my art #rot au #rw #letters

[moonyssmommyy]

My Marauders Headcanons Pt. 3 ~ Remus John Lupin

(Daniel Sharman as Remus Lupin makes sooo much sense, in my head. I mean he is soggy, wet dog of a man like Remus. He plays a werewolf on Teen Wolf. He has the hair, and if cocky, cool Remus is your thing he can pull that off too. Also there's a pic of him in a cowboy hat for all the Cowboy!Remus going on rn)

Hes an old man at heart and he always has been

He's very awkward, like if it weren't for the marauders he'd probably have like no friends

He actually gets along with everybody despite the facts he's awkward as hell

Became friends with The Pantheons/Slytherin Skittles/The Emeralds (whatever your preferred term is) after the prank

Light Academia aesthetic

He looks so funny sitting there wearing his light clothes next to them in all their dark ones

Still as cute as ever

He is not the smartest marauder

I mean in book sense yes but absolutely nothing else

He's awkward as fuck, and he's about as creative as a piece of cardboard

He's not emotionally intelligent either he gets even more awkward when people start crying

He has some psychological/ mental intelligence but not much

He's become best friends with Evan and Regulus

Barty reminds him a lot of James and he's thankful for that because he really missed James

He didn't talk to Sirius for months after the prank

Didn't talk to James either as he was on Sirius' side

Remus had expected it but it still hurt

Peter was there though and he'll forever be grateful for that

When he finally did start talking to James again it was like nothing had ever happened, but when he started talking to Sirius again everything was different

Remus' words were calloused, and cold he hadn't called Sirius padfoot or pads since the prank

Sirius hated that

Hated Snape even more after the prank too

His favorite color is actually brown, he says it's green to seem less boring but that's actually his second favorite color

Smokes Marlboro Light 100s

Fav class is Astronomy but best class is DADA

He's thoughtful and very, very observant

His fav muggle candy is Mr. Goodbar's

Tried on Sirius' leather jacket once and wants to get one of his own now

Really enjoys being the little spoon but he's so tall (that's why Barty is a good snuggle buddy)

Love Languages are Quality Time and physical touch

He prefers to receive physical touch and just spend time with you bc he doesn't really know how else to express himself

Mama's boy just like James

But he really loves his dad too

He fucking loves dinosaurs

So does Peter, they can talk about them for hours

Remus and Peter are variants of each other

Remus is a nerd from hell 😭

It's ok he's cute tho

Remus is naturally left handed but he learned to write with his right hand bc writing of the superstition that surrounds it

James and McGonagall are the only ones who know

So everyone thinks Remus has super shitty handwriting, when it's actually really good

He writes very small and neat

Didn't actually make up with Sirius until there were only a couple months left in their last year

#remus lupin my beloved <3 #remus lupin #moony #remus is a baby #Remus my babyyy #Marauders #marauders headcanons #Marauders Era #Remus Lupin Headcanons #Remus John Lupin #Gryffindor Headcanons #Quidditch commentator Remus #Gryffindor #Harry Potter Headcanons #Harry Potter #The marauders #Marauders fancast #Marauders fancasts #Marauders fandom #Marauders Headcanon #Marauders hc #Marauders Harry Potter #Moony Wormtail Padfoot and Prongs #Mwpp #Mwpp era #awkward remus lupin #loser remus #marauders #james potter #marauders era

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

this was supposed to be longer but i got tired (and realized maybe this wasn't such a good idea) so i kinda bs'd this to just finish it up. sorry it doesn't look all that good lol

transcript of my shitty handwriting + more rambling under cut

panel 1:

len: rin, just leave him—

rin: NO! i'm not going to give up now—

len: i know you're upset, but all you're doing is—

rin: HE'S NOT GONE YET!

panel 2:

rin: i know he still remembers, he has to...

panel 3:

rin: kaito-san, it's me; rin. you tried singing one of len and i's songs the other day. you got the melody right, remember? meiko-san's birthday is soon. remember her? a few weeks ago you said you needed to buy her a present. what were you going to get her? do you remember? tell me.

---

aight yea so this is what yall get for picking that ❄️📺❔🕚💾🪦 option on the poll (which btw was related to this drawing)

i'll just keep it simple: basically kaito gets dementia (or i guess the robot equivalent of it??). yeah.

not sure if this takes place on the cusp of v3 happening and just this specific kaito v1 module was unable to be updated for some reason? or if they're all still stuck in v2 and v3 hasn't happened yet/will not happen for a while... but i do know its def before v4 happened, so people like fukase and una don't exist yet

anyways though as you might expect, it pretty much sucks all around for everyone involved. not just the other 5 cryptonloids watching their close friend so previously full of life deteriorate into a husk of his former self, but for kaito himself too. he suddenly can't remember things like where he is or who the people around him are, and its incredibly frustrating b/c he knows he did have the memories at some point, its just as if they got misplaced... there's random bits of recollections that do come sometimes but as much as he tries to hold onto them they flicker and fade away just as quick as they appeared. left sinking back into a feeling of hopelessness that then becomes pure emptiness, as you can feel how you're losing yourself but there's quite literally nothing you can do

visually the static is used to represent a lot of that "foggy" feeling as things become more and more unclear, and given the robot/android nature it makes sense i guess? it's not really seen here but just as an actual machine might be when breaking down, his visual + audio processors begin to malfunction, causing a literal static overlay on his vision with faces/objects he can't recognize occasionally glitching out as well as constant white noise in his hearing and the sound of people talking to him becoming garbled and unintelligible. as time goes on he also loses his own ability to synthesize speech so aside from becoming withdrawn and quiet out of fear he'll say something that makes no sense, he then literally just becomes incapable of responding at all

again (as you might expect), the other cryptons aren't doing very well as this is happening. rin and len see kaito almost like a father, so watching one of your parental figures slowly march towards death is... not great. rin (as seen here) is still trying to hold on, because she swears kaito has had a few good days where he does recall more, where he seems much more like his old self, and maybe, just maybe if they wait a bit more he'll get better [tbh she's speedrunning the 7 stages of grief but goes between being stuck in some of the earlier stages its... not good]. len's grief on the other hand is manifesting itself in a way more similar to meiko's: he's not as distant as her, but he has already recognized that there's pretty much nothing that can be done and just wants to minimize kaito's suffering. len's just as shattered as rin though, but he's not showing it openly, figuring he has to accept it, as fighting against the grief like his sister won't help anything.

i just mentioned meiko so speaking of her: this is also probably extremely difficult on her, as, yknow, the counterpart v1 to kaito. she's withdrawn herself away from kaito, as she doesn't want to cause him pain in case he happens to recognize her, remember something about their relationship, but not comprehend what it means and just become confused/distressed. at least, that's what she says; it's more or so she can't bear to see him in this state, as he slowly loses more parts of himself, so she isolates herself in hopes the pain will be somewhat less when its all over, for having seen him less and not having false hopes of his recovery. that being said though she has definitely still been around him and tried to keep her composure... from kaito's pov, in moments of recollection, its disheartening seeing your wife close friend suddenly ignoring you, almost like she's mad or sad about something, but you can't remember why. did you forget to do the laundry? is it something unrelated? you want to ask her but she won't tell you; why? did she already and you just forgot? why...

miku's usual cheeriness has also crumbled, as even with rin's attempts, she can't find anything to be optimistic about in this scenario. she just feels this immense guilt, that she should've done something about this; she has influence as the most popular of the entire group, surely she could do something to make it all better. but aside from the arguments and indecisiveness regarding ethics and not wanting to do something without everyone's collective decision, she does know deep down its not her fault. maybe someone like one of the technicians or programmers would be more at fault, but she doesn't want to blindly throw accusations either, because surely they hadn't foreseen this happening either; nobody would intentionally throw in such a cruel fate for someone, it was an unfortunate system glitch that they were working to fix, but even if they did come up with a patch for it, it would be far too late for kaito at that point. she doesn't want to dwell too much on the logistics of it, miku just wants to be there for everyone else, because she knows how deep in despair the others are—she is too—and doesn't want their whole group to fall apart after such a devastating event.

as for luka: i would assume we're kind of actually seeing everything from her perspective, so as an audience lens she'd be more objective about presenting everything as it is without putting too much of her own bias/thoughts into it. but she's not completely unfeeling either. she tries interacting with kaito quite often, despite some of the others warning her about doing that too much. she tries talking to him about random things, not necessarily aiming to get him to remember anything in specific, though if any of his memories do surface in conversation she'll def address them and ask if he recalls anything more (and if not that's alright too). on some occasions she's been accused of being insensitive, but she doesn't want his death to be this huge tragedy, she would want him to be somewhat happy in his last moments. after everything that's happened, he deserves to leave in peace, in her opinion.

i've mentioned death a few times and there's a literal gravestone in the original emoji combo so safe to say, yeah, he dies. unfortunately the damage to his hardware is beyond repair from the critical/fatal errors and glitches, and it's decided that it'd be best to ultimately just deactivate him and delete all his files to not prolong any pain he might've been in for any longer. not exactly sure what would happen afterwards (aside from an obvious aftermath of the grief): if this is before/on the verge of v3 happening, there's the situation i thought about of them receiving a new replacement v3 kaito module, which has its own angst w/ it: its almost like seeing a fucking ghost, but it's not the same one they all remember, nor does it have all those memories. and this v3 kaito himself experiencing conflicted feelings as someone who was brought in to try and give back happiness to this group, only to seem to cause more despair for being so similar to someone long gone that he'll never truly replace. again though i'm not sure if i'd actually have that happen for the sake of everyone involved's sanity but it is something interesting to think about

i've been typing this for like 3 fcking hours now and i have no idea if this makes any goddamn sense lolol uhhh. like all my things it sounds way better in my head than when i actually put it on paper 😭 but congrats if you actually went thru the effort of reading all this. i might do more explanations like this of my things if anyone's interested, like of the other poll options, but we'll see

#my art lol #vocaloid #kaito vocaloid #rin and len kagamine #yeah im just gonna leave it there b/c i dont really think this deserves to go in the main tags #i dont????????? know man. :') maybe in a few years ill look back and be like 'hmmmmmm wtf was i thinking' #i might delete this later actually i dont know... there is some sort of very cruel irony there if i think about it but im not going to #tho its kinda funny that while i was drawing this is was exclusively alternating between listening to old songs from when i was younger #and listening to love love nightmare. lmaoo. the latter song has absolutely nothing to do w/ this thing but its an interesting composition #unintentionally that last panel kaito came out SO fucking scary to me. wasn't the intent but idk does that mean anything

[gently-decaying-flowers]

something really sad happened to me

over the summer i ghosted everyone- i was going through a bit of a crisis and it did actually help me out a ton but it wasn’t great for my friends

i was really good friends with this girl last year…. and when i ghosted everyone it was a lot more extreme with her. i explained how i felt like i didn’t really fit in with her anymore, because i didn’t. i felt weird and outcast, probably because i was the only queer one in our trio too- but that’s not the point.

i’m involved in a production at my school right now, last night was opening night- and there’s this thing where audience members can write little post it’s to the cast.

it’s important to note here that i have some weird photographic memory when it comes to faces, posture, and handwriting. i can easily identify people.

anyways- i thought i saw her in the audience but i wasn’t sure until she wrote me a letter. she didn’t sign her name but i knew her handwriting. it actually brought me to tears because i realize how badly i miss talking to her.

so today i messaged her, explaining that what i did was shitty and i’m sorry. i don’t deserve forgiveness, or expect it… but she hasn’t even opened the message. if anything i just want her to see it.

i know she probably won’t forgive me, and that bond will be hard to build again. but i miss her a lot. and i’m really happy she wrote me something, it means she doesn’t despise me at the least.

#eden rambles #it made me so sad #i feel awful really #she was such a good friend- it’s not her fault i didn’t know who i was #it’s not her fault i didn’t feel like myself #i would really love to be her friend again #but maybe we both changed too much

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter 2: "Misfire"

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair (the kid), Tech.

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair can handle his first jump to hyperspace...until he can't.

Available on AO3 here

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Crosshair knelt beside his bunk, packing his bag quietly.

The bag had actually been packed for months now. It was a standard bug-out bag filled with provisions, jumpsuits, a short-range comm set, and a first aid kit. Still, he moved the contents around. Checking and rechecking the inventory list. Drawing it out for as long as it took for Fett to look for him.

Behind him Hunter and Wrecker threw each other to the ground on the training mat, punching and tickling each other, challenging the other to say “I surrender” first. Half the time this game ends in exhaustion and no victor…or tears from Wrecker and Hunter relenting to calm him down. 

Pulling out a small box hidden at the foot of his bunk, Crosshair looked through his Max Reebo discs, deciding which ones to bring. Would he have time to listen to music? It calmed him down during the worst storms on Kamino. Where was he going? Would it be loud? Would it be bright?

Am I being punished?

“Where are you going?” Said a clipped Core World accent that his brother, Tech, had been practicing for weeks.

Crosshair didn’t turn around. “Out.”

“That…is evident,” Tech huffed, kneeling beside Crosshair. “Don’t take the discs. If you break them, they’ll be gone forever. It was hard enough smuggling them in.”

Crosshair put the discs away, and instead pulled out a small, torn poster of Figrin D'an And The Modal Nodes. Written in silver marker were the words: “To Crosshair, the best sniper  - Figrin D’an”. Tech said the personalized autograph was authentic, but Crosshair recognized Tech’s handwriting when he saw it, the too-neat s’s, the perfectly circular o’s. 

It was his prized possession.

He refolded the poster and tucked it into his pocket.

“They’re sending me away to train with a bounty hunter.”

“Well, that sounds exciting.”

Crosshair grunted quietly. 

“Is it not exciting?” Tech pressed.

Crosshair recounted his ration bars.

“Crosshair?” Tech asked. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well I’m not using what the Regs call you. It’s not accurate.”

“Yeah?” Crosshair snarled, defensively. “I knew your eyesight was bad, but even you saw how shitty I did in the last test. I dropped my rifle! It fell thirty meters and blasted a hole through the scoreboard.” 

Tech flinched a little at the eyesight comment. Crosshair flinched, too.

“My sight isn’t the issue and your name isn’t ‘Misfire’. Mistakes happen. Everyone makes them.”

“Not Regs, apparently. Just me. I’m the reason they call us the Bad Batch.”

“That isn’t true. They call us that because…” Tech frowned as if searching for an adequate answer. The longer he stalled the worse Crosshair felt. “...Jealousy for one,” Tech said, finally. “ And I heard on some planets people say ‘bad’ when they mean ‘good’. ‘Badassery’ is a word I’ve heard the seasoned clones say many times.”

“You’re making that up.”

Tech tugged at his new goggles magnifying his eyes three fold. “I never make up fun facts, you know this.”

Crosshair didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t trust his voice not to crack.

Blinking away tears was second nature to Crosshair, especially recently with the slew of mistakes he’d been making. He blinked rapidly at Tech, then threw his arms around him in a gruff hug. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone. Don’t let Wrecker push you around. If he gets too rough, tell Hunter.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Tech huffed. “...But I’ll miss you too.”

The door slid open and Crosshair immediately let his brother go. 

“Let’s go, CT-9904,” Fett said. 

Crosshair gave Tech a gentle punch on the arm. “See you soon,” he lied. He had no idea when he’d be back. Maybe months or years . 

What if I never see him again?

“What? Crosshair’s leaving?” Hunter asked, voice muffled through the headlock Wrecker trapped him in. 

Crosshair walked out behind Fett, clutching the straps of his bug-out bag and sniper rifle tightly. He didn’t look back.

“Where’s he goin’?” Wrecker asked as the door closed behind him.

It was hard not to stare at the blue alien walking alongside him. His eyes were perfectly round glowing bulbs set behind mean, narrow slit eyelids. He had no nose, his lips were thin and grim, fangs razor sharp, and his brow was one long ridge that raised and lowered dramatically with his mood. The left ridge raised at Crosshair. 

“What’s the matter, kid? Never seen a Duros before?”

Crosshair looked away. A Duros. He committed this to memory so he could tell Tech all about him when he got back. 

If I come back…

The docking platform’s doors opened and suddenly the Duros was the second most interesting thing Crosshair had seen that day.

Ship designs were an important part of Crosshair’s daily studies, mostly how to take them down in a dogfight. He’s seen hundreds of ships in his lessons. He’s never seen any ship like this. It reminded him of the scorpions of Tatooine, the engine raised like a threatening stinger, wings spread like they’d sprout claws to grab unsuspecting prey.

He almost smiled.

The Duros must have noticed. “Welcome to the Justifier , kid.” 

The ramp came down and Crosshair all but ran inside. His squad had been in simulation pods, but only Reg cadets were allowed trips on dropships. Hunter said they’d have plenty of time to fly in ships later, one day they’d have a ship of their own. For special missions. Crosshair remained skeptical. Hunter said a lot of things.

If Tech were here, he’d probably tell Crosshair exactly what kind of ship it was, the specs inside, how quickly it can prep a jump to hyperspace, the brand of the main compressor and what year it was made.

“Have a seat and strap in. Make yourself comfy, but not too comfy. This here’s temporary lodgings until we get to the ranch.”

Ranch? What’s a ranch?  

Crosshair said nothing. 

Cad hit the control panel and the ramp shrank back into the ship’s belly, the door sliding shut. Crosshair thought - too late - to take one last look at Kamino before it was gone. By the time he turned around, the door was shut. That was it. No goodbyes. 

There was a small puddle at his feet where the cool, crisp rain had collected. 

He put the toe of his boot in it.

It rippled.

“Strap in, kid. This ol’ girl gets a’might bumpy at Jump. Don’t reckon Jango’ll pay me if you’re a splatter on the wall.”

There were four seats in the common area with proper straps. Crosshair climbed into the largest one. There were claw marks on the edges of the armrest. 

“That’s Bossk’s chair,” Cad said, grabbing the buckles and straps, handing them to Crosshair. “He ate the last person who tried to steal his spot.”

Crosshair snorted. 

Cad wasn’t laughing. 

Crosshair’s face fell. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him who sat here last,” Cad sneered. 

While Crosshair strapped himself in, Cad watched, as if to make sure he did it properly. It was a four strap system that fastened to a disc over his chest. The disc was new, but the straps looked ancient. They didn’t fit crisply like they did in the simulation pods.

“Need help?”

“I know how to secure straps,” Crosshair said, irritably.

“Yeah? All I see are fumbling fingers. Hurry up, before the storm pushes us off the platform.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, his vision hitting a snag when he noticed the chair across from him was covered in small cuts, the leather melted as if assaulted by a vibroblade. “A.S. Wuz Here.” was carved in the chair back.

“Who is A.S.?” Crosshair asked, securing the fourth strap after a bit of adjusting. It popped out as soon as he let go.

Cad knelt down and batted Crosshair’s hand away, securing each strap then tightening them until Crosshair felt like he was part of the chair. “That’d be Aurra Sing. Be thankful Jango asked me to train you and not her. She hates kids.”

Crosshair raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you like them?”

“No. Not really.”

“Me neither,” Crosshair said, thinking of the Regs whispering and snickering at him whenever he walked by.

Cad snorted or maybe scoffed. It was hard to tell. “Well, we’re gonna get along just fine then.” He tilted his hat up, his glowing red eyes seemed to give off a menacing heat, or maybe Crosshair was just nervous. 

I want to make people nervous like this. With just a look. A mean look. 

“I got two rules on this ship: Stay out of the cockpit. Stay out of my quarters. Everywhere else is fair game. Follow that n’ we’ll get along fine. Break a rule, you get a trip to the airlock. Sound good?” 

Authority figures often threatened him and his brothers with punishment whenever they broke a rule, but this was the first time Crosshair actually believed an adult would follow through on a threat. 

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t sir me. Bane’s fine.”

Was Fett the only person allowed to call him “Cad”?

Crosshair decided not to ask.

“Yes, Bane,” Crosshair said.

Seemingly pleased, Bane gave a final tug to Crosshair’s straps and stood up. “Brace yourself.”

Brace himself? What did that mean? Panic was starting to sink into his bones. He had never been on a ship before. He had never been in hyperspace before. The clone troopers had armor for a reason when flying their ships. The g-forces could kill them without it. And Crosshair was in a jumpsuit. He wouldn’t get armor until he graduated to adulthood. 

He shut his eyes as the ship started to hum and whirr all around him.

Tech wouldn’t panic. 

Tech would adjust those new goggles of his.

What would Tech say?

Probably say something snarky like…“Obviously, you don’t need armor if Cad Bane is wearing clothes pulled directly out of a ‘Fistful of Credits’ holodrama.”

It made him feel better…

…for all of five seconds. 

There was a high-pitched squeal like a broken valachord, the pressure hitting his chest like Wrecker was sitting on it. 

Two Wreckers maybe…

…three…

Dark space clouded his vision.

I’m fine. Tech would be fine. I’m going to be f-

He passed out.

“Another black eye?” Tech asked, not looking up from his datapad. 

“Same eye, just more black,” Crosshair sneered, climbing past his own bunk and onto Tech’s. “What’re you reading?”

“Who hit you?” 

“Does it matter? Regs are all the same.”

“Hmm,” Tech flicked the holoprojector mode on and a planet, infected with an uninterrupted mass of buildings, floated in front of them. “I’m studying ecumenopolises.”

“What are they?”

“City-planets. Denon, Coruscant, Axxila, they cleared away the natural history of the planet making way for cities built upwards, the height depending on the population growth and class systems in place. Oftentimes the lower-income citizens are relegated to the lower levels of the city, or sent to the hemisphere opposite of the wealthier sectors. Weather patterns on these planets are regulated and usually temperate. 

“Looks loud,” Crosshair said, not really understanding what he meant. 

“Does it? Hmm…” Tech never made fun of Crosshair’s short, blunt statements, always considering each word carefully. Crosshair felt heard around his brother, even when he didn’t think anyone was listening. “That makes sense. Your eyes are designed to be sharper than most clones. As a sniper it’s an imperative feature. The bright flashes of lightning are too much for you. ‘Loud’ is a poetic way of looking at this planet. Yes, these cities are loud, especially Coruscant with many reflective solar-powered surfaces on their buildings. I’d hate to be stuck in traffic at dawn or dusk. I can only assume they have polarized shields for their speeders.”

Crosshair gingerly touched his cheek. It was swelling up. “Think we’ll see Coruscant one day?”

“I’m counting on it. It’s the heart of the Republic.” Tech looked up at Crosshair, brow knitting. “If Coruscant turns out to be too loud, tell me. I can construct polarized lenses for you until you grow used to it.”

Crosshair rested his chin on Tech’s shoulder, watching the planets cycle by. “Thanks, Tech.”

“Kid?”

Five more minutes, Techie…

“Hey, kid. Wake up.”

Wake Wrecker up first...

There was a click and a sudden relief of pressure on his chest. Crosshair snapped awake with a gasp, muscles tensing, his hand reaching for his sniper rifle’s strap which…wasn’t there. 

When his vision cleared, two glowing eyes stared at him under a furrowed brow. Bane was sneering again. “Welcome back. Y’know, Jango coulda warned me you’ve never made a jump to hyperspace before.”

“I’ve been in sssimulations,” Crosshair hissed. 

Bane shoved a water bottle into Crosshair’s hands then plopped himself into Aurra Sing’s chair, leaning back. He rested his boot on his ankle, slouching like a holodrama blasterslinger.

Crosshair slouched too…but his legs were too short to pull off the same position.

“Drink.”

Crosshair did, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cold water hit his throat. It’s never cold in the facility. Everything is room temperature. Even the food.

“Guess they don’t add artificial G-forces to the sims, huh? I reckon, this old ship’ll probably hit ya harder than any government-issued starfighter would.”

“It’s no big deal,” Crosshair hissed again, his irritation showing through with the small impediment.

Bane tilted his head, amusement spreading across those thin lips. Somehow, the expression wasn’t as infuriating as the sneers the Regs threw at him. It felt…knowing. Maybe this was a normal reaction to someone’s first hyperspace jump.

“We’ll be on Dantooine in a couple of hours.”

Crosshair perked up. A location. Dantooine. It sounded familiar.

“Is that a…” Crosshair frowned. “An…Acutetopolis?”

By Bane’s blank stare, Crosshair knew he pronounced the damn word wrong. “Nevermind.”

“A what?” Bane asked, brow ridge raised.

Crosshair felt his ears grow hot with answer. “I sssaid nevermind.”

“Starsdamn, kid, you really give up too easy. You wanna know somethin’, just ask again.”

“Is it a city-planet?” Crosshair tried again.

“Ah, an ecumenopolis,” Bane said. “And no. It ain’t. The opposite actually. We’re goin’ to one of my old hideout for yer training. Somewhere you can get a real lesson of what life’s like outside yer little sterile world. By the time we’re done, you’ll be able to snipe shit off a fly’s back.”

Crosshair was a little disappointed it wasn’t a city-planet, but then again Tech hadn’t made him his special goggles yet. And with the promise of being a better sniper? Maybe this wasn’t a punishment after all.

He took another sip of water. 

“So…” Bane reached into his belt and pulled out a toothpick, popping it into his mouth. “You've never been off-planet, but you know about ecumenopolises. What else did they teach ya about the galaxy at large?”

“That’s classified,” Crosshair responded automatically.

“Ya sound like yer old man.”

“My what?”

“Yer dad. Jango Fett.”

“We don’t have parents. I’m a copy of Fett. Engineered to be an elite sniper.”

Bane snorted a laugh. “Well ain't that some rote kraytspit.”

Crosshair wished Tech could tell him what “rote” meant. He stayed quiet.

“So is that why you look like that? Why you sound like that?”

Even the Regs had asked him why his voice was modulated. Someone said he sounded like a rabid rattlesnake. It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment, but Crosshair took it as one. “I’m engineered to be quiet. So I’m quiet.”

“Can’t call out for help then?”

“We have comms.”

“What if you need to shout, though?”

“My blaster rifle shouts for me.”

“Heh,” Bane cracked a smile. “Got an answer for everythin’, huh?”

Crosshair didn’t answer that.

“You ever meet Boba?”

“Who?”

“So…Jango keeps his precious little son away from the soldiers. Figures…”

“I’m not just a solider, that’s what the Regs are,” Crosshair snarled. “I’m in an elite squad. I’m built to be spec…special .” It was a shitty time for his voice to crack, but Crosshair hated that word. “Special”. 

But it’s the word the trainers used. It’s the word the scientists used. If he wasn't Special, he was a failure.

Bane dropped his leg and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He noticed that slip-up too. “Special, huh? Best of the best?”

“Look out, here comes Misfire.”

All the Reg cadets hit the deck, then rolled over laughing.

“It’s just what they tell me.” Crosshair murmured.

“So ya don’t think yer all that special?” Bane asked.

“The bad batch! Why do they look like that? Why does he hiss like that? Were their tubes cracked? Bet they don’t last past year five.”

Crosshair shrugged, clutching the empty water bottle now. He picked at the label.

“That’s yer problem, kid. Ya lack conviction. No spine. Too embarrassed to ask about city-planets because you fucked up a mouthful of a word like ‘ecumenopolis’, ya get frazzled seein’ droids swarmin’ yer bell tower. Bet your head’s tellin’ ya all sorts of things. A whole heap of voices cloggin’ up your focus. Or maybe it’s not your voice…maybe it's the other kiddos? They got nicknames for ya, kid?”

“My name’s not kid,” Crosshair growled, the bottle crinkling in his grip.

“Oooh,” Bane sneered. “There’s a lil bite to your bark. Alright, fine, but I ain’t callin’ ya by a bunch of numbers. What’d ya wanna be called?”

“Crosshair? Nah, you’re Misfire. And that’s because “Shaky Sniper” is too long.”“We could call him Shaky.”

The whole table erupted in laughter.

Crosshair stopped at the table. He handed his milk to Tech. He calmly placed his sandwich and apple on the table, then tested the weight of the tray.

Satisfied, he slammed the tray into the laughing Regs’ faces. One, two, three Regs fell off the bench seat to the ground. The fourth Reg ran away reporting to the Lieutenant on duty. 

The sight of Regs crying usually cheered Crosshair up, but he was branded “Misfire” now. 

No one was going to see him differently.

“CT-9904,” he tried. 

“Nope. 'Kid' it is,” Cad said, standing up. “Get some rest. Find somethin’ to eat. Soon as we land we’re gonna be up to our eyeballs in fabools. Better be ready.”

What’s a fabool?

Crosshair opened his mouth…could hear Regs laughing at the hiss in his voice...then shut his mouth again.

“Fuck’s sake, kid, stop bein’ yellabellied and ask me.”

“What’s a fabool?”

Bane sneered. “You’ll see.” And with that he climbed up the ladder towards the cockpit, shutting the hatch behind him.

Crosshair grumbled. “Cheeky prick.”

Whatever a fabool was, he hated was gonna hate it. 

And I’m not yellabellied either , Crosshair thought. Whatever that means.

#bad batch crosshair #the bad batch #cad bane #star wars the clone wars #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #bad batch tech #The First Toothpick

[marchsfreakshow]

Poems - Sea Salt [JPM x reader]

I fucking love this gif so much He's so fucking handsome.

I may make more cause i like showing my poems to y'all this way.

This may be considered a continuation of the first one.

Main warning!: Suicide mentions.

Extra warning: fluffy to all hells and puppy nickname (Ik some people are weird about that)

James' perspective (I'm sorry in advance)

~~~~~~~~~

I had walked past the empty bar and spotted a notepad out of the corner of my eye. It distracted me, so I turned around and looked at the open page. There was another poem by my Y/N, it was less scribbly and more professional looking. I wondered if they had been able to get a job writing poems. Either way, they were divine poems in my eyes, whether they agreed or not. The yellow pages almost blended into the bar table, like no one had seen it before. My thoughts took over me, wondering what it was about, I hadn't read it correctly, just skimming over the words.

The title captived me though. "Sea Salt." Footsteps stopped immediately once I said the title, I couldn't tell who they were though, footsteps come past me every day. "Shit..." It was Y/N, the voice confirmed it. Her worry sounded genuine, but I paid no mind to it. They had no reason to worry, so I stood up and smiled widely at them. "Can I read this poem my sweet bird? I want to know what it is by this title."

"It's..just..about the sea. Wrote it when I thought of the beach." They mentioned nonchalantly. It confused me, there must be more to it, I saw hints of suicide when I skimmed through it. "You miss a lot of things when you're dead and stuck in one place." That came out more as a mutter, so I simply nodded in response, wanting them to go on about the poem idea. I loved hearing their voice, it filled me with satisfaction I don't believe murder could top. Killing is genuinely an excellent way to pass the time, however, I suppose for Y/N it was writing or drawing.

"I must be boring you darling I'm sorry." They sighed, but I shushed them quickly and tightly wrapped my arms around them.

"You are never boring my sweet. Will you allow me to read it? Having a fresh pair of eyes can help you." Although it made me sad, the thought of ending one's own life is taught in a poem. But, staring into Y/N's eyes, I hoped they would allow me, giving them confidence about their writings. In the right hands, poems and stories can be wonderful things, and my little bird's work indeed was beautiful, even more so if they're reading it out loud.

Y/N reached behind me and picked up the pad, facing the page to me and hiding their own face. Taking it out of their hands, I started to read, already entranced by their handwriting. "Well, this is it. Im staring down at the water. It's lifting its head up to meet me. Why would you bend me this way? Leaving a beach with shells, crabs, and seas as friends." I took a breath after the first verse, thinking about how Y/N would often tell me family stories whenever they went to the beach. Whether it was a vacation or a sunny day in the hot summer, their family would take them, and make sure everyone saw how the sun's reflections made the water glisten like a sparkling diamond, or the sparkle in their beautiful eyes, which I could forever get lost in.

"James, how do you make my shitty poems sound so, alluring?" I was still holding onto their waist, their voice muffled due to my shoulder now being a pillow. A chuckle escaped my lips as I gave them a glance, reaching over to give y/n a kiss on their pretty little head.

"The air wasn't as crisp as it used to be. It became warm while I leaned in closer to my friend. It was panicking."

"It didn't know what to do. It couldn't help. It could only let the sea hold me up. But that is just a fantasy. A fantasy of the sea. Smelling the salts on the rocks, I opened my arms and let the sea take me away." Y/N finished, still not looking up from my shoulder. As soon as they did, I put the notepad down, picked Y/N up, and put them on the bartop, not caring what anyone else thought. A blush brushed their gorgeous face, now making eye contact with me.

"who's 'it' puppy?" While I only called them puppy when we were having intercourse, I had to get their attention so they could explain. My hands caressed Y/N's sides, gently, I hate letting go of them. I could have sworn I saw their blush deepen when I said their nickname. But the darkness of the bar did not help me in the slightest. Only light enough so I could read the words on the tinged page. Black on a mute yellow, the black was enhanced, like how Y/N's soft lips were enhanced the moment they licked their lips subconsciously. "Well?" I mentioned quietly, giving them a smile again. Their roaming hands mimicked mine, teasing me at the wrong time. Distracted or not, I would get an explanation out of my pretty puppy.

" 'It' is the sea animals mentioned earlier. They can't do anything about me wanting to fall to my death." Giggles escaped their lips as a concern spread over my own face. Immediately, I hoped this wasn't recounting a genuine attempt at something so foolish, and their giggles worried me more and more. especially since they were now avoiding my harsh gaze, eyebrows furrowed in worry and anger. Soon enough, they noticed my concern and stopped, letting me lean on one of their hands. A heavy sigh left their sensual lips, avoiding the gaze I was giving them. "Dad died on one of our trips. He was my best friend.."

"Oh, my pretty girl..." I exclaimed, promptly holding them close to my own cold body. "My love you should have never considered ending your life because of your father's death. Would he want you to carry on your life?" Their sobs were quiet but apparent, so I gave them a kiss on each of their cheeks and wiped away the tears with the pad of my thumb.

I held them close, letting them cry until I picked them up again, and walked them to our shared room. Gently, I placed them on the bed, being delicate with them still. Y/N's sobs and cries stopped, and I lay next to them, hushing them still and kissing their forehead occasionally. "I love you my pretty bird, don't worry about your wonderful little head about the memories," I spoke, but in a hushed whisper. They fell asleep, so I kept a hand on their hand and soon fell asleep after they did so.

#ahs #evan peters #ahs hotel #james patrick march #james march x reader #james patrick march x reader #jpm x reader #american horror story #hotel #sobbing #proper cried writing this. #JPM my love #possible jpm smut #ahs fandom #Id let him fu- #pretty bird #want to kiss him fr #x reader #fluff #fluffy #JPM

[ramiliadoesstuff]

(Excuse my shitty handwriting and messy sketches 🥹)

A few days ago, I said I would make an oc whose main purpose was to be a Noelle simp.

And guess what? I did! I present to You Richard Ashley!

He’s a really old oc, who I’ve revived and decided he had an interesting design to go to waste. His story is still a little work in progress but I am pleased with what I have come up with so far.

Little notes on Ricky under the cut~ (they’re more like story dump)

—he’s an earth mage, a really strong one.

—he doesn’t look like it, but despite his rough appearance he’s an actual softie.

—for 17 years he went by Ricky, because that’s what everyone called him and he didn’t know his actual full name or last name, so he was always just Ricky.

—he was born in a special lap in the Diamond Kingdom as a test subject to see if they can make strong soldiers who lack personality and general human emotion to make them the perfect soldiers.

—as you can guess, Ricky was a failed experiment and was meant to be disposed of until he was saved by Licht (Patry) when he was 9, and since then he devoted himself to the eye of the midnight sun’s cause, and he developed a hatred to his birth country and vowed to bring their end all on his own.

—now, how does he meet Noelle? He meets her in Nean.

—when Finral invites Asta to come to a mixer with him, he invites Noelle instead of Luck. And there, Noelle and Ricky meet for the first time

—why was Ricky at the mixer? Because he was trying to gather any information for Licht at the time, and he found out that a black bull member was doing a mixer so he decided to test his luck and see if he can get in on it, and he does.

—since he’s a motherfucker, he knows how to woo Noelle off her feet immediately, and after Asta throws away that man who was touching Rebecca, Noelle and Ricky were left together and he was able to really get through to her with a sob story.

—and since Noelle have had a rough upbringing herself, she felt like she could relate to him and slowly started opening up to Ricky. Within a week he knew a lot about Noelle and some details about the royal families.

—when Asta goes to see Rebecca to play with her siblings, Noelle goes with him to see Ricky, and there he meets Gauche when he was playing with the kids.

—after the battle with the eye of the midnight sun in the cave, Licht abandoned Ricky to himself as he was taken as a hostage. When Noelle finds out that he was part of the Midnight sun, she gets angry and throws every insult under the sun at him, and Ricky just takes it because he knows he’s a piece of shit for taking advantage of her trust.

—some shit happens after the traitor incident, and Ricky gets released under the Black Bulls’ watch. So Yami is forced to make him a member.

—no one trusts him at all, specially Noelle and Gauche.

—Asta is the only person that talks to him because he doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body and believe that Ricky deserves a second chance.

—during the entire mission in seabed temple, Ricky is trying to make it up to Noelle who’s hell bent on ignoring him, but Ricky sticks to her side when Veto arrives.

—the scar on his forehead is from Veto, he was protecting Noelle when Veto clawed at him.

—after the seabed mission, Noelle starts talking to him again, but she doesn’t trust him at all still.

—when it’s revealed that Asta won’t be able to use his arms after what Veto did to him, Ricky is the first one to actively try and look for a cure because he felt like he owed Asta for being there for him at his worst, So Ricky owed it to him to be there for Asta at his own worst.

—when Noelle and Finral leave to see Fanzell, Ricky goes with them. And he’s shocked to learn that one of the strongest commanders of Diamond was a refugee in Clover.

—Fanzell recognises Ricky, and he reveals that After he managed to escape, the diamond scientist couldn’t get any more living test subjects from the experiment that Ricky was born from. And that Ricky was the only successfully living subject.

—after the witches forest and successfully getting Asta’s arms healed, Ricky has a talk with Mars about how their country needed to change and that he’s willing to help in whatever way he can. Thus indicating that the hatred Ricky harboured for Diamond was changed by the urge to change it into a better place for the next generations to come after.

—before parting ways, Fanzell tells Ricky that when he left Diamond he had taken some test files with him to ensure that the scientist won’t be able recreate any successful experiment, and that Ricky’s file was with him still, and it contained information about his Parents (more accurately the sperm donor and the surrogate). And tells him if he’s interested, he can give him the file to read.

—Ricky agrees, and a few days later he get’s a pigeon from Fanzell with the file.

—he finds out a lot about himself, that his father was a high and respected commander in Diamond and that his mother came from a long line of strong earth mages.

—his parents were also married, which shocked Ricky because he thought they were just two random people brought together by the crazy scientist of Diamond.

—after reading the file, he officially submits his papers to the Magic Knights headquarters to officially join the Black Bulls as “Richard Ashley”.

—the rest is kind of unclear to me on what his story goes on from here, but somewhere along the lines he and Noelle get back on good terms and fall in love.

—his feelings for her start developing somewhere around the elf arc and by the spade arc he’s sure of his feelings.

—Noelle has been developing a crush on him around the royal knights exam, she realizes she loved Ricky during the six months she spent in Heart away from him.

—they are a “she fell first, but he fell harder” kind of couple I suppose you could say?

—they get together right Before Asta’s award ceremony, and it’s awkward and sweet since Ricky is an affectionate guy and Noelle is easily flustered.

—Asta is their number one supporter, he already called dips on being the godfather of their future first child.

#black clover #My art #noelle silva #my oc’s #BcOC: Richard Ashley #Oc x Canon

[screechthemighty]

Update, I'm still awake, so here's TriMax vol. 1 notes! Again please note these are off the cuff first read reactions and while I tried to get as many major CWs as possible, I may have missed some. In general, assume TriMax is going to have upsetting content at least once per chapter.

TriMax Notes: Volume One

TriMax #1.1: Hero Reborn

Content warnings: mention of a minor being sexually harassed (possibly groped, can’t remember?)

Wolfwood: I’m a minister Barkeep: Oh, good, we need someone for the funerals

…oh, no, Lina RULES

Girl is twelve and deadass cooler than I’ll ever be

“It’s Eriks again” WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN???

To summarize: Lina fought back when harrassed, they took it personal, Vash/Eriks humiliated himself to try and protect her and they shot him anyway and took Lina. Cool!

“This guy’s got the devil’s own luck” that feels like a callback [Note: It was, Trigun 1.7]

So in this timeline he for sure remembers and retired to protect everyone…oof

“Well, that’s who it is. Someone’s gotta show their fangs or someone else is gonna cry.” (WW) Ah yes, the ideological conflict

So they LITERALLY just demolished that place so fast LMAO, Eff around, find out

Backtrack note: Vash responding to the gun with “how cruel” …oof

Vash: drops the gun, catches it, drops the faker in 6 non-lethal shots without hurting Lina Me: HAHA YES!!!

TriMax #1.2: Lina

Wolfwood’s been back like five seconds and they’re already engaging in Sibling Behavior fighting over food

“When the time is right, you’ll know [why I know so much]...for now, let’s just say there’s a debt to settle” UH HUH…

“Your eyes have seen a lot, haven’t they?” (Lina to Vash) Puts in pocket

Gang member: starts monologuing Vash: Absolutely Not *starts approaching with malicious intent*

NOOOO THEY WERE FAMILY…

“In my weakest moment, it was you that protected me.” HELP???

TriMax #1.3: Girls, Bravo!

Okay so Keele is a dick and Vash + WW are going to eat him alive if he actually gets to them

Okay yeah Bernadelli decided to keep rates low by murdering the problem, cool.

“The guy’s an insurance agent! Be careful!” / “Don’t be stupid, he’s obviously a hitman” LMAO

MERYL!! QUEEN!!

MILLY!!!

And then they just go back on vacation after saving his ass AGAIN, I love them

Wolfwood with the hot sauce on OPEN WOUNDS…BRO

Trimax #1.4: Hero Returns

Knives still not having a visible face in flashbacks

“Don’t ever compare us to those faceless vermin” when Knives remains faceless so often himself…hmm

Okay there, one-handed vertical pushup showoff!! Damn!!

BRAD?????

And then they find Vash getting beat up by kids LMAO

Also “Knives knows things about my body that I don’t” is a BIG oof

NOT WW CRAWLING THROUGH THE CROWD FOR FRONT ROW CRIME SEATS

TriMax #1.5: Dancing Revolver

The geranium scene! Interesting how Knives isn’t here this time

Vash using the grenade flash to vanish…his songwriting needs work but his sense of drama is impeccable

So the coat IS bulletproof, explains a LOT

“That’s a real shame. Negotiations have officially broken down!” Oh, Vash

SHOOTING THE LUGGAGE RACKS TO GET THEM!! MY MAN!!!

TriMax #1.6: Sin

Content Warnings: aftermath of a rape/murder seen (lower legs poking out of a sheet, blood, crime-drama level of graphic, basically), references to rape, generally just an upsetting read

“He’s fine” Well. Emotionally, Vash is about to be Very Not Fine.

Vash thinking of both Rem AND Knives and just freezes…oof

“He just couldn’t kill a man in cold blood. His daughter’s murder goes unpunished. Call him weak, but it saved both of us.” OHHHH THERE’S A LOT THERE…

“Vash the Stampede’s idea of ‘kin’ stretches way beyond the norm” AAAAAAAAAAA [Note: obviously this transcription does not capture how shitty my handwriting to when writing that scream]

#screech reads trimax #people are welcome to correct me on CWs I want to make sure they're accurate

[bigmandiego]

INTERVIEW 002 | THE AFTERMATH

also see [ diego’s first interview ] [ diego’s letter ]

Sitting outside of the interrogation room with his father next to him going over things he already knew. Keeping calm. Just answering the questions they asked. Let him answer if Diego didn't know what to say, or didn't want to say anything. Luis Fuentes put a hand on his son's back, pulling him close. "You're a good kid, Diego," he said, "you don't have anything to worry about, here."

"Mr. Fuentes, we're ready for you," one of the recognizable cops said. Leading the two men into the room and letting them sit at a long wooden table. Diego had to find himself thankful these were not New York Detectives, many of which already had run ins with his father, and thoughts of how crooked the man may or may not actually be. He tried to stress to his dad he wanted to keep this all ... above board. The man had given him a grin and a, "don’t worry, papi. I'll be on my best behavior."

Well, so far so good...

"Good evening Mr. Fuentes," a detective that had not been there the last time said. Trying to look friendly, though Diego knew enough to not buy it, but he still gave a wan smile settling in at the table. "We just have a few things we need to follow up on with you on your letter, so we can try to find out where Miss Morrison is, as quickly and safely as possible."

"Of course," Diego said, nodding his head.

We need you to be very clear about what you remember when your letter was delivered. Anything you can remember that you may have missed. Envelopes, anybody you might have seen that seemed out of place, or anything.

"There were no extra envelopes, or anything like that," Diego stated. "I didn't think to look out in the hall for anyone else out there. I was a little shocked to see what looked like Greer's handwriting so I didn't look around for who might have delivered them, I'm afraid. I was pretty shocked."

Then what?

"Well, I read the letter," Diego said slowly. "Then me and Kit talked about what we should do with them, and decided to turn them in. I called my dad and... here we are now."

We greatly appreciate your cooperation in all of this. We're all here to find Greer. Do you think the contents of your letter may hold some clues as to where she could be? This other person mentioned in the letter that Greer said you were with. Would that be Oliver Inoue?

Diego felt his stomach drop a little bit, glancing towards his dad. It wasn't that he was... in the closet, he had considered himself to be Out for a couple years now. It was more like he'd never shown interest in other guys in front of his parents, but if his dad was surprised or put off he made no sign of it. "Yeah, that's him."

Did Greer have any problems with you seeing him, or other people after you'd broken up? Or... While you were together.

Diego cringed so deeply  he felt it in his soul. His dad was a great lawyer, he hadn’t even questioned going to him when all of this went down. But damn, having to talk about his shitty relationship in front of his dad who had been under the impression it had been a perfect relationship was rough. He shook his head. "No, not really. She was never really the jealous sort, that I could tell," that had been more his thing. "And her and Ollie are friends, even after we'd... been seeing each other." He held back any unnecessary details. That the relationship hadn't been that serious (a lie), that it had been a rebound thing (had it just been that?) — the less attention put on Ollie the better.

It sounds like your relationship with Greer was not as smooth sailing as everyone seems to have been saying.

"We broke up for a reason," Diego said, with a note of finality in his voice.  

And your probation —

"Hang on," Diego's dad spoke up, "before you continue is this going to be relevant to finding Greer, or are you attempting to dig for dirt? Because I would hate to have a reason to not be as cooperative as we have been."

— What do you think Greer meant about helping you with your probation.

Diego shrugged his shoulders, "I know as much as you do. You read the letter," he pointed out, glancing over at his dad, who gave a small nod.

When you last spoke to Greer over the summer, did it sound like she had been planning on leaving, or taking an extended vacation for any reason? I'm sure you have picked up that it sounds like this was all premeditated. Any information you have not given yet would be helpful in our investigation, Mr. Fuentes.

"I'm sorry," Diego said, with a frown, "I wish Greer was here as much as anybody else does." Perhaps more, because he wasn't sure there were a ton of people who actually did want her around. "Everything I've said before is all the information I have. Even with the letter. It's more confusing than anything else. But if she somehow gets in contact with me again, obviously it's something I will let you know about." He pointed out. Stressing that he'd been as up front, and honest as he could possibly be. Greer coming back would be a good thing for him, her going missing... was a very bad thing for all the plans he'd wanted for his future.

The detective nodded his head, and stood up at the table, Diego's father, and then Diego doing the same thing. "Please keep in touch with us if you hear absolutely anything, Mr. Fuentes. Again, we appreciate the cooperation."

#[ task ] #[ self para ] #ogdentask

[allthatisleftinthedark]

A letter is presented to Estranha, and once it's open, it has a familiar handwriting, that of one Nelia Zarin.

Hey, Es. It's been a while, I know, usually we have time to talk or we meet up a lot more often, but ever since the start of this journey, things have been going so fast it makes my head spin. From the moment I set out, I've been drugged, knocked out, got the boat i was traveling on smashed by a dragon...Caught in explosions, it's been a mess. Feels like I can't take a minute to catch my breath.

That's just the external stuff. I had a dream about an old friend and his little brother. I couldn't save the kid, he had a knife that cut holes into the elemental planes...At the end of the day, he was a scared kid with a shitty father. I should've been able to do more, should've saved him. Now he's scattered across the planes. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop, I'll bring him back, no matter what it takes. You know me, I got a hard head that I'll keep banging against the wall until it breaks.

There's another dream I had. You were in it, and it was just us talking and hanging out while I worked out. And I...Gods, I'm so sorry I've been pulling you around for so long. I'm so afraid of losing you that I don't even know how to begin talking about how I feel about you. I've always been so damn uncertain, but now? After all of this? Nearly dying a few times, visions where you wind up dead...Or hell, even experiencing the feeling of seeing into other worlds and feeling my arm getting flayed to the point of uselessness...I know now.

Oh, and don't even get me started on meeting an ice dragon, or getting eaten by a Gibbering Maw, it's so fucking horrible on the inside of those things and I punched my way out with the help of my master, Ramona Hammerfist. I've seen things that people would only see in nightmares, and the cult...Let me tell you, I don't think I can take enough baths or showers to ever get the smell of rotting meat outta my clothes. I swear I can even smell the shit in my dreams.

I want to be with you. Every second of every day for the rest of my life. I'm supposed to be a wanderer, but I don't want to travel around for the rest of my life, and not have a home. Or at the very least, if I gotta travel for the rest of my life, I want it to be with you.

I want you to meet my friends, to meet Cassius when we get him back, he's such a good kid, and he just needs someone to encourage him. I want you to meet Junie, she's been the closest thing I've had to a mom, and Aika, she's a little serious sometimes, but she's got a curiosity about things that's pretty adorable. I don't know if you'd get to meet them, but the Crownswatch has been nice to know too, Dejin's kind of the serious type, but he knows good food and drink, Khiye, a little spooky, but she's good in a fight, I mean, she bashed a mound of flesh so hard the damn thing was knocked stupid. Garur, I think you'd look at them and then you'd understand why we get along so well. Nowhere...well, I might have to work to be her friend, I kinda can't translate her way of speech yet. I don't know when we'll meet again, but when we do...I'm gonna be a woman worthy of being your girlfriend. With love, Nelly

unprompted asks! | always accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

A/N's note: Any mentions of "Juniper" are replaced with "Ghost Whisker." Only Creed knows her private name and refers to her by that name one-on-one; everyone else knows her as Ghost Whisker and addresses her as such (Creed included when in public/group conversation).

Sheltered by the canopy of a weather-worn canvas tent, Estranha peruses speculative fiction of the to-be future during the 4000s from a tome published circa 3200 PC. Their roosting spot is on a sturdy wooden crate adorned with crimson-painted words. As alien as the language on the box is, its definition is meaningless. 

With weighty volume, they perch upon a sturdy wooden crate with painted crimson words on one side. Alien is the language to them, but its definition is meaningless. In this instance, this serves as a "seat" and nothing more. 

As their gaze skims across the printed character, a slender finger idly twirls a plum-purple stray lock. A sudden snort, reminiscent of crackling flames, disrupts the silence. Aimless exploration constitutes a significant portion of Estranha's scholarly pursuits. Uncovering peculiarities and pockets of amusements are commonplace amidst their research. Of course, these are abrupt conclusions in their currently fruitless endeavors. But not every dead end heralds a soured conclusion. Rather, they often encounter unexpected delights along the winding search of inquiry, each revelation saccharine in an otherwise dried pool. 

Upon the page from Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's The Revolution of Magicracy, Estranha's soft green irises race over the words, over and over, "Under the harmonious collection of the magically inclined and gifted, the natural world and humanity unite. The future order may see that those bestowed with gifts of casting would be better attuned to granting and guiding individuals into an enlightened society that bolsters and salvages the new world." They place their thumb on the tome's pages and ponder the publication details. Interestingly, it was not produced by any Graneyean territory or ally of the era. 

Besides the thinly veiled hierarchal oppression in the text, exciting sections recount the prestige of the fabled ancient era. Without a doubt, there are continuous odes to the times before from this book published over a thousand years ago. Still, the modern-day sees toward the future and ignores the possible reaches of civilization before the "Dark Days." Advancing past the point of where society was once at? That query died on the tongues of philosophers hundreds of years ago. 

As Estranha reads further into Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's work, an unforeseen event suddenly interrupts their scholarly pursuit.

A russet-haired man with lengthy curls tied into a neat ponytail peers into the tent. His hazel eyes twinkle in quite an ensemble of clothes—a uniform fitting any Four Seasons United Postal Service worker. The heat on the Nihiranian deserts must have had his sleeves rolling and hat slightly disheveled as if he were fanning himself with it before.

"Telegram for a Miss Extraña?" He calls out, looking around the barren tent before his eyes finally land on Estranha. 

The recipient closed the book and cast it aside when the man poked his head in. They approached, giving a dull nod before plucking the missive from his hands. They turned the envelope over. "I never realized you reached this far."

"Well," he speaks as his chest swells with pride, "it is a recognized global service." He removes his hat, placing it over his heart. "From the head of Rivera to the feet of Nihiran, we can be found anywhere across the world, through sleet, storm, sand--"

Estranha turns on their heel, squinting at the crimson seal. Two bare arms cross over the other; it is definitely Nelia's seal. "Mhm," they nod as their hand reaches out, grabs one fold of the tent's canvas, and closes it back up. 

Unfolding the letter, a several-month estrangement between "friends," as colloquially as Estranha can define, meets its end. All they recall was the tiefling mentioning a journey overseas on a boat to another continent like Tahrea. Creed never considered setting a hoof outside of Nihiran; her thirty and more years were spent in the red dunes. Though, anyone can change. Il'Surrish is the Wanderer; paths treaded, and new is how her worshippers go. 

Estranha's thumb guides their reading and marking of the paragraph. Returning to their perch on the crate top, they criss-crossed their legs. The twinkling mischief in their eyes fades further down as they read the letter. Hesitation draws the corners of their ever-smiling expression lower and lower. Two years after that conversation, Estranha still could not ascertain its intention.

A letter was drafted and sent within a few days of the initial telegram's receipt. It would only take some weeks before Nelia received a letter back. 

Hi Nel,

It is wonderful to know you are in one piece despite the destroyed ship, the hungry, hungry Gibbering Maw, and a suspicious number of assumedly extinct dragons on your latest travels. For someone who always enjoyed a surprise and a show, that was a lot, even for you. 

Tahrea brought on much more than I anticipated in a letter; I expected much more debauchery and other rendezvous with other women at the encampments along the dirt roads. As I reread each line before getting to the climax of my thoughts, everything is happening or has happened in a compressed and narrow time frame. Now, you are at the apex of it. From what I hope, you just survived another scrap on the long road and plan on continuing. 

On my side of this expansive pond, what remains true of the sands is that it brings me excitement and new ideas, but nothing that progresses my ongoing research. The tracks behind me will soon meet their end. The civilizations beneath the dunes and what came before the city that was a black speckle in the sun serve nothing to me. But are they fascinating tales? Of course. But the sea salt gales shall take me elsewhere after three years. Where they may take me, I have mapped out some alternatives and continents, but I cannot return to the university without any proper advancement in my thesis.  

Foregoing the timeline of when this chapter will come to a close is something I cannot bring myself to do. For as long as I have been at this, there is nothing else I can do until I accomplish this entirely. One may compliment my tenacity for conclusions rather than jeering it as aimless stubbornness or pride. 

It is at least a concrete resolve, no matter which direction I may go. 

Sifting between what I share and what you've shared, you now have a new conclusion, a revelation, about us coming together and going somewhere. But a question continuously spurs me as much as it has you. Your answer leaves only further queries on my end and our relationship. What else springs from this drive to be together besides the glaring external variables that are beyond stressing you out? 

Nelia, you remain seeking yet are convinced in this letter that you have something in mind. I entrust your goals to be well-meaning, and I ask what is there in the long run beyond doing things on account of other relationships? 

How much will you risk for the boy you dream of saving? Is guilt rooting you down to attempt to reverse a mistake you feel can be undone? As far as I understand from this letter, that is your current goal. That has been the clearest I have understood of what you have wanted to do. This is past starting a career in labor law and your past training in the Mduara Kuona. 

Become the woman you want to be, which will steady your future's compass. The arrow keeps turning and turning, unnecessarily working like a poor-functioning clock and needs calibration. You will soon find the direction you need to take. 

There, you can see who you want to become. There, you can figure out what you want and why. 

Time will only make us lose opportunities, but it will not lose us. I will still be here, as you will, accomplishing what we want to do. As you discover what you wish to do, I still have my fair share of goals. That remains something I still have to accomplish, but I at least know my calling. 

The duress you are under, with these new obligations and the people you are around, complicates many things. Do not abandon it, but remember that under such stress, one cannot ascertain what one wants. The mind focuses on the present and current fixes to a problem; the life of another, or your own, is not considered when solving things. 

When we meet again, it may not be at the right time and place, but we will be in another person's company again. When we meet after that, some things may even be wrong, but there are still us. So on and so forth, our paths will cross repeatedly because we desire it. 

Maybe then, we will both have the answers we want. 

Give yourself a break, Nel, and don't get in over your head. 

Until we meet again, Estranha Extrana 

#( estra ic tag ) #( estra ask tag ) #offrozenmemoirs

[ajoytobeheld]

An Update

July 21st, 2011

Hello there,

It’s me, Gareth.

I thought I’d write a blog post to let you know what the haps are at the moment, as those of you who follow us on any one of a MILLION social networking sites that I type shit on, will likely be aware that our new album is all but finished and we’re very excited about it.

I know that a lot of people get frustrated during the period of time between an album being declared “finished” and the album’s actual release, so I thought I’d let you know what’s going on at the moment.

Right now, our main man and sound guru, Tom is exchanging final mixes with producer John Goodmanson, pruning every last note and drum hit to make sure every song sounds as perfect as it can.

“I think the lead guitar line treads over the vocal a little bit there, maybe pan it right rather than down the center”

All stuff like that that I’m nowhere near intelligent enough to hear without prompting. It’s so exciting hearing newer and newer mixes and the songs becoming bigger and better. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to think everyone will know what’s meant by mixing, so, without wanting to patronise:

Recording: being in a studio, playing the songs. Recording what’s played.

Mixing: putting everything that’s been recorded together. Making sure every part is at the right volume, making sure it sits nicely in the speakers or yr headphones or doesn’t sound too terrible when you decide to play it through YOUR SHITTY TINNY MACBOOK SPEAKERS. Ahem.

Next comes mastering, next week in fact. But even after recording and releasing as much music as we have, I still really don’t understand that. I generally just chip in with “make the gap between songs 3 and 4 half a second longer, maybe, idk?”.

So by the time of mastering, we’ll have nailed a final tracklisting, something which seems so close but is so important that it’s really hard to finally settle on something. And that’s why I would never dream of listening to an album on shuffle. They’re in that order for a reason, y’know?

This is one of my favourite parts of being in a band, though. I love writing the songs down in order, looking at how the songtitles look written next to eachother, and what story the titles alone can tell. Thinking how the narrative will develop across an album, and where the curveballs will come.

As this goes on, so does artwork. This doesn’t just mean cover art, but liner notes aswell. We’ve always taken great pride in our artwork and making sure our records are something worth owning physical copies of. This is the first time I’m handwriting the lyrics. It’s such a personal record that it seems completely appropriate/necessary.

In the meantime, we’re also working out Pre-Order Bundles. Stuff for you ‘normies’ and extra-special, exclusive stuff for Heat Rash members. A band like ours wants/needs as many people to pre-order the album as possible, so we’re trying to come up with stuff that you’d be silly to miss out on.

What sort of things do you want in a pre-order? What would you be excited by?

Oh and there are music videos and things to think about. A particularly troublesome matter, but one that will hopefully fall into place easily.

And then, of course, we have to be able to play the album live. We’re particularly looking forward to this. The songs are so massive and powerful on record, and I can’t even begin to imagine how much damage we could do with them live. Comewhat November (which is when the album’ll be released, and when we’ll be playing some proper (ie, non-festival) gigs) we’ll be a band with 4 records under our belts. It’s gonna be such a challenge to work out what to play. I hope we’ll be able to play much more varied sets, and I also hope we’ll have the balls to relegate some early-career set staples to the substitutes’ bench. This record is where we are now, as musicians, and as human beings, and I cannot wait for us to be able to present it to you.

Well, that’s quite a rambling post, but I thought some of you might like to be kept in the loop.

If you’ve any Qs (reasonable ones, obv) relating to this sort of stuff, feel free to stick ‘em below.

ATB (All The Best),

Gareth

ps. OH YEH, HEAT RASH UPDATE: as is probably clear, our commitments to recording an album/completing an album/playing festivals has slowed HR issue #2 down a little, but it really is very close to being finished, and I’m really proud of it. It’s a lot more focused than the first issue, the songs are wonderful and interesting undertakings and the written content is, I’d say, more personal and meaty. Thanks for your patience.

#2011 #gareth!blog #lc!blog

[truckreincarnation]

Missing the Mark | Luz | Trial 1.1 | RE: Testimony Sharing, Shin, Bian, Harriet, 19

Of course, the trial room would be here of all places. At least they were all out of the water, but it didn't take away how soggy and cold this place was in general. However, all that was really the last thing on her mind. They were here to solve a murder. Now, Luz wasn't feeling the heartfelt grief and sorrow at the loss of a life, no. She was more honed in on the fact that one of them could be a killer. She takes her spot, sending a glance over to the empty seat of Francis' next to her with the slightest twitch of her eyebrows.

"Tch." She stares forward coldly, eyes scanning over the faces of everyone around her. 

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know a goddamn thing about anything. Not what Francis was doing before this, or anything relating to it. I've never moonlighted as a detective while I was alive, so I think it's pretty shitty to be forced to play one suddenly with someone else's- my own included- life on the line. So I'm gonna go off and continue with creating this timeline by adding that we've been trying to establish."

She picks up the quill, if only to have something to do with her hands. She jabs into her paper with it.

"Starting from 9 PM, I was doing some light reading with the most boring book I could have ever gotten from that tree in my room. Eventually that got old, so I ditched my room and went off to the lounge."

There's a vagueness in there, but she leaves no room for anything but continuing on.

"I ended up seeing Manami right before we both went into the same location. Just my luck."

Luz speak for 'I see her way too often'. She even adds a little eye roll.

"If you want me to be specific, it was around 11:02 PM by the time I entered the lounge. Manami was there, like I said, Miles, and Cowboy with his cat."

She glances off to the side.

"And Shin, too. Snoozing away on the couch. I was looking for a little fun, so I thought I'd try bothering him. The old man wouldn't budge, though, so I found my amusement with some knitting needles. Cowboy left around some time...I want to say 11:34, and all was well up until we were called to the practice dungeon."

Like she said, she was no detective. Still, listening to the theories surfacing she figures she could throw in her two cents.

"Well, if we're arguing that Francis was Mark, and that she might have been setting up a trap to kill someone, then we should consider the motive. Like Shin said, she was recently king, so why would she set something like this up? However, there is one more underlying motive. Killing, and getting away with it, means that we get some kind of power boost right? Isn't that what the pixie said?"

As long as that loomed over their heads in this dangerous world, there could never be the possibility that someone wouldn't go for it, in Luz's mind.

"I dunno what kind of person Francis was, so I can't say much about these theories and if that's something she may have been aiming for. Plus, if we're able to take out multiple weapons with the intention of planning a murder, then what if she is both Mark and Gun? To throw out a red herring or whatever by making the handwriting seem different. I never asked if we could, under all these circumstances, take out a weapon under a different alias by then. Oh. But don't take my words too seriously, I'm just throwing things out there, trying to sort everything out. Honestly, to me it make more sense if she was Gun since one was close to her body."

She ends with a nonchalant shrug, but her body is way too tense to keep up her normal unbothered attitude with such grace.

#Luz #ch1 #trial1 #submission

[just-some-sad-kiddo]

This morning, I woke up a little before my alarm and did a little bit of journaling since I don’t like going on electronics first thing in the morning. It was nice to get some thoughts out. I’m thinking that when my Google home arrives, I’ll set it up to play some easy, gentle music in the morning. I also need to get a blindfold or something for my morning meditation because I get distracted too easily when I open my eyes but I always forget to keep them closed.

I think I want to try putting boba into the Yorkshire tea. I mean, it’s just milk tea. They just call it tea here, of course, but for me it’s milk tea. Charlotte told me that there was a good Asian food shop in York that she and her friends go to sometimes.

I need to ask Shannon if he wants to visit for Christmas. Mom said that she’d pay for his ticket if he did since Dad wouldn’t be obligated to at that point. I hope that he does decide to come since we did have a lot of fun when all of us went to England together the last time.

So, I’ve started writing my thoughts on paper during the day so that I don’t get distracted while I’m trying to work. I think I might also start doing a handwriting journal since, honestly, my handwriting could be better. 

I need to start working on my GCSE shit. That’s the English version of the SATs but I need to figure out how they work and how to study for them. I was hoping that i’d be able to find some kind of remote option for school since that’s what I’m used to, but all of the remote options don’t work for me. First off, they’re expensive as hell and second, they never have any art courses. It makes sense that you have to do art in-person but my last school experience was so miserable that I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. I’ve really been spoiled lately with my online learning i’ve been doing for the past year. I wear what I want, eat what I want, work when I want, and I can wear my headphones so that I don’t experience any sensory overload. I can’t do pretty much any of that shit at Selby which is just fantastic. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever failed a class due to my literal disability. Oh, wait. I have. Multiple times. Of course, when I expressed my concerns to Mom, she did the thing where it’s illegal for me to be upset. Honestly, why do I tell her anything anymore? She does this every time. If I went back through my journal and looked, I’d probably find a thousand times she’s done this. I seriously need to remember not to say anything negative around her ever. She’s the only one who is allowed emotions. Who cares that I had a meltdown earlier today because Athena and Eris wouldn’t stop fighting? It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. I’m just an angsty teenage pessimist who doesn’t have any real problems. 

This house is really cold, but nobody wants to turn the heat on because of how expensive electricity is right now because of the Russia/Ukraine war. I can’t even step into the kitchen barefoot or my feet will literally freeze. Trust me, I tried it yesterday. Worst mistake of my life.

I’m really, really excited to start working. I turned in my resume today at Gingers, but I don’t really think I’ll get the job. For one, I didn’t have a UK phone number so I put Tony’s on my CV. And, since Angela wasn’t there, I didn’t have the opportunity to tell her that it was Tony’s number. It seems unprofessional to have your parents number on your CV, is it not? But, anyway, when I get my new number I’m going to apply at the list of places Tony gave me. Luckily, everything in Howden closes by 3 anyways. I want to save up money so I can perm my hair nicely and also get my workout clothes and duffle bag for the gym. I also would like to get a Squarespace subscription so I can get myself a professional website to host my work. And buy a not-shitty printer.

I went to the park. It was nice, although I did get lost on the way. I also got lost when turning in my CV. It makes things harder that everyone drives like a psycho here. Literally insane. 

The lock on the door is still fucked up so Tony called locksmith so come fix it. In the meantime, I wanted to go to the gym so Paul drove me. I would have taken the bus, but much like in Fort Collins, they stop running really early. Also, they’re really expensive and all owned by private companies that don’t communicate with eachother. Thing is, I didn’t realize I’d have to get an induction as I’d never heard of that before. We call them orientations in America, but I’d never heard of that either. In fact, it seems I’m the only one whose never heard of that because everyone else knew what was going on. Anyway, I’ve set it up for 10:00am Saturday.

The gym is near these flats which are apparently very dangerous according to Tony and Paul. They say they’ve had the most bodies they’re from drugs and people jumpin’ out of windows. I forgot that Paul was also in the medical field.

#easybreezy

[arbitrarycogitation]

Words

Today I started my fifth journal. I don't think I'm "good" at journaling. I started my first "serious" one in 2015. It took me 3 years to finish. Then 2 years for the next one, a bit under a year for the next one, and another couple of years for the latest one. My next journal is a bit thinner than the others, with wider lines, so let's see how long it'll last. I reckon it won't be as long as the previous one. But we'll just have to see I guess.

You might be wondering why I'm suddenly writing about these journals. Many people write for their own pleasure, I'm not special. I know. I wanted to share some lines from all of my journals. Specifically, some lines from the opening and closing entries of each journal. I always make sure I have some kind of hello and goodbye with each book. Although I am not entirely sure why I sometimes imagine someone is reading my journal as I write it. It's not too far off the reality, because sometimes I flip through them and laugh at my past problems, cry at the display of emotions on the pages, and sigh at the grammatical and spelling errors littering the lines between my life.

Without further ado, teenage me.

"My goal: to fill it (the journal) before the new school term. But, if I did not finish it, feel free to add stories of my mortal life here."

"You know, this book has always endured my shitty attitude to life. Thanks for that, book. I appreciate it."

"Whoever is reading this in the future, please note that this book was somewhat my venting book from my emo and hurt phases."

Yes, I was an emo teen, it was the mid-2010s, and everyone was emo. My first two journals were not lined, so my handwriting and style were somewhat freer. Older-teen-me below.

"Let's hope this one gets filled quicker so I don't have to relive my embarrassing past as much."

"I hope I continue to grow into a caring, loving, and mindful adult. That I'll look back at these times and chuckle in relief because I got through yet another time in my life. It's getting longer, and I wish I will never cut it short. I need to survive. This book is proof that I tried. That I'll keep trying."

That was actually wholesome. Well older-teen-me, we are still reliving the embarrassing past to this day. It's like all of my worst moments are compiled into a bunch of videos. Like the ones they make for K-Pop idols, but instead of "all the times this person looks cute" it's "all the times I want to cease existing". With this, let's move on to baby-adult-me's journal.

"In the last journal, I wished to be more comfortable with myself. I think I achieved that goal, to some extent. Okay, to a huge extent. I'm not 100% yet but I'm hopefully getting there. With this journal, I wish I will understand my purpose more by the end of it. I hope I have a great relationship with the people I love and continue to learn to be grateful for the life I'm living. Here's to a bit more adventure."

"I don't know if I'm closer to realizing my worth, but I have begun a journey to heal my soul. Bits by bits, with the might of someone who doesn't know much of the world yet."

"Thank you for being my friend for 8 months, I hope we continue to learn about life as we move along in this never-ending maze we call mother earth. Our journey awaits us. Stay strong, Wah. You are doing great. Good job on realizing a bit more about what you need to do. Here's to a fruitful future."

Ngl, this was pretty recent, so reading this is a bit heartbreaking. We all went through so much during the global pandemic, and this was the journal that kept me sane throughout the darkest days of the world. Now, onto the most recent one. I am dreading reading back anything I wrote 8 months ago at the beginning of the journal and what I wrote earlier today. Here goes nothing.

"Right now, there are a lot of things that I'm putting to the side because I have to focus on the bigger things in life. By the end of this book, it would be wonderful if I have made progress in these personal projects."

"It will be a long, arduous journey but it's one that I will never regret doing. Here's to the beginning of my 20s. May the exhilaration of life double as my age does too."

"Let's hope everything is just a misunderstanding. I know my 2023 will look different, with several changes, but I didn't think I'd have to bargain out something so dear to me. Life, if you're listening, stop messing with me. I'm tired."

Oof, that was a bummer, wasn't it? Rest assured that I am not feeling this way anymore, even though this was literally this morning haha. Life has a funny habit of making one second of a bad moment into a monumental feeling at the moment. Here's the first entry of my new journal, to contrast the last one.

"2022 is almost done, but maybe I can milk more experiences out of this year. Not sure why, but I think 2023 will be the year everything changes again. It's about time things shift around and rotate anyways. To past-me, an update. We're finally doing these projects. To future-me, hold on. You always hate the ride, you sappy, sentimental buffon. To present-me, you got this. Even when your grip is weak at best. Jalanin aja dulu. (Just go with the flow.) Here's to experiencing more. More happiness, more hurt, more excitement, more sadness. More of everything. I'm finally in my 20s, huh? How bizarre."

That's enough oversharing on the internet for a day, right?

#ramblings #journaling