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#please please please it’s the best way to not die from covid
the-trans-dragon · 6 months
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What if they didn't put ads every 3 posts. Three posts between ads, literally. Not even counting the ad for Tumblr Live.
Also what if tumblr didn't know what city Im in. I do not want my location tracked or stored anywhere unless I give explicit ongoing permission, like with my GPS app that I allow to track me only when the app is open, and then it deletes the data (allegedly) when I stop giving permission.
#ugh i do SO much to try to keep my location private. i use an android with all the tracking things Off (except for my weather app#which is a highly specific app that does NOTHING except provide weather; and i have the location turned Off so it doesnt even know where i#live). my tumblr email is not connected to any real life stuff because i made it when i was very closeted and made a new email and password#for it and never linked them to anything else. i have bare minimum apps. i use firefox and duckduckgo.#for shits sake i use a small barely-known map app because any Map App that has had large success under capitalism is inevitably going to#start selling private info or working with a cheap security system designed to allow quiet data leaks.#i guess i use gmail and gphotos but my phone doesnt HAVE a native Photo App. i have to use one i download and im too damn skittish to try#i guess i did get netflix recently....sigh.... i figured they WERENT tracking me because they email me EVERY TIME I USE NETFLIX to alert me#that OHHHH A NEW DEVICE IS USING NETFLIX AAAAA WHAT IF ITS AGAINST NETFLIX POLICY OH NOOOO. so i figured they didnt have a way to ID me.#UGH. CAN I PLEASE EXIST WITHOUT BEING MONITORED FOR FIVE SECONDS. can i please access Social Media which is a shitty substitute for actual#human connection but its the best i have--without someone noting my location and then trying to sell me things??? can i please watch film???#i cant go to a theater because my region does NOT believe in covid and not even medical staff attending Very Ill Patients wear masks anymore#stupid fucking homophobic transphobic anti-vax society has made it too dangerous for me to access most Not-Online forms of enrichment. and i#cant even use the Internet (a magnificent ASTONISHING human creation) without being tracked and advertised to.#ugh..#humanity is just so cool and brave and kind and amazing and yet we have taxes and advertisment IDs and traffic and medicine shortages.#its not like the ads even work. even when it shows me stuff i DO want. i cant fucking afford things. i already have spent too much money on#things that i dont need like Good Food and Entertainment and Juice. ugh....okay i do need food and liquids....Good food even. my body cant#survive on College Foods like it could in the past. And i might literally die if i dont buy juice...#and i guess its really really really heartwarming to have good entertainment to take breaks from all the stress.... its not like i havent l#..... like im so frugal. thank god my partners encourage me to buy myself things. i have been so much healthier since giving in and buying#Non-Water drinks instead of just Chronically Drinking Less Than A Bottle Of Water A Day. my partners are so good and sweet 😓 i shouldnt be#upset with myself for letting them convince me to take care of myself. that isnt fair to them or me so i will stop doing that now.#my faith in humanity is mostly just knowing that my partners exist. theyre so sweet. if people like them exist--then i have faith in humanty#no pressure lol. they are both so good and perfect regardless of how much energy they have to spare for Being Good. they are just inherently#very dear and good to me and for me. but just because i have faith in humanity doesnt mean im gonna stop complaining the whole time!!!!!! i#will whine about the bad stuff forever!!!! and BITE IT if i ever get the chance. but i will complain until the bothersome things go away.#if i complain my whole life with no results then...! so be it. i will whine and it will be art somehow.#sorenhoots
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countcvnt · 24 days
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Experiment
Chapter Two: Bad Dreams
[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]
[Ch. One]
Summary: You realize, while asleep, that just because you're out of the facility doesn't mean you're completely free. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of blood and vomiting (nothing too graphic), Angsty Simon Word Count: ~3.5k (don't quote me on that) A/N: Was gonna wait to post this, but it's on my AO3 already (i posted this first ch. a couple days ago on there, but am just posting it here now) so i wanna post it here too. I have Covid, and time to write, so why not post it now? Hope you enjoy~ The angst is only going to pick up from here tbh
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You toss and turn in bed. Your covers are strewn across the room and you’re sweating. Your eyes are screwed shut as you lie there whimpering. You can’t even force yourself awake.
“You are not acting very nice.”
Your gaze does not even meet the scientist’s. His eyes bore into yours, but you can not force yourself to look at him. Instead, you stare at the floor. Your mind is racing, you are everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“Did you hear me?” He asks. You nod. “Then act better.” He marks something down on his clipboard and you watch him closely now. “Next time, there will be no warning. You will be punished.”
You nod again. Your hands rest on your thighs, gripping your bare thighs and shaking violently. Your whole body is shaking. At this point, you can’t think of a time you weren’t shaking. Your eyes cut from the man’s hands and up to him. You see the reflection of the bright lights of the lab in his glasses. You sniffle slightly.
“You look sick.” He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours. You don’t look away this time. “After all this-” He motions around him. “That won’t happen anymore. You won’t have to worry about silly little sickness or your immune system at all. You know, after all of this, you will be the best.”
If it works, You think. You are almost certain you should have died by now. You have absolutely no clue what they have been injecting you with. You know it makes you sick. That’s about the extent of your knowledge. Well, you also know, you can die at any given moment. Whether the medicine or the guards around you takes you. Something can happen any time, and you just have to let it happen.
You remember lying in your ‘room’, throwing up blood and bile. No one checked on you. Not until the next round of testing. They gave you nausea medicine and you only hoped it’d work. Now, you're staring down the scientist who has ‘stuck by your side’ through all of the experiments. He is the only one who survived, you think. There have been several others. But you only saw them once or twice.
You aren’t sure if or how they died. You don’t like to think about it.
“We are going to test pain tolerance today.”
You perk up, in the least enthusiastic way possible. It caught your attention and set your skin ablaze. What does this entail? You can’t help but run through scenarios in your mind. The scientist pulls out a smaller syringe and places a needle in it. It’s full of a clear liquid. You don’t move. You’ve learned it’s best to not move.
He motions for you to hold out your arm. You do so, willingly. You’ve also learned it’s best to do as you’re told. He injects the needle into a vein and you try to stay relaxed. You whimper and shut your eyes. Suddenly, everything is on fire. Your body burns. A scream releases from your throat and you fall from the metal stool you had been sitting on. You curl up, clawing, scratching at your skin.
You begin to beg, “Please!” You scream for someone to stop it. “Please, help me!”
“Don’t worry,” His voice is so monotone. “It’ll pass. This is completely normal.”
You sit there, screaming and crying as the pain grows worse. You wonder if you yell loud enough if the guards would step in. But, so far, no one has stepped in. No. One. You can’t count on anyone. Not anymore. Your clawing slows down, the burning subsides. You relax and let out a small whimper. You sit up and inhale slowly. You slump over and look up at the man in front of you.
“Better?” He asks. You nod. “Good, now get back up.” You follow his instructions. “Now, I have a scalpel here. I’m going to poke you-” Your eyes widen. “-I’m not going to stab, or cut deep. I’m just checking pain levels.”
You sit back on the stool and hold your arm out again. The man grabs the scalpel from the side table and pokes into your arm. Blood rises and drips down. You feel pressure from the poke, but nothing else. You don’t react. You soon find out, maybe you should have.
“Hm, nothing?” Everything seems to be going according to plan for him and whoever was coordinating this. “Okay, next test.”
The scalpel is dug into your skin. Dull pain comes to the area, but you aren't feeling anything you should be feeling. You are too startled to scream. Blood rushes down your forearm and your eyes widen. You have learned to not pull away, so you stay there.
“Astounding…” He grabs the gauze from the small table and wraps your arm. “We will continue testing this in the morning.” He motions for some guards to come in. “I have to make sure that this… This is permanent.”
“If it’s not?” The words slip out.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
The words, his tone, they send chills up your spine. You are grabbed, harshly, by the guards and pulled into the hallway, out of the little, ‘cozy’ lab. Your eyes adjust to the dim lights of the hall and you squint. You are dragged to your ‘room’. The guard flashes his card in front of the door and it slides open. They toss you in, you hit the floor. There is no pain this time.
You want so badly for that to be a good thing. You can’t help but feel sick to your stomach though. You crawl to your mattress and lay down. You don’t even have a cover. You sigh. You curl up and go to sleep.
You wake in a cold sweat. A scream rips from your throat and your body tenses. Your breathing is ragged and a knock is coming from your door. You look towards it. You examine your surroundings. You exhale trying to calm yourself.
“Ace!” The knocking becomes violent.
Your brows furrow. You stand from your bed and walk towards the door. You swing it open and find Gaz standing there. His eyes lock with yours, before falling to your sweaty, sticky form.
“Who’s Ace?” You ask, not caring that he is probably staring at your chest.
“Sorry,” He mumbles and tries to close your door. “I shouldn’t-”
“No,” You swat at his hand, opening the door further. “Who is Ace?” A cool breeze hits your bare legs and you realize why he’s being so funny. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ and you step back. You remember that you’re wearing your tank top and panties. You grab your shorts and throw them on. “I’m Ace, aren’t I?” You finally ask.
“That is… Was your call sign.”
You notice Gaz swallow hard. You can’t help but wonder what has him so shook up. He had to have seen some thighs and cleavage before. It registers, he must not have seen yours. You make note of that.
“It’s okay, Gaz,” You reassure him, “I promise it’s fine if you look at me.” You’re trying to not laugh. You can’t help but smile though. His eyes cut from the floor and up to you.
“Are you laughing at me?” He asks, you can see him grow embarrassed and irritated.
“You’re being silly,” Your smile widens. You watch Gaz relax. You cock your head. “Acting like I’m the first pair of thighs you’ve seen in your life.”
Gaz groans. “You don’t like-” He stops himself. “You used to not be comfortable with us seeing you like this. I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries.”
“You’re very sweet, Kyle.” He lights up as you call him by his name. “I do remember being that way though… I had always been that way ever since I can remember.” Which isn’t very much, you decide it would be best to not joke about that though. “But, I guess becoming a little lab rat kinda nipped that in the bud.”
Gaz doesn’t ask further questions. “I came to check on you, because you’re thirty minutes late.”
“Let me guess,” you purse your lips, “I used to never be late.”
Gaz is at a loss for words. “Well, no! You and Price were always first at debriefings.”
You note that as well. “I guess I need to change?” You question him. Gaz keeps from dropping eye contact. You are sure you need to change. Going to whatever you needed to go to, with nothing but a tank top and shorts on would probably not be the best look on your first real day back. “I’m fucking with you, Gaz.” You turn from him and he huffs. You grab some clothes from the dresser. Gaz excuses himself and you decide it’s best to not fuck with him further.
As he closes your door, you begin to mentally prepare yourself for what the day holds. You know you’ll be digging up old memories. You know recent wounds will resurface. You have to prepare now. You run through different questions and answers.
You're on autopilot as you get dressed. You finish up and walk back towards your door. You swing it open and find Gaz waiting. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“Figured you’d need help finding the room. Unless you don’t-”
“No, no,” You interrupt, “I don’t- I don’t know where the room is.” Having to admit that hurts. Gaz catches that. He doesn’t say anything further. You follow him down the hall and through a corridor. You reach a double door and Gaz lets you in first. You spot Price, then Soap, then Ghost. Every last one of them seems uncomfortable.
You walk into the middle of the room and stand there. The door closes behind Gaz and he walks up beside you. You stand there waiting for anyone to say something. No one breaks the silence, so you decide to.
“I don’t think I like sleeping alone.” You look at Price. “I haven’t- I didn’t have a roommate in the-” You keep stopping yourself. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a roommate. I don’t know how I'd react to one. But I can not sleep alone.”
Price nods. “That can be fixed.” He is reassuring. “We'll get you set up with-”
“I want it to be one of you.” You interrupt him. All of them tense. “I know I don't remember much of anything… but you four seem to know me the best. I want it to be one of you four.” You nod to yourself as you say the last sentence.
“Do you have a preference?” Price seems like he isn't judging who you pick, but you can't help but feel like they're all judging which one you pick.
“How about-” You place a finger on your chin. “We could alternate?”
“Alternate sleeping arrangements?” Ghost speaks up.
“That can be arranged.” Price nods. “We can talk more about that later. We really need to figure out what you do know.”
“Easy,” you shrug, “I know I have a mom and dad- We moved a lot growing up. I know that I used to be self conscious.” You remember this morning.
“Used to be?” Soap asks.
“Well, yeah, being stuck in a lab changes a person.” The whole room becomes uncomfortable. “Sorry…”
“It's alright, love,” Gaz pats you on the back, and you look at him. You don't tense. You don't attack. You just stare. Your stomach flips out how he says ‘love’. “But that's not what he meant. Do you have any information on what was happening?”
You inhale slowly and close your eyes. “Okay. I don't know where I was. But I do know people came and… uh went. A lot. Do I know where they went? No. I'm assuming the guards took care of them. It was too important for people to just come and go as they pleased. The experiments were too-” You pause. “Classified. But the scientist that was with me when Soap saved me, that was my main scientist. I never got anyone's name. They said I would get, uh, stuff like that if the experiments fully worked. I'm not sure they ever had it work though-”
“On others?” Ghost interrupts. You nod. “There were others?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I overheard a couple times, of different,” you pause again, thinking of what they called you, “subjects just… dying. In reality, I don't know why I'm not dead. I also believe there were more because I was dubbed Subject Five. There were, I assume, four before me. Unless they just wanted to call me Five.” You shrug, growing uncomfortable. “I do know, for a fact, they were only getting military personnel.”
“Dae ye ken how come thay picked ye?” Soap is about as uncomfortable as you are now.
“Not entirely. But the scientist had said that I was compliant. I was… pliable, that is the word he used when I walked in for the very first round of testing. He didn't want me. He made that very known. But he had me, so he did everything he could to make everything work. It wasn't always smooth. But,” you shrug, “it is what it is.”
You see Ghost shift. He looks angry. It's making you more uncomfortable. “What do you mean, it wasn't always smooth?”
“The testing was extensive. The amount of times I've been poked and jabbed is unknown at this point. I mean,” you roll your head to the side, exposing your neck, “I have little scars littering my body from… everything.”
Price can tell you're growing tense. “Have you eaten this morning?”
“Not hungry.” You respond, trying to seem as normal as possible. “But, I would like to shower… I haven't had a hot shower in, uh, four months. I only ever got cold ones.”
“One of us can show you where-”
“No, no,” you wave your hand, “I saw it earlier. I'm sure I can find it myself. You four probably have a lot to talk about. I'll be out of your hair now.” You force a smile.
You exit the room and head back to your room. That probably wasn't going to be your room much longer. You grab some clothes and head towards the showers.
Your head hurts and you want nothing but to sit in hot steam and scrub yourself under scalding hot water. You make your way into the showers and find it empty. You sigh. You go into one of the little showers and close the door. You turn on the water and relax as the warmth hits you. You groan and roll your head back. It's the nicest you have felt in months. ——————————— Simon has not felt so angry in so long. He wants to find who did this to you and kill them. Every single one of them. The way you had seemed to shrink when talking about what happened. How you look to be a shell of your former self. And how you probably don't even remember your former self.
“What do you mean we are going to alternate sleeping arrangements?” Johnny asks. Simon wants to know how it’s going to work too.
“That’s up to her.” Price finally says. “I’m assuming she’ll pick one of us to stay with during the night. We can change it every night. Or however often she needs.”
Simon needs you to pick him. But, he also hopes you don’t. Your last interaction with him has seemed to have left a horrible taste in his mouth. He wants to protect you so badly, still. Maybe you don’t need it now, or anymore. But he has to. Even if you don’t remember what happened.
“Simon,” Price’s voice is low, soft, reassuring. “This is not your fault.”
“You keep saying that.” He growls. “You weren’t there. I was. End of story.”
Simon plays the night over and over in his head. Every day. Ever since you were taken. The night at the safe house. It was you and him… It could have been him they snatched up. But it had to be you. He can’t stop thinking about how differently it could have been if it were him they took. He isn’t so pliable… His blood is boiling.
“Ghost,” Johnny speaks, bringing him back down, “she’s okay now.” He places a hand on Simon’s shoulder and tries to reassure him. Everyone is so reassuring… Simon wishes they would stop. He isn’t used to not being able to contain himself. And yet, here he stood. Seething. Ready to bash the heads in of anyone who even thought about bringing harm to you. He can’t take it.
“Fuck this.” He needs to clear his head. “I gotta go.”
Price, Johnny, and Kyle let him leave. Simon thinks maybe a hot shower would help him as well. He inhales deeply as he walks towards the showers. The door swings open and Simon realizes there is only one shower running. Good. All he can hear is water. Steam covers the room. It’s practically a sauna. The water stops running.
Then he hears it. Soft humming. A hum he knows he’s heard before.
Memories are flooding back. Your fingers running through his hair, his head on your chest, and your soft hums the only thing he can hear. Suddenly he can’t breathe. He’s frozen. He’s moving in autopilot momentarily. He’s making his way towards you. He spots you. A towel is wrapped tightly around you and your back is to him. Your hums turn to singing and Simon reaches you. He opens his mouth to speak and he realizes too late he has startled you.
He’s reaching for your shoulder when your hand grabs him. You swing him around and slam him into the concrete wall. Every bit of breath is knocked out of Simon. Your hand is on his throat and your eyes are dark. Simon notes they’re way darker than he’s ever seen.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“You’re in the men’s showers.”
Simon watches as your face drops. You look around. “No one was in here. I didn’t- My brain was too foggy.”
Simon’s hands are up. He relaxes as you let him go and his eyes don’t leave yours as you fix the towel covering you. His eyes briefly drop and he looks at the scars littering your skin. You were right. They’re mostly smaller scars, but there is one on your forearm, right under the bend of your elbow. There was force behind that one.
“Should have let us show you where it was.” He smiles under his mask. You look embarrassed. “I’ll make sure no one comes in, if you wanna get dressed, love.”
It slips out. Naturally. He tenses as the word leaves his lips. Love… His back is to you as you get dressed. He does not dare peek. As he begins to relax, words leave your mouth causing him to tense all over again.
“Ghost?”
He wants you to call him Simon. “Hm.”
“Gaz called me ‘love’ earlier too… I know it’s a British thing, but the way you both said it-” Simon tenses as you pause. “What were we? All of us?”
Simon really does not know how to answer that. He can easily tell you about him and Johnny, or about Price and Gaz. But you? Fuck, it was confusing. He didn’t entirely know what you were with the others. But he did know the both of you were close. But, never like that…
He says your name. His eyes shut. “That’s complicated.”
“Hm…” He hears you hum. “You can turn around now.”
Simon turns to find you approaching him. You’re dressed and holding your towel in your hands. “Sorry about earlier… I don’t know what happened. I didn’t know it was you-”
“It’s fine.” Simon motions for you to walk in front of him, letting you leave before him. He watches you closely. He wonders if you can feel his eyes on you. If you can, you don’t say anything. Simon wants nothing more than to reach out, rest his hand on the small of your back, and walk you to where you’re going. He refrains.
“I’m sort of hungry now…” Your words bring Simon back. “Can you show me to the cafeteria?”
Simon nods, “Of course.”
He walks in front of you. His body begins to lead the way, while his brain is stuck on you slamming him into the wall. He can’t stop thinking about it now. Processing it. You looked absolutely feral, and a little terrified. He tenses, his fingers curling into his palms, as he thinks about what happened to you to make you that way.
Simon doesn’t want to have to go through the pain of remembering certain things. But he hopes that if you do remember who snatched you up, that you will tell him who it was. So that he can cause them just as much turmoil.
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akindplace · 1 year
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The former president's supporters invaded our National Congress and causing chaos and depredation after the former extreme right president lost the elections and left Brazil to hide in the U.S. the act is clearly inspired in the capitol's invasion after Biden won. Many of them came to the capital of Brazil, Brasilia, in November, set fire to buses, cars, have been camping outside army headquarters asking for the army to take over power in a military coup.
Those supporters also planned to blow a bomb at the international airport, going so a far as to set it but the police intervened. They came over in caravans last night planning on attacking the city today, the national congress being public patrimony that is representative of the democratic power in Brazil, and those people are trying to incite o violent coup. The local government of Brasilia is already being accused of not taking enough measures to keep those violent anti democratic protesters out of the area. So far, it seems there is no police there yet, the cavalry seems to be on their way.
Please don't support these people claiming the elections were fraudulent. We have one of the best electoral systems in the world to avoid fraud. The ex president was from the extreme right, defended torture during our past military dictatorship and was in favor of said dictatorship. He is already being accused of one of the biggest corruption scandals in the history of the country. He lost the elections fairly because of his extremism, corruption and incompetence as president.
Also remember the former president has left the country and all his supporters to hide in the US. As said, he is already being accused of several corruption crimes, including regarding the pocketing the money that should go towards buying of covid vaccines and letting 700k people die while the health system collapsed.
Translation of the cnn headlines: "just now: protesters invade the national congress".
For now I can't find sources in English because this just happened now at the beginning of the afternoon of this Sunday, January 8th, but as soon as there are, I'll post them.
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urdrowning · 1 year
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Hi :)
If you are taking requests, could you please do a Leah oneshot?
Maybe one where reader is really famous (a singer/model/actress/or whatever) and her and Leah have been dating for a while in secret. And Leah’s teammates are suspicious of who’s she’s always spending time with or texting.
Also if you could, could you include Leah introducing reader to them?
Could be England or Arsenal teammates. Or both lol.
Thank you :))
AN - tysm for the request !! i kinda got lazy at the end cause i caught covid while writing LMAO. i don’t really like the ending. MAYBEEEE i have a part two in mind of a soft launch.. maybe i don’t..
superstar / l. williamson
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celebrity relationships are always awkward. when you’re under constant spotlight, it can be hard to settle down. finding someone who actually loves you for yourself, and not for your status isn’t easy. so that’s why you truly believe yourself to be the luckiest of the bunch.
leah williamson, your diamond in the rough.
you met leah at the BRIT awards in 2022. the minute you made eye contact with her brilliant blue eyes, electricity coursed its way through the both of you. the two of you spent the entire night together, getting to know each other. sat on tables next to each other, conversing through the speeches and nominations.
“if you win this award, i’ll take you on a date.”
she smirks at you and you’re taken aback. you’ve been so caught up in her presence that you didn’t realise that your section was up. you and your band have been nominated for the best upcoming artist award (tbh idk if this is a thing. if it’s not, pretend it is) before you even know it, the announcer has taken the stage and begins to announce the winner.
“and the winner of the best upcoming artist award is..”
you can barely even comprehend what they are saying, you’re rather distracted by leah’s hand, as she moves it to discreetly hold yours under the table. you’re in a blur as the announcer continues and you don’t even hear who wins. but, judging by how your band mates have all stood-up and look like they’ve won the lottery, you’ve got a pretty decent bet. you get hoisted up by your band mates as you walk on stage for the group’s acceptance speech. you let your band mates do the talking, as you’re too dazed to even think. (this very much goes viral in with your fans. your ‘fish out of water look’ is now a fan favourite meme)
despite suffering from equally massive hangovers, she’s true to her word, leah took you out on a date the following night. even though it was a small date at the arcade, you would probably still consider it one of your most fondest memories. on your third date, you kissed her. then, on the following night, she showed up on your doorstep, flowers in hand, asking you to be her girlfriend.
your one year anniversary together is approaching and the two of you are still as inseparable as you were when you first met. despite not being together for long, the both of you are unable to picture a future without the other in it.
leah is a private person, as are you. you both agreed to keep your relationship quiet and between yourselves. but, with your relationship approaching it’s first milestone, the both of you are getting restless. neither your family nor your friends are aware of your relationship.
how you’ve managed to keep it a secret from your band mates is a mystery of scooby doo fame. especially since you literally share an apartment with one of them. you consider your band mates your own found family, your forever bestfriends. each of you have been best friends since secondary school, and clearly, have been inseparable since. ironically, you’re all major football enthusiasts as well. you and your band mates are die hard lioness fans, even attending the euro’s competition in support (again, it’s a mystery how they didn’t find out. leah wouldn’t stop smiling at you in the crowd) leah struggled as well, her teammates are getting suspicious. the way she hides her phone from them as she giggles at it when you text.
“you’re seeing someone, aren’t you.”
leah’s head shoots up from her phone at the voice, only to be met with a suspicious looking keira walsh. looking at her with an accusatory stare.
“w.. what are you talking about?”
leah stutters out in an attempts to deny it all, but keira can see right through her, and is determined to get the truth out.
“don’t pretend leah, i know somethings up.”
leah sighs and looks down, avoiding kiera’s glare. she shrugs her shoulders lightly and appears similar to a child who’s got caught breaking the rules. she then reluctantly and awkwardly mutters
“yeah, i guess i’ve being seeing someone..”
keira’s stern gaze breaks as she excitedly sits down next to her friend and grabs her arms, flinging her about as she rapidly fires questions at her.
“who is it? what are they like? how long have you guys been together? are you being safe?”
leah looks mortified. she’s getting overwhelmed with the amount of questions that are being fired at her.
“keira, for gods sake, slow down! we’ve been together for almost a year now, and she treats me well.”
keira pauses her movements, looking at leah with her mouth agape.
“.. a YEAR?? who is she?”
——
“i’m so sorry, babe. i didn’t mean for this.”
leah feels incredibly guilty. she stares at you through the phone screen after relaying the earlier events to you. you’ve been quiet since she started telling you, appearing to be lost in thought. after leah’s fifth apology, it seems you snap out of your trance and smile at her.
“leah, honey, breathe. it’s okay, i’m not mad. it’s about time we started telling people.”
you truly mean it, you honestly feel quite relieved that she made the first move in telling her teammates, as you’ve been fairly close to cracking the news to your band mates yourself.
the thought of telling your band mates makes you nervous, you don’t know why. there’s nothing bad about your relationship. it’s not like you’re dating someone 29 years younger than you (looking at you, leo dicaprio) besides, they are lioness fans themselves and would most likely be elated at the news of you dating their team captain.
“i know, but i should’ve talked with you before-hand.”
leah secretly is filled with relief as well, she no longer has to hide her love from her friends. but it doesn’t make her feel any better about how she told them.
“you’re talking to me about it now, i think that’s enough.”
she shakes her head lightly, fighting off a smile. you always manage to cheer her up, no matter what. it’s as if you have super powers.
“i would’ve told you sooner, but keira’s loudmouth blabbed it to the rest of the team. i’ve been questioned all night.”
the minute she had free time, she’d facetimed you straight away. after she found out who leah was dating, keira’s shocked exclamation of your name definitely didn’t go unheard. her england teammates had hounded her with question after question about you and your relationship together.
you’re about to reply to her before she lets out a yawn. you check the time and realise it’s late into the night.
“go rest, sleepy. i’ll talk to rory and get her to speak to my other band mates for me. i’ll speak to you in the morning, okay? love you.”
she smiles at you sleepily as she mumbles
“love you too, goodnight..”
you end the call and take a deep breathe as you prepare to face your bandmate/roommate, rory. you and her have been inseparable for years. you always planned on telling her first out of your friends and family, you have the utmost trust for her and you’re hoping she’ll be understanding and not upset at you for hiding your relationship from her. you exhale slowly as you get up from your bed and knock on her door.
——
leah ���:
‘my teammates want to meet you x’
the text almost instantaneously shoots anxiety through your veins. despite being a big fan of them, meeting leah’s teammates is an incredibly daunting thing. they intimidate the hell out of you.
y/n 🤍:
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leah 💗:
‘baby it’s okay. if you’re not comfortable with it i’ll tell them no x’
yn 🤍:
‘no no. ofc i want to meet them, they’re just intimidating is all’
leah 💗:
‘aw babe you’re cute 🥰 they’re harmless. and i’ll stop them if they make u uncomfortable. promise x’
you both texted for a little while longer while agreeing that leah would come pick you up and take you to meet her teammates.
you told your band mates last night and it went down well. they were slightly hurt that you kept it from them but were mostly just excited for you and in shock that you managed to pull leah williamson herself. your train of thought is interrupted from the vibration of your phone, lighting up with a text from leah to let you know she’s outside.
she grins at you as you get into the passenger side of her car, leaning over to kiss you cheek.
“are you sure about this?”
she mumbles against your cheek, you can sense her nerves. she’s not nervous because she’s ashamed of you. she’s nervous because she can’t guarantee that her teammates will behave around you.
“i’m sure. i want to do this, it’s important to me.”
she smiles slightly at you, your words holding a great value to her. she then gives you one last kiss on the cheek before she starts the car and drives.
——
“girls, this is y/n. i’m sure you already know her, but please, be nice. she’s really important to me.”
leah’s grip on your hand tightens towards the end of her sentence as her sincerity shines through. it’s true, she cares about you enough to go to the ends of the earth for you.
“hi, it’s really good to meet you all. i’m a big fan.”
the rest of the girls sit there, disbelieving.
“YOU’RE a fan of US”
you chuckle sheepishly, using your freehand to play with the hem of your shirt nervously, one glance at the lionesses faces and you know you’re in for a tornado’s worth of questions. with a deep inhale, you smile and look at them.
“ask away.”
——
after being bombarded with question after question, the awkward and intense atmosphere has long left the room and you’re sat comfortable between leah and georgia. leah’s arm is wrapped comfortably and protectively around your shoulders, one glance at her face and you can see that she’s on cloud nine. all her favourite people are seamlessly bonding and she couldn’t be happier about it.
“let’s play a game!”
the loud voice of ella toone shouts, followed by the loud agreements of the lionesses. ella then excitedly follows up with a shout of ‘duck, duck goose’ but nobody else wants to play that. (ella hmu i wanna play duck duck goose with you so bad)
“y/n! if i win, i get to choose your next album cover!”
mary shouts, you smile at her and agree, feeling confident.
(you lost, now you have to explain to your band mates that mary earp’s is in charge of your next album cover.)
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anexperimentallife · 5 months
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Help a disabled, neurodivergent, interracial family get back to the US for medical treatment
After three bouts of COVID and other medical issues over the past six years here in the Philippines, my health has deteriorated to the point at which I'm worried I won't get to watch my little girl grow up unless I can get back to where I can use my Medicare and VA benefits for various surgeries and treatments.
Unfortunately, even with all y'all's help, @thesurestthing and I are still in debt from the two-year ordeal of fixing our daughter's stateless status, so we can't do this on our own. My little sister started a fundraiser for us, and there are a couple of other ways to help, as well. If you can't help, please reblog. Thank you! (The PayPal link takes the lowest fees, but whatever works for you is best!)
If you want more details, they're under the cut:
Six years ago, while still grieving the deaths of my adult sons and a painful breakup, I moved from the US to the Philippines with just what I could carry, in large part because it's actually possible to survive here on the pittance US disability pays. I had kind of given up on life and figured I would sort of drift off eventually. I wasn't going to kick my own bucket, mind you; I just wasn't going to try very hard to keep living. And I figured I'd just pass away someplace beautiful.
Soon after I got here, though, @thesurestthing (also American) started messaging me from the states, told me she was going to come to the Philippines and be my girlfriend (even though I told her no at first), and eventually joined me here. We had a baby under lockdown, and got married.
So now I had something to live for. (And most of y'all know the drama with the error on El's birth certificate that left her stateless and took almost two years and a lot of money to get fixed.)
But I have had health scare after health scare over the past few years, including three bouts of COVID (some of you remember the month I spent hooked up to an oxygen machine), two bouts of pneumonia, a persistent two-year foot infection that took surgery to clear up (and is going to require another surgery to keep cleared up), damage to my heart and scarring in my lungs from long covid, a literal hole in my throat that is growing bigger, a spine injury, joint injuries, osteo and rheumatoid arthritis, a traumatic brain injury that affects my memory and concentration, adhd, bipolar disorder, autism, and other issues.
(Not even getting into the dental stuff--Hope to be able to get that done before we go back, here where it's cheaper, because Medicare doesn't cover that.)
I'm terrified that I won't be alive to watch my little girl grow up unless I can get someplace where I can use my Medicare and VA health benefits.
An old friend of mine is a social worker and on the school board in a small Minnesota city with its own VA clinic, and has offered to help us get settled in there, but we still have to find a place to live (suitable for a couple that includes a physically disabled adult, and who have a toddler), some basic household goods, some cheap used transportation, and need to survive for a couple of months while Zoey looks for work.
Given our situation in general and the fact that right now my disability is our only income, we're probably looking at having to pay at least six months (or possibly an entire year) of rent up front in order to get anyplace to lease to us.
We can't stay with friends because every single stateside friend we have with a spare room also has a cat--and I have an anaphylactic allergic reaction to cats, meaning that I will literally die if I'm around a cat for too long. I've had to go to the ER because I slept in a room that had a blanket in the corner that a cat had momentarily lain on. The only way I can be around cats is if I'm on massive doses of immunosuppressive drugs, which, well... The whole issue here is that I keep getting deathly ill, so suppressing my immune system even more is a non-starter. Oh, and Fel D 1, the protein secreted in cat dander, saliva, and waste, can stay even on hard surface for up to two years, and even longer on porous surfaces.
Again, if we weren't still in so much debt from El's birth certificate debacle, we might be able to do this at least mostly on our own. But as things stand, we can't do it on our own. We need your help.
If you read all of this, thank you very much. And again, if you can't give, please reblog.
For more medical details, check my Rob Gets Medical tag. For more details about Eleanor's birth certificate saga, check my Baby El tag.
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anarchotahdigism · 20 days
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"It’s interesting how often people cite “CDC guidance” as their reason for unmasking. Although the CDC has absolutely participated in and cosigned the mainstream minimizing of the illness, even the CDC still acknowledges that vulnerable people are at risk from COVID infection. They simply encourage the public to let those people die.
During an interview with the BBC in the fall, Dr. Fauci famously said aloud “You’ll find the vulnerable will fall by the wayside. They’ll get infected, they’ll get hospitalized, and some will die.” Should he have characterized any other vulnerable group this way (“You’ll find Native people will fall by the wayside,” “You’ll find trans people will fall by the wayside,” “You’ll find Black people will fall by the wayside,” “You’ll find women will fall by the wayside”) there would surely have been an almighty backlash. But to say medically vulnerable people must die so the rest of us may have brunch indoors does not beget such a reaction- never mind that all the above-named groups- Native people, trans people, Black people and women- are at a higher risk for Long COVID, and other poor outcomes from COVID." ... "The move to frame the requirement of a public safety measure- no different from requiring seatbelts, helmets, pants and shoes in public- as a violation of bodily autonomy came directly from groups like the Atlas Network, which, as you might gather from its Ayn-Rand-worshipping name, opposes all public regulation. Meanwhile, we continue to violate the bodily autonomy of disabled people by making participation in public life contingent on accepting forcible, continual reinfections. Since Biden’s COVID normalization campaign, MAGA-style rhetoric about how disabled people should “stay home forever” and how they are “useless” and “weak” has absolutely infiltrated left spaces. Many disabled people, in fact, are effectively “staying home forever.” They are shielding themselves from a disease that may kill them, and certainly would likely lower their baseline health, and have been for years. Meanwhile, the pleas of these incredibly isolated people for the bare minimum of solidarity- please at least mask up indoors when not eating or drinking- are ignored because that is apparently too difficult for the mental health of abled people." ... "A last point I will address, I did see questions about how we are supposed to “force” people to mask. Disabled people, vulnerable people, and left groups generally do not have the power of the state. We are not going to be engaging in “policing,” because nobody is going to end up in jail, physically hurt, on probation, or with limited job prospects because of our community care. Simply write “masks required” on your event invites, distribute masks wherever possible (contact your local Mask Bloc!), and do your best to spread information while modeling good praxis by masking yourself. For the most part, people are following the crowd. They will do what the majority is doing, and many will be happy to mask if it is normalized instead of stigmatized.
A left that purges its spaces of everyone who values community care, everyone who is willing to experience a minor inconvenience for the well-being of another, everyone who thinks it’s all of us or none of us, is a drastically weakened left. A left that does not incorporate disability praxis is drastically limiting its own scope and ability to be effectual. A left that mocks vulnerable groups and seeks to justify harm to them is not grounded in real justice and has only a superficial understanding of its own aims. Join us in masking, keep your comrades safe, and relish the beauty of avoiding illness while knowing you did your part to protect others. It’s a good feeling at the end of the day, I promise you that."
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munsonsduchess · 2 years
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Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy
summary: you've had the worst day in work but lucky eddie is there to pick up the pieces pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader warnings: none this is just fluff, maybe a little hurt/comfort if you squint w/c: 1305 authors note: this has been rattling around my brain for days and i'm self isolating with covid so i'm being entirely self indulgent. please reblog they're so appreciated, please don't be a silent reader!
not beta'd all mistakes are my own, we die like heroes!
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(Moodboard by Me)
It had been a shit show of a day and it was only noon. First of all you'd slept through your alarm so you were late getting up which meant you were running late for work, then you'd popped a tire about six blocks away from where you needed to be leaving you to hoof it on foot trying to take shortcuts which only made you later when your sneaker got stuck on something disgusting in an alleyway and you had to spend five extra minutes dealing with that, so you were late for work after all which caused your boss to ream you out about timekeeping and how lazy this generation was and because you needed to be "taught a lesson about hard work" you'd been given the absolute worst job in the entire place which meant you being up to your elbows in sludge and other various unspeakable substances. 
When your shift had finally ended all you'd wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed but then wouldn't you know it the manager's son who was supposed to work the closing shift had calling in 'sick' so you'd had to stay on and now there you were standing in the pouring rain waiting on your ride that had apparently forgotten all about you since they were now, according to your watch, forty five minutes late. 
All you wanted to do in that moment was cry, it had been possibly the worst day of your life and the universe didn't seem to want to let up any time soon. Rifling through your pockets and your purse you made your way to the payphone on the corner of the store and dialed the only other person you could think of to help you out of this mess, 
"Munson" 
"Eddie, baby, can you come pick me up? I know you've got Hellfire tonight at the school but I - " you had to stop for a moment to wipe away the tears that were streaming down your face and try to sniff quietly so your boyfriend wouldn't hear how pathetic you sounded,
"Hey, hey, what's going on? Are you crying?" 
"It's stupid, just a bad day at work. I shouldn't have called, have fun at hellfire!" you did your best to sound upbeat before ending the call and with another sniff you steeled yourself for the long walk home.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰
The universe was really really not in your favour today. Staring up at your dark home you frowned, no wonder no one was around to pick you up from work they weren't even home and you didn't have any keys because you hadn't grabbed them on your way out the door thinking you wouldn't need them,
"Maybe I ought to just lay down in the street and hope a homicidal clown comes to take me away" the thought was tempting, even if you still hadn't finished that book entirely yet.
So instead you stood there on the doorstep trying to figure out if your parents might have left a window open somewhere that you might be able to shimmy in through or if your cranky old neighbour might let you dry off in their place when your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wheels on asphalt before coming to a screeching halt at the end of your driveway. 
Like a golden carriage from a fairy tale there was a beat up old van you'd recognise anywhere and behind the wheel the frizzy curls of none other than Eddie Munson, 
"Get in the van!" he called opening the passenger side door so you could jump in, "come on!" 
Your legs moved on their own not even waiting for your brain to catch up and you took off running down the driveway and leapt into the van, 
"How did you know where I was?" 
"After you called I came to get you but you weren't at work and you weren't on any of the main streets so i figured you'd tried to take a shortcut home and this is where i'd find you" 
"You came looking for me?" somehow you couldn't quite believe that Eddie had come in search of you especially when it was a Hellfire night, "what about Hellfire?" 
"Cancelled it. You needed me more" he smiled at you and you felt the warmth of the sun in those big beautiful brown eyes of his and you couldn't help it. You started crying. Which in turn kind of freaked Eddie out, "Hey woah what come on don't cry, it's ok, look whatever i did I'm sorry i know I'm a jerk sometimes but please babe stop crying!" 
His attempts to get you to stop crying by reaching out for you or looking your way for a second while he tried to keep his eyes on the road were adorable to say the least. The poor boy looked so confused, it was endearing. 
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰
When the van pulled up outside Eddie's the rain had subsided and you were able to get into the brightly light trailer without adding to the dampness of your already soaked clothes and hair. The familiar smell of beer, cigarette smoke, weed and the cheap cologne Eddie used was inherently comforting and you wondered when Eddie's trailer had started to seem more like home than your parents house,
"Wayne was at the laundromat earlier today so there's clean towels and I'll get you a dry shirt" Eddie was talking at a million miles an hour as you sat on his bed looking around at the posters you'd become so familiar with, "there should be plenty of hot water so stay in there as long as you like"
"In where?" you questioned, truthfully you hadn't really been listening to him as he spoke, too absorbed in your own little world,
"The shower dummy" he laughed flicking your forehead, "for someone so smart you sure don't listen" the teasing smile on Eddie's face made you roll your eyes, 
"I'm listening" you argued with a similar smile. Eddie just pressed a t-shirt into your hands and gave you a little push towards the bathroom.
You didn't intend to spend as long as you did in the shower but once the hot water hit your frigid skin you couldn't bring yourself to step out, it was only the fear of using up all the hot water that pushed you to turn the faucet off and leave the bathroom now clad only in a pair of boxer shorts and one of Eddie's old faded Mötley Crüe shirts. 
The sounds of music were coming softly from Eddie's bedroom and you padded your way back in announcing yourself just as softly, 
"There's my girl" Eddie beamed at you from his spot on the bed, "I wondered where she went" 
If you lived to be a hundred you didn't think you'd ever get tired of looking at Eddie, no matter what anyone else thought about him, the reputation he'd garnered at school for being a 'freak' a 'burnout' and worse. You didn't care about any of that, you loved him through and through. 
"Thanks for coming to get me. Today was … difficult" 
"Come on, why don't you tell me all about it and you can tell me who it was that made you cry first" 
"That was - " Eddie cut you off with a soft kiss as you climbed onto the bed next to him, his hand cupping your face to bring you closer to him,
"No one makes my girl cry. Now, tell me all about your day. We've got time before the pizza arrives" 
Eddie Munson was many things to many people but to you he would always be the kindest person, someone you could always rely on no matter what. Your very own Prince Charming, in a leather jacket.
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kamiasolove · 9 months
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how would takeru, loki, and thor respond to being quarantined with their s/o?
omg a COVID RELATED ASK I’M STOKED.  Why? because if anything has happened good it’s the “one bed” kind of fics but about forced living together via “quarantine” and I LOVE IT.
I don’t write Thor well but I will write for Takeru and Loki. ~ Admin Silver
Takeru:
Would be the guy to go stir crazy first out of all the gods, he runs everyday, can you blame him? There'd be only three things that'd reign him in: buying a treadmill, finding him more hobbies, and tiring him out in other ways *coughs* sex *cough*.
He's a red-blooded man through and through. This indoors life is not something he'd handle well, and I assume your first couple fights will happen because of quarantine. Takeru's temper is usually saved for people that bother you or his brother, but he let it get the best of him, and he learns this the hard way.
You were talking about what you wanted to do that day together, and he was getting annoyed about having to stay in place and went on rant about how stupid quarantine is, he's a god! What purpose could him staying inside serve?? Only weaklings and idiots get sick.
"So I'm just a weak idiot, Takeru?" you argue back.
"Oh, shit, I just said that out loud, so what? Why are you offended?" was his immediate reaction, still heated from his rant.
It was then that you started to cry as he said those cruel words, and Takeru realized you were angry with him. Pulling you in for a hug into his toned chest he muttered "Sometimes I forget how fragile humans are, you can't help it, and sorry I was being a jerk. I'll make you some Ochazuke, please lay down and hurry up and get better!" His bright red blush and trembling arms as he held you firm to him showed you that even if his words were harsh even moments ago, he really really loves you.
He volunteered to keep you company during quarantine as he can't just expose himself as a god, he defends his decision, but the reality is that he's just a love-sick puppy that'd rather die than be apart from you just because some stupid doctors say he was "exposed". Even if it's hard on Takeru, he chose your needs first above his own wants.
Loki:
You being sick inspires him to pretend to have covid too, to gain your sympathy. It takes you one hour to realize that he's faking it for attention. Loki LOVES being pampered and it's a GIVEN when your sick as a dog, right hon?
After that short stunt, you realize he is in quarantine with you and NOT sick, and then you try to distance yourself from him to keep him from ACTUALLY getting sick.
Loki did not expect the *gasp* consequences of his actions.
Que him confessing he can't get sick with human diseases and is clinging to your leg begging for even a scrap of affection. Those eyes of his slowly melting away all your determination.
Please don't ignore him, he'd upright die of loneliness, he's used to being the center of attention, even if it's not positive attention. In these moments he resembles a cat more than usual, rubbing his face on you and petting you to try to coax a reaction out of you.
Quickly kissing him to shut up his whining, he moans at the sudden forwardness. Wrapping himself up in you, he leans into the kiss until you have a sudden coughing fit. Loki lets you lean on him petting your head as you let it all out. Smoothing your hair and with an uncharacteristic amount of worry for anyone but Baldr, the image of you getting frailer as he stays the same flashes before his eyes.
Loki heard people die from this disease, and then his expression completely changes. Hoisting you up gently, he tries to get you to rest as he quickly gets your medicine and comes up with some plan to blackmail a doctor into curing you because no one is allowed to take you away, not even a disease.
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kirakirabluemoon · 2 months
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Happy New Year and I hope everyone has a better year ahead! 🙆🏻‍♀️💖💖💖🌻🌻🌻🍀🍀🍀
I know this Author’s notes looks long, but please don’t panic. It’s just an update, I’m still working on Belladonna. 😊👍🏻💖🙆🏻‍♀️
This is an update to let y’all know how things been going with Belladonna’s Chapter 31. It is still unfortunately incomplete, but I promise I’m trying! 🌚🙏🏻 Still ironing out some details and Chinese New Year is coming, so spring cleaning and stuff is in order. So update is probably after February. 🌚🙏🏻 I’m very sorry. 🙃😔😭🙏🏻
These three paragraphs only regards my health in slightly more detail than the previous post, (why I haven’t been able to update) so you can just skip it if you’d like. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖 As I mentioned previously, my health has been fluctuating since June 2023, I haven’t been feeling very well so my writing took a hit (on top of writer’s block). 😩🫠 The symptoms thankfully wasn’t too serious, all things considered.🤞🏻My fatigue however was the most obvious, there was also low moods, insomnia (caused by heart palpitations) and etc. However, I’ve gotten my blood tested around November and I finally know what’s going on. So at least I now know how to reduce and regulate the symptoms, I’ve seen improvements and hopefully I’ll make a full recovery soon. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖🙏🏻
But then at the end of December, I was tested positive with covid. 🌚🌚🌚🫠🫠🫠 So my fatigue worsened. At this point it’s like a triple layered stack. First from my nightly dreams, second from the issue that started in June, then now from the covid. 🫠 I have tested negative after 6 days, but my doctor did warn me that some symptoms and inflammation will probably persist for about a month after turning negative and to not do strenuous exercises, (even something simple like brisk walk). I found out sometimes just eating a meal brings me shortness of breath and my heart rate would reach 106 or so and then I gotta lie down. Feels like my heart was copying that one meme on Facebook and saying, “If you don’t stop, I will.” 😮‍💨🌚🤣 The same goes for house chores, like changing the bedsheets. So yeah. But I’m still kicking—albeit weakly—AND my low moods had thank god not plagued me lately. 💖😮‍💨🙏🏻 Bless.
I’ll be trying to get a swing back into things while minding my energy, so my health doesn’t decide to give me a sucker punch to the gut. Or a left hook, I don’t know, it’s been years and it still likes to catch me by surprise. 🌚🤷🏻‍♀️🤞🏻 Despite the annoyances, I’m still very thankful it’s nothing too serious. At this point, I’ll just let it throw a fit wherever it wants, and then let it die down whenever, while trying to get on with my life and maintaining inner peace. 🙄😑🤦🏻‍♀️🤌🏻 I’m done trying to control it to go the way I want it to, cuz it backfired, badly. 🌚
Anyways, thank you all so much and I really really appreciate the immense patience, love and support my dear readers has shown for my stories. 💖🙆🏻‍♀️🍀 I know I haven’t been updating as much as I would have liked, nor anticipated, after I graduated from school five-years-turning-six-years ago, in fact I thought I’d be able to churn out more chapters, guess I sorely underestimated the full extent of the symptoms my health could throw at me. 🙃😔
I wish everyone good health—seriously please take good care of yourself, and may all the lovely and nice things in life, be it big or small, be enjoyed, celebrated, and appear whenever you need it. 🥰🙆🏻‍♀️🌈💖🌻🍀
The very best of luck for 2024 and the upcoming Year of the Dragon! God bless everyone! Cheers! 🎆🎇🎉🎊🐉🎊🎉🎆🎇
Until next time! 😘
Ps: My inbox told me I have a new message/submission but when I click on it, there’s nothing there. 🌚🌚🌚 If someone sent me an ask, I’m sorry but Tumblr won’t let me see it. 😭🙏🏻
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geminisecrets · 2 years
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How I'm Imagining You Part II
Warnings:  18+ ONLY! explicit sexual content, very slight bdsm like only if you squint 
Word Count: 4800
Summary: “You like that?” He smirks down at me. “Baby.” He says again and I close my eyes, pressing my face closer and closer to him …“Baby, baby, baby.” He breathes, fingers tightening in my hair. I’m not trying to be dramatic when I tell you that I think I could genuinely die right now in this moment and be happy. 
What’s worse? Losing your roommate on such a short notice? Or finding a new one within 48 hours that you know almost nothing about? 
Authors Note: This is a part 2 to my story How I'm Imagining You which you can read here! My apologies for taking 763 years to post part 2, ya girl got covid again *eye twitch*
Requests are open :) Jake story coming soon <3
Join our tag list ✨
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“I’m telling you, breaking up was the best thing that could have happened to Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks made an entire career out of…” Honestly, I’d stopped listening about 20 minutes ago. It’d been about a month since Sam had moved in and lets just say my cons list is getting a little longer than my pros. 
First it was the wet towels left on the bathroom floor. Then came the constant bass playing. Don't get me wrong, I like a man who’s good with his fingers as much as the next girl or gay but nonstop thumping rhythm has become the soundtrack of every part of my life and I’m starting to develop an eye twitch. I was constantly finding his loose, long hair strands around the apartment. The way that he loaded the dishwasher was weird. He had incredibly pretentious taste in music. You get the jist. 
He had a large record collection too and while it was admirable, he only played a select few albums. Howlin’ Wolfe, BB King, Bob Dylan, Stephen Stills etc., on repeat. Which- yes, all great artists, but if I have to hear Blue by Joni Mitchell one more time, I’ll be committing violent crimes. 
More than either of those factors however, is the commentary. The constant addition of his opinion on everything. See, here’s my theory on Sam. For starters, the man knows he’s hot. Painfully hot. He knows the effect he has on people and he fucking eats it up.  Sam’s in a band with his brothers. They’re not huge, but they’re good. Really good; and they’ve got enough followers to give the man a god complex. I think he truly believes that the world at large is just waiting for him to grace us with his presence and theories on everything under the sun. 
Now don't get me wrong. I know it sounds like I've got only bad things to say about the man but he does have his redeeming qualities. It wasn't even a week after he moved in that he picked up on the fact that I drink chamomile tea every single night before bed. One evening, after I’d gotten home from a particularly grueling evening yoga class, I walked into my bedroom to find my favorite mug sitting on my desk, the tea inside still hot enough to produce little wisps of steam. 
He’s also a slut for cuddles. The man has the coldest toes on planet earth and I chalk it all up to the fact that he is almost never in shoes or socks of any kind. That’s where we find ourselves now. On the couch, his feet tucked under my thigh as I scroll through the endless options on Netflix. He’s had a problem with every single movie I’ve suggested even though he’s insisted that I choose. 
“Tenet? No, Christopher Nolan is overrated.” He protests as I pause my search on that option. 
“You’re just saying that because his movies are too complex for you to understand,” I retort with a roll of my eyes. He scoffs immediately. 
“Please.” he throws his head back, loudly letting out a cackle of a laugh as if I’d just told him pigs could fly. “There’s more to it than th-”
“For the love of GOD, Sam” I interrupt, tossing the remote into his lap. “Would you please just pick something before my ass permanently molds into this couch?” 
A devious smirk spreads across his lips as he contemplates his next words carefully. See, the past few weeks have been… tense. Yes, tense in the sense that Sam was driving me up the wall while I was getting used to his mannerisms, but there was a bit more to it. 
Flash back to where we left off in Part 1… 
Sam takes my hand as he helps me over the lip of the tub, my second orgasm still making my knees wobble unsteadily. 
“Shower sex really isnt all its cracked up to be” Sam smiles over to me as he towels off- wincing as he rubs over the elbow he’d banged against the shower door. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”  
“Yeah, well next time you’re gonna need to think twice before you try to lift my leg up over your shoulder to get your head between my legs.” I add without really thinking much about the weight of my words. 
“Next time, huh?” He looks over to me, eyebrows raised, eyes tracing over my body. My foot is propped on the edge of the sink as I drag the towel over my thigh, drying my skin. My stomach flips instantly and I feel my face getting hot.
“I mean- I don’t- I-” I stutter.
“Relax.” He says, still offering that same laid back smile. “This doesn't have to be a thing.” 
“I just- Okay, I have to ask... How did you realize I was the girl from that party on South Street last week?” I inquire. Sam’s shoulders shake slightly and his lips part open as he laughs. 
“You see that t-shirt on the counter?” He motions with a nod of his head. I follow his gaze and nod a ‘yes’ to confirm, my eyebrows crinkling in confusion. “My sister Ronnie bought that for me in Vegas a few years ago.” My jaw drops.
“No shit!” I guffawed. “When I grabbed it off the floor, I thought it belonged to whoever lived in that room. I had no idea- how- wait, what did you wear home that night?” He ignores the question, instead following up with:
“Wait, you’re telling me that’s not why you chose me to be your new roommate?” He asked.
“What?” I asked in disbelief, “No, definitely not. I didn’t realize you were you until I recognized your necklace this morning.” He hummed, looking down at himself to see it resting between his collarbones. “Details like that tend to stick with you when they’re smacked repeatedly into the back of your head as you’re getting railed from behind.” The laugh that erupted out of him in that moment was a sound I wish I could bottle up and keep with me to release only on my saddest, loneliest days; knowing it could pull me out of the deepest pit with ease. I couldn't help but laugh along with him. 
“Okay, well that certainly changes things.” he states, dropping his used towel to the floor at his feet; walking out of the bathroom and around the corner to his bedroom. I sigh, bending down to pick it up and hang it on the little hook on the back of the bathroom door. Wrapping my towel tightly around myself, I follow him out into the hallway. 
Leaning on the door frame of his bedroom, trying to come across as casual as I can, I ask “What do you mean by that?” I watch as he pulls a pair of briefs from the pile of clean (?) laundry on his bed. Boxes of his belongings still half unpacked and overflowing around him. 
It seems to take him a minute for him to decide what to say next. You’re almost sure he didn't hear you and you’re about to forget it and turn around to cross the hallway to your bedroom before he finally speaks up. “Well when I made my move in there-” he juts his thumb toward the bathroom, “-it was because I was sure you were into me. I thought you accepted my application because you remembered me from last week. I was almost afraid you’d hunted me down just because you couldn't get enough of this” He gestures with both hands to his groin. 
“Sorry, I quite literally cannot tell if you’re fucking with me” I huff out a humorless laugh. “You assume I took the time to somehow target ads to you about rent listings? What, did you think I was whispering keywords into your cell phone after we fucked to get the FBI agent living in your phone to prompt you to ‘happen to find me’ on CraigsList? That I would go through all that trouble just for the chance to see you again?” 
He’s standing a few feet away from me now, wearing nothing but a cocky smirk and a pair of navy blue briefs. His hair is still dripping onto his shoulders and I try my best not to stare as the water droplets trail lower and lower down the expanse of his toned stomach, finally disappearing into his waistband. “Or did you forget so quickly that only one of us got our world rocked that night?” At that, his smile finally falters, just a bit. 
“I think we both know I more than made up for that this evening, wouldn't you agree?” He cocks his head to the side, stepping even closer to me, his hand reaching out to brush my hair over my shoulder, his other going above my head on the door frame, trapping me against it. “Or were those pretty sounds you were making in the shower in response to something else?” My eyes squint into slits as my grin tips up to match his in response to using my pleasure against me. 
“You know what?” I counter, taking a step back, his fingers that were playing mindlessly in the strands of my hair reach out to follow me briefly. He hums a response, curiously. “Maybe it’s best for us to keep our distance after all. Romantically that is.” 
“Romantically” He repeats, folding his arms across his chest. I nod once to confirm, matching his body language and crossing my arms as well, as if to agree.  “Sure thing, Specks. We’ll see how long that lasts.” He smirks, reaching to shut the door on me. 
“You’re insufferable.” I mutter loudly enough for him to hear as I pivot on my heel and head straight into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
End of Flashback
His eyes rake over me from his side of the couch and I feel my heartbeat pick up its pace. It’s been this tension nonstop for weeks. Ever since we’d decided, or, I’d decided, that we shouldn't hook up as roommates, it was suddenly all I could think about. I had to tell myself that I wasn't imagining things like the prolonged glances from across the room or the unnecessary hand on my lower back as he passed me in our tiny kitchen. 
“So touchy today, Specks.” He chides. “You sure you want to skip yoga tonight? Sounds like a little Savasana could do you some good.” 
“Meditation is not what I need, Samuel, I need to-” I stop myself immediately, almost bringing a hand up to my mouth to keep the words from coming out. As if I was just about to admit to Sam of all people that I was really just dying for an orgasm that didn’t come from the tiny purple vibrator in my bedside table. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up as he waits for me to elaborate. 
“Say it.” He taunts, eyes boring into mine. His gaze flickers down to my lips and back up to my eyes so quickly that I'm not even positive it happened. It’s silent for a few beats as I calculate my next words very carefully. I open my mouth to reply but he beats me to it. “What is it that you need, Specks?” He moves from his casual, slouched position against the armrest into an upright one in one fluid motion. He’s facing me straight on now, our knees touching. 
“I know what you're doing, Samuel.” I gain the courage to look him right in the eye. 
“And what am I doing?’’ My jaw clenches as he cocks his head to the side, feigning innocence. Something about the smug look on his face coupled with everything building over the past month irritates me to the point of confrontation. I mirror his posture, then. Leaning in, my elbows on my knees, our noses nearly touching, I say:
“You’re trying to get me to cave. And it's not gonna happen.” I smile, proud of myself, ignoring the heat pooling in my stomach over being this close to him, smelling his hair, practically tasting his breath. It makes my mouth water. 
“You seem so sure of yourself.” He grins back at me like he knows something I don’t. “Lots of confidence for someone who couldn't keep my name out of their mouth last Friday night.” He casually slumps back against the armrest again, fingers brushing through his hair. I feel my heart drop into my gut and all of the blood run out of my face. I literally think I might faint and I know exactly what he’s referring to, but in a panic, I say:
“I don't know what you’re talking about.” 
The corners of his lips curve up impossibly slowly. “Let’s see if I can jog your memory. I think it went something like-” he tips his head back dramatically, eyebrows raised, eyes closed, and in the most pornographic, obscenely crude tone, he moans ‘ahhh, yes, Sammy, fuck me harder, daddy-” before he can take it any further, I pounce on him, using both hands to cover his mouth. All I can hear are his muffled chuckles as his eyes crinkle in the corners, his hands finding their way to my waist in an attempt to free himself. 
“Jesus Christ okay first of all-” I hold up one finger for emphasis, my other hand still securely pressed over his mouth. “-there’s no way in hell I called you daddy- but nice try. Second, you said you were going to be out late playing a gig in the city with the band and you’d crash on Danny’s couch.” He squirms under me, my legs still straddling him. He starts to mumble something, but my hand muffles the sound. “Are you going to say something stupid?” I ask. He shakes his head under my hand. “Promise?” I raise my eyebrows in question and hold out the pinky of my free hand as a peace offering. His right hand moves from its place on my waist to slot his pinky in with mine, securing the vow. I squint my eyes in suspicion but slowly remove my hand. 
“I was trying to say that you don’t have to be embarrassed. I was flattered.” His tone is snarky, but his eyes are genuine. Evenso, I roll my eyes. 
“Of course you were.” I lift my leg in an attempt to climb off of him but he catches it, tugging around the back of my knee, keeping me on top of him. 
“Hey.” He looks at me again with the most serious expression I’ve seen on his face since the day I asked him if I could switch the record from his Joni Mitchell album to my Hall and Oates LP. “Get out of your own head.” His smile up to me is genuine as he taps between my eyebrows, encouraging them to unfurrow themselves. 
I hate to admit more than anyone that I’m about to go back on weeks of progress. I’m about to let him ‘win.’ The look on his face tomorrow morning when we cross paths in the kitchen, mugs of coffee in hand, is going to make me want to slap the life out of him, but- I can’t seem to suppress the ache I feel anymore. Like all of a sudden, weeks of wanting has hit me like a ton of bricks. Weeks of watching him mindlessly run his fingers through his hair. Weeks of trying to ignore the way his toothpaste endearingly dribbles out of the left side of his mouth. Every time. Weeks of overhearing him pang out melodies on the keyboard in his bedroom; his steady and sure fingers sliding effortlessly over the keys. I’m not sure if it’s the lust talking or if the butterflies in my stomach are authentic but it prompts me to admit:
“Sam…” I bend at the hips, hands on his chest, lowering myself down to him. “I realllyyyyy want you to fuck me again.” He inhales so deeply through his nose that I think he’s about to sneeze, but the mood changes completely in that instant. 
Before I have time to second guess myself, his lips are on mine. It takes me a minute to gain clarity, but then I give into it. It feels like my bones are made of rubber as I melt into him. Every part of my body melding to every part of his. 
“I missed you.” he whispers into my mouth, grabbing my ass with both hands to grind his hips up to mine. I hum in agreement, repeating the motion until I’m shamelessly riding him, fully clothed. Feeling like there are way too many layers between us, I break our kiss momentarily to pull my shirt over my head. His eyes instantly head south and his hands move from my ass to my tits. He pulls the cups of my bra down with enough force that I audibly gasp and my tits spill out into his hands. His eyes meet mine instantly, wordlessly asking if that was okay. My gasp in surprise turns quickly into a moan of pleasure as I assure him-yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.  
“Fuck” I cover his hands with mine, head tipping back, pleading with him to squeeze harder. He obliges and sits up to meet me, his mouth finding my neck. I can feel him suck my skin into his mouth and roll it between his teeth and as euphoric as it feels, I push against his chest, breaking the suction immediately. “No marks.” I scold. 
Raising one eyebrow, expression nothing but pure lust, he asks “No marks? Or no marks where anyone can see?” My teeth bite into my bottom lip and I nod with permission. He uses his hands to tip me on to my back and hovers over me, removing his shirt in one fluid motion. His lips meet mine again and this time there's less of a rush. As our lips smush together, I can't seem to feel where mine end and his begin. We kiss for what feels like an eternity before I can feel his hand start to trail down between my tits, going lower and lower until it’s dipping into the waistband of my leggings. 
“Touch me, Sam.” I whine. His fingers find the hem of my thong and dip into my wetness. I can't help the sound of relief that slips from my lips. 
“Is this what you think about? When you touch yourself?” The question catches me off guard but I answer it nonetheless. 
“Not exactly.” I can feel the blush rising to my cheeks, my eyes fluttering closed. 
“No?” He asks, his fingers expertly circling the bud of my clit, alternating pressure from harder to feather light. “Can you tell me?” He prompts. In any other circumstance I would feel absolutely beyond mortified to say what I’m about to say but as His fingers begin to trail a little lower, his middle finger threatening to dip into me, I open my mouth but he interrupts with “ah, ah, ah- look at me.” He commands, his voice dropping an octave lower. My eyes flash open, meeting his instantly, his face just centimeters from mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek. 
“I-um-” It’s getting more and more difficult to focus as I feel him getting harder against my thigh. He drops his lips down to my collar bone, and as if he can read my mind, he asks: 
“Can you feel how hard I am for you? All for you. You drive me crazy” He peppers kisses along the path from my shoulder to my ear. “Tell me lover, I want to make you feel good.” 
“I imagine that you’re fucking me. Hard. From behind.” A growl erupts from his chest and his teeth scrape against the space just behind my ear.
“What else?” He prompts, finger finally pushing past my folds. I hum a pleased response. Hearing his voice drip with want and his dick hard against my leg gives me another dose of confidence and I match his tone, my voice quiet and sensual as I say:
“Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think about you bending me over this couch and spanking me.”  
“Yeah?” He rasps, spurring me on, fingers moving perfectly inside me. I feel myself getting close to climax when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of me, wiping them on his jeans. He chuckles at the pout I display, missing him instantly. He gets up from the couch holding out a hand for me to join him. I give him my hand and he tugs me up until our chests are pressed together. 
He’s closing his eyes, dipping his lips down to catch me in a kiss but I drop to my knees in front of him instead. “Oh” he breathes, lips forming the most perfect circle. I try to make a show out of the way I undress him. Unbuttoning his pants with my teeth- a trick I’d mastered at a bachelorette party ages ago- I look up at him through my lashes. Stretching my arm up to his mouth, I press my fingers past his lips, his tongue swirling around the digits slowly, a hum vibrating around them. I pull them from his mouth and hold my hand out.
“Spit.” I command, waiting for him to oblige. His jaw goes slack and a shaky breath tumbles out. I can tell he’s having a hard time handing the power over to me, but the look in his eyes is telling me he’s loving it. I raise my eyebrows expectantly and he does as I say, letting warmth from his mouth dribble into my palm. “Good boy.” I smile and reach into his briefs, pulling him free. He hisses sharply in pleasure as I begin pumping him with my right hand, my left pulling his pants and briefs down the rest of the way and helping him step out of them. 
Once he’s freed, I guide him into my mouth, swirling the head of his dick with my tongue. I use my spit-slicked hand to start pumping where my mouth doesn't reach. His hands find my hair, brushing the strands from my face as I take more and more of him in. 
“God, fuck” he praises. “So good with your mouth, baby.” ‘Baby’. I repeat in my head. I hum and look up at him again, scratching my nails down his thigh to show my approval of the pet name. “You like that?” He smirks down at me. “Baby.” He says again and I close my eyes, pressing my face closer and closer to him, taking him in so deep that I’m not sure I’ll be able to suppress a gag much longer. 
“Baby, baby, baby.” He breathes, fingers tightening in my hair.I’m not trying to be dramatic when I tell you that I think I could genuinely die right now in this moment and be happy. His hands on my head begin to guide me up and down his shaft, fucking my mouth. As best as I can I nod for him to keep going, fingers again digging into his thighs. He accepts my consent and holds the back of my head with one hand and my jaw with the other. He starts slowly, but picks up speed as he fucks into me. I do my best to stay as still as I can, tongue out so as not to catch him with my teeth accidentally. 
“Fuck” He mutters again, his legs getting shaky. “Look at you.” He pulls out of my mouth slowly, wiping the corners of my lips clean with his thumb and brings it up to lick clean. “C’mere” He helps me up- legs a little wobbly from lack of circulation. He meets me halfway with a kiss, it’s gentle but passionate as he wraps his arms around my frame. “I’m gonna fuck you now, Specks.” He whispers, lips at my ear, biting the lobe playfully. A shiver runs down my spine and he squeezes me harder into a hug when he feels it. 
Releasing his hold on me for just a moment, he meets my eyes. “Take your pants off for me, baby.” He orders, walking slowly backward toward the bathroom to- I correctly assume- grab a condom. Not once do his eyes leave mine as I do as I’m told, slipping my leggings and thong down my thighs, trying to be sexy about my movement, but too desperate for him to really take my time. He’s back within seconds, rolling the latex over his perfect, hard dick. Bringing his hand to my throat, he pulls me in for a deep kiss- his tongue lapping at mine, sinfully. In one quick motion, he spins me around, bending me over the arm of the couch. Rightfully assuming I’m more than prepared, he slips his dick inside me in one quick thrust. I can't help the squeal of pleasure that bursts out of me. 
“Oh fuck, Sammy.” I gasp. He starts rocking himself in and out of me, finding a rhythm easily. We both know we won’t last long with how revved up we both are. “Harder” I chance. His hand reaches forward then, clasping around my throat as he pulls himself all the way out and back in again a few times, taking my breath away each time. 
Without warning he uses his free hand to clap down on my ass cheek. “Yes!” I let out a cry of pleasure, encouraging him to do it again. He does, this time in a different spot. He bends over me, chest pressed to my back. The deja vu of the situation is not lost on me as I remember this position from the very first time we’d ever fucked at that party. At this new angle, he’s driving into my g-spot perfectly and it’s all I can do not to literally cry over how close I am to coming. “So close, Sam.”
“Me too, Specks.” He breathes. “Can you come for me baby? Wanna hear you come. Sound so pretty when you come for me.” That does it. With two more thrusts, I’m crying out for him, profanities spilling out of my lips, panting his name as my walls contract around him. He groans behind me and I feel his release follow mine. The way he moans my name directly into my ear is so heavenly I think I could come again just hearing it fall from his lips. His hips slow their momentum and he squeezes his arms around my middle. We stay like that for a few moments, his arms around me, whispering praises into my ear as we catch our breath. 
He slides out of me and disappears around the corner to dispose of the condom. I reach down for my t shirt but before I even stand up completely, he’s walking back over to me, my silk bathrobe in hand, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He smiles then, offering the robe to me. There’s no cockiness to his smile like I expected there to be from someone who could very easily tell me ‘I told you so.’
“Thanks.” I return his smile. 
“How about that movie?” He asks, pulling a blanket from the basket in the corner and making space for me next to him on the couch. I join him, pressing myself against the armrest, not quite sure what post-coitus cuddling looks like for us, considering this would be the first. He picks up the remote, finding Rocky II immediately and pressing play. 
“Now was that so hard?” I tease. 
“Oh I knew I wanted to watch this movie hours ago. I just like watching you squirm.” He retorts, wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me into his chest. I try to wriggle out of his hold but he just squeezes tighter, laughing, and I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. He finally lets me free and I unleash a playful punch to his arm. I can't quite seem to bring myself to fully retreat back to my side of the couch however, so I settle for leaning against him, arm to arm. For warmth. Definitely solely for warmth. No other reason. 
Not even a full minute later, he stretches his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into the crook under his arm. I let myself melt into his touch as the movie starts.  
“Hey Specks?” He says, voice not much louder than a whisper. 
“Hmm?” I answer, absentmindedly tracing the veins on the back of his hand.
“Next time you need something to take the edge off, come find me instead.”
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sub-librarian · 6 months
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Please elaborate on your Beatrice started the fire theory i need to know
I am so extremely sorry that I never answered this. I'll do my best to sum it up after a disclaimer:
I have covid and my partner has a broken leg from a hit and run but I will try to write out an explanation that does justice to it soon for you/anyone still following this blog.
I still think about this (and the way it will eventually go into a fanfiction that follows up on my TETMTM one) pretty frequently.
In short:
Beatrice's characterization is largely as an almost coldly efficient member of the Noble VFD. I think she sent the children out and faked her own death (to die later At A Social Engagement, unintended). I think they used the trap door. I think she WANTED Olaf to have the fortune and be a guardian and had managed to miss all the red flags + had enough ties to the firestarting side that she *thought he could stop the schism* . Like everyone did with the VFD itself because they were too invested in Solving Problems to realize they were creating them. There are heaps of justified reasons why, within the text, Beatrice could have legitimately thought the children were, and I know it's ridiculous "safer with Olaf" (or another VFD member, on either or neither side) than with her and her husband at that point and furthermore she *knew the symbolism of fire, of the power of children, of the power of near misses*. I think the entire first book more or less, was the result of one or two bad decisions made by a flammable woman trying to outrun the flame someone else started and starting another to try to fight back.
I'll try to find the energy and time to find my textual evidence + write more on this at some point soon but as mentioned I'm ill, being an unexpected in-home nurse (while taking care of 5 cats and 2 birds), working, preparing for NaNoWriMo, AND writing+drawing a horror comic while in talks to be the artist on a graphic novel. So I'm busy. And Exhausted. I think about this a lot though and want to talk more about it.
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nomorekyriarchy · 15 days
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I feel like this is overemphasizing my own gravity within the local activist community, but I have some beef to rant about.
I'm immunocompromised and wear a mask everywhere. Before opening my apartment door, I'm in a mask. Nearly every person I regularly organize with also wear masks, without needing to be told, for the most part. We've had conversations in the past about how masking means that disabled people who are medically compromised in some way are able to be in the space at all. It's masks, or it's the dismantling, banishment and isolation of a vital presence in our communities.
This means we stay home when we are sick.
If you get your comrades sick, that means entire actions don't get organized. It means less people are able to provide support. Call venues for meetings. Bake food to make sure people don't go hungry. Drop off meds when others are sick. Be a medic at a protest or a legal observer. Give people training on what to do when someone is arrested. Make banners. Teach chants and protest songs. You don't do your best activism when you need to be in bed with chicken soup and a ginger ale and some binge watching and someone there to help clean up the detritus of your illness.
Last week I was in a crowded elevator at a bus station. I am a visibly disabled person with a large mobility aid who needs the elevator and cannot use the stairs. I am up to date on my vaccines. I was wearing an N95. But when your immune system is not like others, this is prevention but not complete immunity. It is not enough for me alone to try to protect myself.
I overheard someone say to their friends that they had to sneeze. One of their friends responded with, "didn't you just test positive for COVID too?" And they confirmed that and sneezed (into their elbow but inevitably in the direction of others) as everyone flooded out of the elevator.
Because of their unwillingness to stay home when positive, or even take the stairs to avoid someone they knew was disabled while they knew that they were sick, I started quarantining after that. I took two different brand of rapid tests on Monday and was faint positive in both. It is now Thursday and I am still quarantining and still positive.
This means that I can not participate in my communities without putting the entire communities at risk because of how much things spread. I am not the only or the most medically high-risk person who puts my body on the line. What's nearly asymptomatic for me will cause new variants eventually if I do not stay home and make sure that others don't catch this and pass it on.
When you chose not to wear a mask, it goes beyond just basic caring for others. One person will not stop everyone in the world from getting COVID. But it matters. It can prevent one more person from getting COVID. If it’s asymptomatic in you, what are the chances whoever you pass it to will know about that and take the appropriate precautions? How many people will it spread to before someone loses their ability to eat without everything tasting like sewage? Or lose the ability to smell? Or develop a heart arrhythmia? Or die?
We don't know the future. But we are people capable of a butterfly effect. We have choices now and we can stay home and we can mask when we can't.
All that said, I know that there are currently people being institutionalized for mask and other precaution adherence and requesting the same for medical staff who interact with them. I know it is not that simple. But if you have the choice, please understand the gravity of that.
When you choose to "live a normal life" without wearing a mask, and you go about your life totally fine, it is not always you who is paying the collateral damage of that choice.
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tunedtostatic · 9 months
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I'm trying to figure out how to talk about critical role announcing a live show, because it's the kind of news that's like, how do you talk about that? How do you even begin to begin?
At minimum a few people will almost certainly die as a direct result of critical role doing a live show for 12,000 people during a pandemic. But that's only the best case scenario; it could be many more. How do you even string words together about that?
I know there's a lot of pandemic denial out there but there's also a lot of people who genuinely don't know the pandemic is still going on, now that it's no longer getting press. If you genuinely didn't know that the pandemic isn't over, over a quarter million people in the U.S. and tens of thousands of people in the U.K. currently have covid
[Edit - I made this post on July 16, and now it's October 8 and I'm linking to this in my follow up post, so I just want to add a note to avoid any chance of date confusion by noting that the above numbers were for mid-July, and as of October 8 in the US with the new covid surge it's over twice that number now]
And it's easier for the "it's a mild illness now" misinfo to gain traction when the death rate absolutely is lower than it was in April 2020 or whatever other date forms people's personal traumatic high-water mark, but that does not mean thousands of people aren't losing their loved ones every week, and thousands more aren't suffering long covid, heart damage, neurological damage
I'm whiteknuckling to scientific integrity to write "will almost certainly die as a direct result of critical role doing a live show for 12,000 people during a pandemic" instead of "will die," because I can't see the future and October hasn't happened yet. But barring an unhinged Act of God-level change in covid rates, the live show is guaranteed to get people sick. Statistically, that means deaths - at least a few deaths, potentially many more. Which gets me back to like. How do you even find the words for that?
I've been diving through covid reporting all afternoon for the actual current numbers, because policies declaring the pandemic "over" and ending testing have made reporting so deeply inadequate and crappy, and misinformation is a plague (metaphorical) that I don't want to contribute to. And well, yeah. The most conservative estimates are a quarter of a million people currently sick with covid in the U.S. and 60k people in the U.K. (if you want to know why I'm confident those numbers are 'reliable' in the sense of coming from confirmed sources and not pulling numbers out of thin air or overestimating cases, but also are significant underestimates, please ask me I will make a post about covid stats and hospitalizations and wastewater testing in a heartbeat)
But playing with stats is not giving me words for the, this
How do you deal with looking at a piece of fiction you loved and knowing that the making of the next piece is going to cause injury and death to real alive human beings in such a direct way?
It's easy to fixate on the people who will read this post in the most bad-faith way possible, but I know that with the lack of press there are a lot of people who literally do not know the pandemic is still happening. If this convinces a few people not to travel to the live show, or to use as many layers of protection (n95, tests, quarantining before and after) as possible, then it's worth it
(And if you are one of the people who didn't know that covid rates are still this high, I'm sorry you're finding out from an emo post about a dnd live show)
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whentherewerebicycles · 7 months
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morning with the pups. I have a headache from crying but I bought myself a small treat (orange scone from panera) and managed to get some good work done this morning. I will be honest I feel Bad still but am trying to ground myself so I don’t spiral off into the deep despair again.
here are five small positive things:
I am being actively befriended by this very gruff middle-aged women’s studies faculty member who was on my search committee. I thought she hated me for the entire Zoom interview and the first seven hours of the campus visit but then in the last hour of the visit it suddenly became apparent that she liked me a great deal and just has a very brusque no-nonsense demeanor. we have been emailing back and forth all morning about this faculty pedagogy fellowship she’s leading and I think we are going to co-teach a couple workshops together. also we’re going to start going on walks together because we live so close. it’s nice to be befriended! and it’s nice to think about work as a place where I could build more friendships, especially with people who are there for the long haul.
my best friend lives so close to me now 😭 it was nice to break up the crying jags last night by going over to see her.
I’m genuinely excited to be an aunt. there is a lot of pain around it too and it is going to take some time to work through that but it will be so nice to have a baby in the family. also I am requesting nicely of the universe that if my brother & sister-in-law MUST have a baby before I do, please let the baby to be born on my birthday so we will have a special aunt/niece or nephew bond forever. I do not think this is too much to ask. ugh my heart hurts a lot but I am being brave about it.
last year I wrote a long letter of rec for my old boss/beloved grad advisor for this major mentoring and leadership award she was up for. she won the award and I guess they sent her the file with the letters attached. anyway she sent me a box of woolf & vita sackville-west books, a beautiful handmade glass vase, and a long letter where she said my rec letter made her cry and cry. it was really nice to hear from her—she’s been dealing with really scary long covid health issues since early 2020 and there was a period of time where she was in and out of the hospital so often with such serious issues I thought she might die. she is doing better now though and she says she’s retiring this year, which will be a huge loss to the university but I hope good for her. idk I was happy to hear from her and it was nice to get a surprise package of books (with more on the way, apparently).
oh friends. to quote that tumblr meme from the other day, they should invent a way out that isn’t through. I just don’t want to do the soul-work of trying to break down this grief and metabolize it and integrate it into my sense of self all over again. I’m just sad, you know? I’m sad and I’m tired of feeling sad, I want to feel otherwise, but it’s exhausting to think about clawing my way through these feelings again. I want to be on the other side of this experience and I thought I was there but I see now that I’m not, or maybe that the grief and painful agonizing uncertainty about future losses is going to keep surging back every time something reopens the wound. I feel like I’ve spent the past seven weeks swimming so hard for shore, and I’d finally managed to haul my exhausted self up onto the beach only for a massive tidal wave to crash down over me and pull me back out to sea. and I know it is just the start. liz will be pregnant soon and my SIL will have the baby and people in my social circles will continue to post their pregnancy announcements online and ugh. ugh. I just have this hugely selfish wish that everyone would hold off for like six more months so I could crawl a little further inland before the next wave hits. this is not a positive thing from the day but I can’t quite wrangle myself into feeling gratitude for all the good things in my life today. I think I’m just going to be treading water for a while.
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munsons-maiden · 2 years
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I feel like, and this is a BIG ASS IF, IF Eddie was supposed to be killed off for good, for whatever the reason (we can say covid probably messed up a lot of ideas and plans, maybe even got the team forgotten what was written or whatever), Joseph's press stuff would've been done basically. Like it kinda was at first after volume 2 came out. But the Suffer Bros saw how badly they messed up, they're planning on bringing Eddie back now because of fan fallout. And why Joseph's been on mega press tour while the rest of the cast just be chillin lol.
Which, as happy as I will be if Eddie lives, I'm not sure if I'd want Kas Eddie now, because I feel like Suffers would be doing it to 'please' the fans and mess it up. I'd rather fanfic Kas Eddie because we know how it should be done lol, where they'd just be slapping a bandaid on a wound and go SEE WE FIX YOU CAN'T BE MAD AT US ANYMORE! lol. I hope I make sense and am not rambling 😭
I'm not so sure if Eddie returns that the Duffers didn't plan this all along. I mean, I want him back and I don't care if they spontaneously bring him back because of the fan reaction he got or if they planned to bring him back but there is just too much foreshadowing in the season. The Will/Eddie parallels (the Missing poster vs. the newspaper article, both scribbled with sharpie; Wayne Munson wearing the same jacket as Jonathan while he was putting up Eddie's Missing poster; the song When It's Cold I'd Like To Die playing during Will's "death" in ST1 & playing during Eddie's in ST4), the whole Iron Maiden reference in the this-is-music-scene and the huge amount of Kas symbolsim attached to Eddie (the vampire skull ring, the spiked shield), as well as the tattoos (some of them might not simply be foreshadowing for ST4 but for ST5 as well). Yes, it could all be seen as coincidental, a few neat references...but it's weird that there are so many? And we know that the Duffers love their foreshadowing and symbolism. So I actually think if/when they bring Eddie back, it was planned all along.
Either way: they left the door open three inches to bring Eddie back.
I keep saying it and I'll say it again: my worst fear is that they bring Eddie back as anything else than his old, sweet, gentle, lovely self because that would feel like seeing him die all over again and I'm not sure how I should ever recover from that tbh. But in my eyes, the whole Kas theory would only make sense if they used it to an extent: Vecna brings back Eddie like El did for Max, and flays him because he needs someone to do his dirty work. And it's about saving Eddie - a beautiful storyline for Dustin, btw. They did something similar with Will in ST2 (and that's where the Will/Eddie parallels come in to play, in my opinion.)
So even if the Duffers were bringing Eddie back only because of the fandom, they still, intentionally or not, built the ground to do it well. There is too much foreshadowing to bring him back in a bad way, in my opinion. The wave is there, they only need to surf it. Eddie's return is basically writing itself - in a beautiful, meaningful way.
Because as tragic as his death was, he saved Dustin. It wasn't pointless. The writing in itself, leading up to the situation, wasn't good in my opinion but from Eddie's POV everything made perfect sense, and without Eddie, Dustin would have fallen prey to the bats as well. How beautiful would it be, for Dustin to be the reason that Eddie The Banished manages to banish Vecna out of his mind and return - as himself - when he was the one to tell Dustin "Never change". That would be closing the loop and the Duffers love this whole closing-the-loop thing.
(tbh, after the way his story ended, bringing him back as anything else but himself wouldn't make sense, story-telling wise. It would be cruel for Eddie and for us.)
So, yes, there was a moment I lost my trust in the Duffers, but I found it again. And - that's just my opinion - apart from the final episode, ST4 was the best season of Starnger Things ever (not simply because of Eddie but because of the writing).
I hope this made sense, but I firmly believe if/when Eddie comes back, it will be good, not a slapping-a-band-aid-on-a-wound🖤
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cheesybadgers · 2 years
Text
Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 13)
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24
Masterlist
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Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo
Words: 9,819
Summary: With Horacio now safely in hiding and Javier and Steve still out of action, the tranquillity of the ranch gives everyone much-needed downtime and the opportunity for some long overdue heart-to-hearts. 
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Grief, parental loss, religious guilt, discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of period-typical prejudices, smut including anal fingering/sex and mild power dynamics, dreams/nightmares, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, angst (but also lots and lots of softness and fluff, fear not!), swearing, smoking, drinking. 
Notes: Firstly, I absolutely did not intend to leave such a big gap between posting chapters, oops! A combination of creative burnout followed by covid (I’m fine now) completely threw me off course. Secondly, hopefully the ridiculous size of this chapter makes up for the lack of updates recently 😂 Thirdly, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to those still reading/interacting. I know following a long fic can be frustrating waiting for updates, so I appreciate anyone along for the ride ❤️ I’ve got some time off work coming up, so hoping to get stuck into chapter 14 soon! 
Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.
Chapter 13: Revelations
Javier quietly closed the guesthouse door as he stepped into the chilled night air and made his way to the weathered porch swing in the backyard. He was grateful for the oversized sweater he’d thrown on and nestled his fingers deeper into the long sleeves. 
It was an old one left abandoned from his pre-Colombia days dug out from his bedroom closet, possibly a Christmas present from a distant relative. Horacio had borrowed it earlier that evening, leaving behind a comforting scent of aftershave and tobacco.
Javier inhaled, eyes closed, and sunk further into the soft fabric.
After many years of city living, he’d forgotten how clear the skies were here. He had lost count of the number of times he’d laid in the long grass looking up at the stars when he was younger. It was easy to kid himself that he could reach out and touch them, re-arrange them at his will. That had always been his problem. An optical illusion that he was capable of controlling more than he could in reality.
He supposed it started when his mother fell ill. The sicker she became, the more helpless he felt. It didn’t matter that he was only a child himself, and realistically, what could he have done anyway? Everyone around him prayed each day. He tried his best, but some days he would forget. Or, some days he would look at his Mamá and see how frail she was and wonder what the point was.
That wasn’t long before the self-flagellation set in. When he wished that he hadn’t skipped those days because then maybe she would still have been there. When he started to question whether that was why he wasn’t like most of the other boys at school. When he wanted to talk about boys in the same way he talked about girls but couldn’t. When he got so used to keeping his emotions under lock and key, it would become a destructive habit that would take decades and one person to help him break. Maybe if he’d just said his prayers like everyone else, none of this would ever have happened.
As he got older and wiser, he rejected a lot of the bullshit instilled in him. But everything became tied up with overcompensating in some way or another. It was partly why he took the transfer to Colombia when it came up. In hindsight, he didn’t know why he was under the misguided notion it would be a simple case of good guys vs bad guys. But it was what he needed at the time, no matter how naïve such black-and-white thinking was.
“Can’t sleep either, huh?” A familiar long shadow appeared, and much to Javier’s relief, the owner of the shadow was armed with a six-pack of beers.
“How did you know?”
“Partner’s intuition.”
“Ah, of course.”
Steve sat down on the swing, causing it to sway with the extra weight. “I think it’s the quiet out here. Not used to it these days.”
“No, nothing quite like a shootout by your window to soothe you to sleep.”
“Damn right. Thought you might appreciate a nightcap.” Steve slackened a couple of bottles from the packaging and popped the lids off on the edge of the seat before handing one to Javier.
“Thanks. You know me too well.”
“Not as well as my wife, apparently,” Steve scoffed before taking a long, quenching gulp from his bottle.
It was a conversation they had both been putting off, but Javier was pleasantly surprised that Steve was taking the bull by the horns. And relieved because it meant he didn't have to. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”
“Hey, man, no. I wasn’t – that’s not what I meant. I get it. I guess I just should’ve seen it sooner and backed off. Although, a lotta shit makes sense now. No wonder he hated me when I first showed up.”
It was enough to ease the tension as they sniggered into their bottles.
“Modest, Murphy. Real modest.”
“Oh, come on! He might as well have fuckin’ peed around you. Remember that first night you let me tag along? If looks could kill.”
Those days felt like a lifetime ago to Javier, and so much had changed – apart from the small fact that Escobar was still a free man. A surge of heat rose in his cheeks at the realisation that was only hitting him now: Horacio had been jealous. Of course. How hadn’t he seen it back then? And why was the thought of it giving him something of a thrill?
No sooner had that question crossed his mind than he pulled himself out of his head and took a much-needed swig of his beer. “You were pretty fucking clueless back then, to be fair. Oh, and he still thinks you can’t speak Spanish for shit.”
“Is that right?” With a boyish grin plastered across his face, Steve shouted “¡Coma mierda, pendejo!” in the general direction of the guesthouse, despite the fact Javier was the intended target of his pettiness. Mostly.
Javier hushed him and lightly smacked him on the shoulder. “Yeah, bravo, Steve. Did Olivia teach you that?”
They had both dissolved into laughter again, Javier definitely catching a mumbled Fuck you in there somewhere too.
“Steve…are we – are we still okay?” Javier asked after they had settled down again. He was taken aback by how timid his voice sounded and almost didn’t recognise it as his own. But then this was new territory, he guessed for both of them.
“Javi, ‘course we are. I mean, you probably coulda picked someone a bit less fuckin’ volatile…” He paused with a smirk to allow Javier the obligatory expletive-filled comeback, which Javier was happy to provide. “But it makes no difference to me, and you know I ain’t gonna say shit to anyone.”
That went without saying, but it soothed Javier’s nerves to hear it nonetheless. This wasn’t something he’d ever spoken about in the past. It was always something he, didn’t necessarily feel ashamed of – at least not these days – but rather had been forced to hide out of necessity. It wasn’t the kind of small talk you made with your partner whilst on a stakeout or at the bar after hours. And everyone he’d ever worked with knew all too well of his interest in women, so it was easier and safer to let them make their own assumptions.
He gave a nod of thanks to Steve in reply and sensed a weight had lifted. It was a weight he had always carried and probably always would to some extent, but for the time being, he basked in the relief of feeling that little bit lighter for a change.
Only the gentle rustling of the breeze through the trees and the distant hoot of an owl could be heard as they sat in companionable silence.
“What d’you think they’ll do with us?” Steve eventually asked.
It had taken a couple of weeks after they left Colombia for Messina to get in touch. And even then, it was just a curt call informing them that it was best if they used up what was left of their vacation time until Christmas, with a ruling to be made in the New Year. It was all suspiciously vague, but at least it gave them extra downtime.
“Fuck knows. Best case scenario? We’re on desk duties until they find Escobar.”
“And worst case?”
Javier threw Steve a scathing look that said all that needed to be said.
Steve raised his arms in surrender. “Alright, alright! Point taken. Would you go back, though? If they don’t fire us.”
Javier drained the rest of his beer before reaching immediately for another bottle and busying himself with opening it. “Guess I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.” A cheat of an answer, admittedly, but not a lie.
“Right. ‘Course.” Steve followed suit and snapped open another bottle. “When Connie went back to Miami, I thought about leaving.”
“But you didn’t, though.”
Steve let out a hollow laugh that whistled through the neck of the beer bottle. “Nope.” He took another swig. “I offered to, but she shrugged it off. Just told me to make sure I’m still me when it’s over.”
That sounded suspiciously like something Chucho had said to Javier on multiple occasions. When each Christmas, Javier had come back that little bit harder to reach than the last. And in the end, they’d had to call an unspoken truce not to bring the subject up again for the rest of Javier’s stay because it never got them anywhere.
Javier stared out across the plains that glinted like jewelled waves under the crisp, clear sky as Steve’s loosened drawl dimmed to background noise.
He guzzled his way through his drink whilst the stubborn part of him pretended he was still the same kid who had looked up at the same stars with awe and wonder. With ambition and hunger. When the world had felt like his oyster and was his for the taking. Anything to get away from here where it seemed everyone but Javier already had his life planned out for him. 
But that was the thing about optical illusions. They were only able to deceive the eye for so long.
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Not long after Javier had bid goodnight to Steve and slipped into bed unnoticed, he woke with a start. The room was still layered in shades of darkness, although a chorus of birdsong from a nearby cluster of mesquite trees drifted through an open window.
Even before he reached across to find Horacio’s half of the bed empty, he sensed he was alone. He never used to think of himself as the type who needed the security of someone by his side every night, but now that he was accustomed to it, he felt the absence more keenly.
For the first couple of weeks, sleep had come easier than ever for them. In Colombia, they so often tried to fight it. To push through the pain barrier for the sake of another raid, wiretap or CI lead. It didn’t matter if it was a dead-end that got them nowhere; their commitment to the cause was relentless because it had to be. There was no choice.
But here, all of that disappeared overnight, the adrenaline rush they chased no more. It was like the sound was suddenly cut with no warning, plunging them into a vacuum, but their ears still rang in the deafening silence. For a few days, anyway.
Until their fatigue caught up with them and every last reserve they had was depleted. When attempting simple functions was like hitting an impenetrable wall too high to climb over even if they had the strength to try. When anything more complex was like wading through an endless mass of viscous tar.
Then sleep wasn’t an option; it was a necessity. An involuntary state that was impossible to fight even if they wanted to. But for the first time in a long while, they didn’t want to. They embraced it, welcomed it, gave themselves over to it.
It was only after the fog of physical exhaustion lifted, and once their bodies were healing, their routine slipped. After Messina’s call, thoughts of work re-emerged and old ghosts appeared in their dreams again. Bursting the serene bubble they had created and reminding them of what was still going on out there, even if they couldn’t see it.
Javier padded barefoot from the bedroom to the half-lit kitchen, cold air still clinging to the wooden flooring beneath his toes. He came to a halt as he took in the sight of Horacio standing over the sink, pouring himself a glass of water.
After leaving Carlos Holguín in a hurry, Javier only had time to grab a few essentials from his and Steve’s bunkroom and Horacio’s locker. But those amounted to little more than toiletries and a spare change of clothes or two. Not exactly sufficient for however long Horacio was going to be staying here. So, armed with a list of measurements, Steve and Connie had ventured into Laredo to pick up some extras.
Javier would never forget Horacio’s face when he held the dark blue denim up against his legs, almost as if he didn’t know what to do with it. Javier had reminded him that he was in cowboy territory now, but it didn’t do anything to temper Horacio’s glare.
In the here and now, whilst Javier hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes – a choice he was regretting given the temperature – Horacio had thrown on his new jeans, along with a red plaid shirt Javier recognised as his own. It was another item dug out from the past, along with the sweater.
The shirt was left unbuttoned, as although their shoulders were of a similar build, Horacio’s chest and waist were broader, and he carried more muscle than Javier. Understandably, they were both softer around the middle since the ambush, so any attempts to fasten the shirt had the buttons straining in protest.
As the water ran into the sink, Javier’s gaze instinctively honed in on the way the denim clung to the curve of Horacio’s ass and the meat of his thighs, as though it had been made for him. In all of the time they’d known each other, Javier was sure he’d only ever seen Horacio in khakis or his uniform. So, the novelty of jeans hadn’t worn off yet, especially when combined with his own shirt.
Before Horacio had a chance to turn around, Javier made his move, encircling Horacio’s waist under the fabric of his shirt. Taking care to avoid their injuries, he pressed forwards, his chin landing on Horacio’s left shoulder.
Horacio tensed for a split second out of pure instinct before remembering there was no threat here. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, no, it’s fine. You didn’t.” Javier nuzzled himself further into the crook of Horacio’s neck and tightened the grip at his waist. “Bad dream, that’s all.”
There was an unmistakable scoff as Horacio brought the glass of water to his lips and took a large gulp. “Must be one of those nights.”
“You alright?”
Horacio clenched his jaw, conflicted between giving an easy answer and the truth. But this was far from the first time either of them had been plagued with nightmares. And there was no point pretending or trying to hide it from the other at this stage, even if they were thousands of miles from the source of the dreams. “I was back in hospital again. And when I woke up, they told me you were – that you’d…”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Javier kissed reassurances into any exposed patches of skin he could reach. “And we’re both fine.” Except they weren’t. Not really. Not yet. But they were alive. A fact they kept having to tell themselves when the flashbacks inevitably hit.
“I know, it’s just – even the thought of…”
Javier gently hushed Horacio, sparing him from spelling it out loud. “I dreamt about that night too. We listened to Messina’s orders and didn’t go after you.” He let out a small huff of a laugh, but it was bitter and laced with disgust. “Like sitting fucking ducks.”
Now it was Horacio’s turn to soothe Javier, the rising tension in his muscles palpable. It was no wonder he often suffered from headaches and a stiff jaw. Although, Horacio hadn’t noticed the tell-tale signs of him rubbing his temples for relief in weeks, which must have been something of a record.
Horacio turned so that his week-old stubble – which bordered on a beard by this point – scraped along Javier’s cheek. “If I’m not allowed what-ifs, neither are you.”
Goosebumps spread like wildfire across Javier’s body as he reaped the benefits of Horacio being too incapacitated to shave much lately. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
His moustache skimmed over Horacio’s face, coarse bristles chasing smoothness wherever it could be found. Anything to feel and hear the other’s reaction. To make it tangible and indisputable that they were both here, and this was real. To satisfy the irrational fear in their minds that they would wake to the alternative at any moment.
Horacio shuddered at the combination of Javier’s facial hair and the weight of his naked form pushing him against the kitchen unit. It hadn’t taken much for the atmosphere to shift into something else entirely, but it was hardly surprising in the circumstances. “What do you need?”
“I need you.”
“How do you need me?”
“I need—need to—” Javier stuttered, trying and failing to get a grip of himself.
“Tell me what you need, Javier. And you can have it.”
“Fuck,” was all Javier could manage for a second, the effects of Horacio’s offer shooting straight to his groin. “You sure? Right here and now?” He needed to check; to be sure there was no misunderstanding created by his own desires.  
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Shit, Horacio.”
“Say it first, though.”
“I need to fuck you.” His throat was hoarse, but his speech never faltered. He was determined not to leave an ounce of doubt in Horacio’s mind. Not just for selfish reasons, but because he wanted to please him. To give him what he needed in return.
“That’s it, knew you could do it.” It was like music to Horacio’s ears. Because this was never about humiliation, it was about wanting Javier to use his words. To let Horacio hear exactly what Javier wanted so he could give it to him. “Take what you need. I’m right here.”
Javier froze, panting hard into the nape of Horacio’s neck as he wrapped his head around what was about to happen. “I’ll be right back.”
Half-convinced he was still asleep and dreaming, he dashed to the bathroom to retrieve the toiletries bag that he’d swiped from Carlos Holguín. Naturally, he’d kept a healthy supply of lube on hand since Horacio returned from Madrid. And there was no way they were doing this without it.
It almost pained him to rid Horacio of the clothes he looked so good in, but the sight he was left with more than made up for it. They were both still visibly battered and bruised, but like that night in Tolú, they weren’t about to let the small inconvenience of injuries get in the way.
Javier began gradually with slicked fingers, opening Horacio up with one hand whilst the other reached in front of him, stroking his cock at a matching pace. “This okay?”
Horacio hummed his approval as he steadied himself against the kitchen unit. “Yes. Keep going.”
Javier obeyed, curling his fingers at an angle that made Horacio groan and push backwards, eager for more. Anything to close what little gap was left between them, as even that was too much. He did it again and again until Javier’s hardened cock pressed against his ass, where he held still for a long moment. As though seeking permission, a final reassurance.
Horacio nudged encouragingly against Javier, their breath shallow and hearts pounding in their ears. “Do it.” A whispered command but not lacking in authority.
Javier didn’t need telling twice and eased himself inside Horacio, slow but steady with each rock of his hips. He grunted as he reached the hilt, catching his balance with one hand on the edge of the sink. His fingers entwined like a vine around Horacio’s whilst the other hand grasped him at the waist, moulding their bodies together as they moved as one.
The unrushed pace allowed Javier to take in every minute reaction from Horacio. To take in the way the strong beat of his pulse at Javier’s fingertips alleviated any lingering memories of nightmares and what-ifs. The way he shivered and clenched tighter when Javier bucked just that little bit deeper or harder. The way he couldn’t stop the low moans escaping despite how much he tried to stifle them with a bite of his lip. The way that the last jagged shards of his resolve were shattering bit by bit right in front of Javier’s eyes.
And Javier couldn’t help but think of the realisation he had come to earlier that evening. About Horacio’s jealousy long before they were together. He didn’t move for several agonising seconds, wondering if maybe he had more power over Horacio than he thought.
Each pulsation, teasing pause, and torturous back-and-forth motion sent sparks of pleasure spiralling in all directions. Overloading every synapse and wiping all thought from Horacio’s mind. All he knew was Javier. Grounded by his touch, the heat of his ragged breath and scratch of his moustache, the familiar scent of faded aftershave and cigarettes mixed with alcohol and remnants of the fresh night air. He was being devoured, swallowed, consumed.
The darkness from outside contrasted against the light within and cast a translucent reflection in the window above them. The window framed a view of rolling fields and farmland during the day, like a landscape painting hung on the wall. Standing in this picturesque setting, amongst pots and pans with no threat of bullets and bombs, was oddly domestic. It was a tantalising glimpse of what their lives could be like sooner rather than later. A preview of their future. So close, yet so far. Both within their grasp and out of reach.
“Look at me,” Javier rasped as he opened his eyes.
“What?”
“Through the glass. I want to see you.” His words were clear and concise this time. Such was his need to witness how beautifully Horacio wore his arousal. To take in each jolt of ecstasy etched into his face and echoed through the wrecked sounds he made. To know that every single sense was engulfed and overwhelmed, and it was entirely Javier’s own doing as Horacio surrendered to him completely.
Horacio raised his head, indirectly meeting Javier’s gaze and shocking himself at how willingly he took instruction. It went against his natural instincts and was the ultimate role reversal, but he couldn't resist. A revelation that once would have raised his defences, but now, he leaned into it and let go. Because he could never deny Javier what he wanted, especially not when he was voicing it like this, just as Horacio had encouraged him to.
Javier’s thrusts stuttered, and his rhythm was thrown off as he watched them join together, facial muscles taut with pleasure and skin dewy with sweat. It triggered a growl to rumble from deep in his chest, and he pulled Horacio back against him, teeth roughly clashing with supple flesh as he hung on by a thread.
Horacio could only gasp and clamp his fingers around Javier’s on the counter that held them upright. A few more vigorous thrusts and it was over, no hand stimulation required as he let out a strained, quivering breath and spilt across his stomach. The final culmination of his undoing.
Each spasm and aftershock prised the last fragments of control from his body that he had clutched on to for years, if not decades. Shackles that were both self-imposed and forced upon him through circumstance were finally unlocked, if not yet removed. He lay bare, raw and open, trusting Javier to moor him, to keep him safe, to guide him home. To always find his way back to him even when the odds were against them.
It didn’t take long for Javier to follow suit, his grip on Horacio tightening before he tugged him against his chest and snapped his hips forward. A rush of heat filled Horacio whilst Javier jerked and shook against him, his teeth gnashing and nostrils flaring.
Every twitch or subtle movement reverberated through him, amplifying the intensity of his release and the visceral need to be as close to Horacio as possible. Anything less than this wasn’t enough, not after recent events. And yet, it was likely going to have to be enough again soon, at least temporarily.
But he couldn’t think about that in the present. Not when they remained connected whilst they recovered. Catching their breath and soothing one another with tender touches and kisses, the bad dreams a faded memory, for now at least.
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They soon moved back to bed once they had cleaned themselves up. Although sleeping positions were still dictated by their injuries, they sat up against the headboard for the time being, legs and feet tangled beneath the covers.
“Bet my ribs will feel that in the morning.” Javier took a drag from his cigarette before offering it to Horacio. Smoking had become less of a necessity since they had left Colombia; however, this was a post-coital ritual they had no intention of breaking.
“That’s what you get for being so impatient.”
“Hey, you were the one parading around the kitchen looking like…that. It was distracting.”
“Now you know what I’ve had to deal with these past few years.”
Memories sprung to Horacio’s mind of the painfully tight jeans Javier waltzed straight into his office wearing. The ones that left little to the imagination, least of all the fact that he sometimes wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath them. It was a miracle Horacio got any work done at all. And then there were the shirts that he seldom bothered to button more than halfway up. A style choice Horacio was pleased Javier had reverted to here when his Pops wasn’t about.
“I’ve never worn your clothes, to be fair.”
“You can if you want. What’s mine is yours.” As the words fell from Horacio’s lips and his smirk waned, he played with the crucifix that had become a second skin around Javier’s neck.
“When we were on our way to 9th Street, I hated myself for not giving it back to you before you left.” Javier didn’t know why he was telling Horacio this and was aware of how fucking stupid it sounded. As if it would have made any difference to anything, anyway.
“I seem to remember I said you should keep it until this is all over.”
Javier caught the implication hidden beneath the surface and let it linger whilst he drew on his cigarette. “You think they’ll want me back?”
“I’m not sure that’s the right question you should be asking yourself.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I think you already know the answer.”
“Horacio, what are you talking about?”
“If they were gonna fire you, they’d have done it by now.” Horacio plucked the cigarette from Javier’s fingers, deliberately taking his time with it before he spoke again. “So, I think you want me to tell you whether you should go back or not. But you know I can’t do that, Javier.”
“What? I never even asked – what makes you so sure I won’t lose my badge?” Javier stumbled over his words, unsure which point to address first.
“Because different rules always apply to gringos, and you know it. There’d be no reason to delay firing you if they wanted to.”
A small flare of protest bubbled in Javier’s chest for a moment, one that he would have given more credence to in the past, but he had to admit Horacio was right. The DEA being so cloak-and-dagger about their intentions made Javier more nervous than if he’d already been given his marching orders. 
Now he’d gotten the easier question out of the way, he confronted the elephant in the room. “I know you don’t want me to go back. But it’s—”
“It’s not that simple, I know.” They shot each other a resigned half-smile. Because of course, they both knew. But Javier had never stopped Horacio – even when he wanted to. “Whatever you decide, I’ll understand. But, if you do go back, promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Be careful. Not just of Escobar. The weaker he gets, the more likely his enemies will crawl out of the woodwork. And they’ll be prepared to do just about anything to dance on his grave.”
Javier had no business promising that any more than Horacio did to ask it of him in the first place. But he nodded anyway and leaned in to press their lips together. Deep charged kisses that distracted and comforted until exhaustion and dawn caught up with them.
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Usually, Javier would have crept out of bed and across the courtyard before the sun came up. But as he stirred awake to a room bathed in warm light, it was clear he had overslept. Shit.
He shoved on yesterday’s crumpled clothes – including a certain plaid shirt – without a second glance, leaving Horacio half-asleep and grumbling at the sudden disturbance.
There were no signs of life outside other than the faint braying of cattle and horses, which made Javier hopeful his father was already doing the breakfast rounds. But to be on the safe side, he pressed down on the farmhouse door handle with extra care.
He was almost home and dry, just a few more steps from the kitchen to his bedroom. However, as he made to close the door, he was stopped in his tracks.
“Morning.”
“Oh, er, morning, Pops. I – I thought you were down at the stables.” Javier had never felt more like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the poker face required for his job nowhere to be found.
“Just heading there now.” Chucho poured freshly brewed coffee from a pot into a flask and eyed Javier curiously as he screwed the lid shut. “Unless you’ve finally decided to make yourself useful?”
“What?” Javier's brain was far too occupied with pre-empting the next lie he was inevitably going to have to tell. But the light, airy tone of Chucho’s voice made his throat constrict.
“You being up and out the house by this time. I thought you’d beaten me to it.”
“Oh. I – well – I just needed some fresh air.” As excuses went, it was a weak one, especially when it was his dad he was trying to convince. Javier may have been able to bullshit and charm his way around a lot of people, but never the man who had seen and heard it all before.
“I see. Good job you didn’t venture further than the guesthouse looking like that, Mijo.” Chucho gestured towards Javier with the hand he held his flask in.
Javier was well and truly lost now, and it wasn’t until he followed Chucho’s sightline that it clicked. His eyes scanned downwards to find his jeans were inside out. And his shirt was lopsided from missing a couple of buttons in his rush to get dressed. Shit.
It was only then that the mention of the guesthouse registered as well, as though he was processing everything on a time delay. Shit, shit, shit.
Whilst Javier tried to fool himself that this was all circumstantial evidence that didn’t prove anything, Chucho picked up his Stetson from the coat hook by the front door. “There’s plenty of coffee left if either of you wants some.”
And with that, he tipped the edge of his hat in farewell, leaving Javier speechless and in dire need of something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee.
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It had taken everything in Horacio to keep a straight face when Javier filled him in. Not because he didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation, but because it was easier to see the funny side now that he’d met and spent time with Chucho.
The last few weeks weren’t the actions of a man about to turf his son out on the doorstep, no matter what he discovered about him. And even if Javier didn’t want to admit it, Horacio could only imagine what it must have looked like when they arrived here. He would have been surprised if Chucho hadn’t had his suspicions. Yet he had taken them in, few questions asked.
He watched Javier stress-smoke his way through the pack of cigarettes they had opened earlier, brooding as though his life depended on it. Some habits were trickier to break than others, apparently. 
Without a word, Horacio linked their hands and stroked his thumb in pacifying circles, for once, quietly confident that it was going to be okay.
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It was the weekend before Christmas, and Steve and Connie were soon due to fly to Miami to be reunited with Olivia and enjoy the holidays with their own families. Chucho had insisted on cooking a festive meal before they left, partly in their honour and partly to celebrate the start of Las Posadas.
Javier found himself with his hands buried deep in a bowl of tamale dough whilst his dad made last-minute seasoning adjustments to the brisket filling.
It had been years since the two of them had done this together. Javier could never forget his Mamá's voice in his head, shooing his Pops out of the kitchen because he didn't know her system as well as she did. After she passed, they tried their best to replicate it, with varying degrees of success.
It was no coincidence that this was the first time they had been alone since their awkward exchange in the very kitchen they now stood in. Javier had done his utmost to avoid this scenario, but Chucho had conveniently delegated various duties to the others. Javier had to laugh at the lack of subtlety and deluded himself into thinking that if he focused on the task at hand, he could avoid having to talk about anything else.
Javier raised an eyebrow and gave the soggy creation in his hands a sceptical once over. “I think I’ve added too much broth.”
“Try more cornflour. Should do the trick.”
Javier reached for the bag of flour across the work surface, sprinkling a generous coating over the dough before working it in with his fingers. It didn’t take long for it to firm up. “Fuckin’ A.”
He could sense the judgemental look thrown his way for that one. It was funny how even at his age, accidentally swearing in front of your elders still brought the same sense of guilt it had done when he was a teenager.
“Good job Tía Inés isn’t around. She’d have sent you straight to Father Emilio to confess your sins.”
Javier snorted and tilted his head in agreement. “I’d be there all day.” He intended it in jest, but his smile quickly fell as the weight of his own words crashed down on him.
“Wouldn’t we all?” Chucho let the question hang in the air as he reached for a spoon to divide the filling into portions. “You’re not the only one to make mistakes and have regrets, Mijo. It’s what you learn from them that counts.”
“You don’t think I should go back, do you?”
Chucho focused intently on his bowl, reluctant to proceed down such a well-trodden, circular path. “Trying to fix something designed to stay broken isn’t the penance you think it is. More likely you’ll end up broken as well.”
“Think it’s a bit late for that.”
“You’re both still alive, aren’t you? You’ve been through a lot, I know. And there will always be scars, but nothing is ever too late.”
Both. Javier’s first instinct was to feign ignorance as usual, but he respected his Pops too much for that. He’d been caught red-handed again, except the evidence was far more damning this time. Excuses that might have washed in his youth certainly wouldn’t wash now. So, he didn’t fight it.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Sometimes things are as simple or complicated as we make them.”
“You really think it’s that easy? We just walk away and live happily ever after?”
“Before I married your Mamá, I was happy just being a farmhand here. I earned enough to get by, but it wasn’t enough for us to plan a proper future together. Abuelita Imelda and Abuelito Mauricio didn’t approve. They thought I was throwing their legacy away. After everything they strived for by moving across the border, they wanted something to show for it. They wanted me to provide for Mariana. To make her happy and make, well, you proud – not that you were around back then.”
“I am proud, Pops.”
“I know. But it’s because I took their advice. Worked my way up. Learned how to manage this place when your Abuelito was too frail. Because they were right. Your mother deserved the world, and I knew I had to give it to her, one way or another. A simple choice, no question. But not necessarily an easy one.”
“Yeah, well, I think there’s an obvious difference between our situations, don’t you?” Javier hoped to fucking God Chucho got what he meant because he really didn’t want to have to spell it out.
“I know, Mijo. I know.” Chucho broke off from his work and looked across at his son who was still unwilling to meet his eye. But that never deterred him. “And I’m not going to pretend I know what it’s like for you.”
Javier kept his gaze down, fearing he wouldn’t be able to control the lump forming in the back of his throat if he looked up. “How long have you known?” It was a question he had wondered about for years, yet to finally voice it felt like the words belonged to someone else.
“Long enough to see it wasn’t just a phase. And it’s part of who you are. And it doesn’t change the fact I love you and want you to be happy again. That’s all your mother and I ever wanted.”
Javier’s hands froze over the dough, his lips pursed with the force and determination of a dam holding back a flood. Although his view of the work surface was blurring rapidly regardless of how hard he blinked.
“I meant what I said. You’ll always have a home here, Javi. You and Horacio. You don’t have to hide for my benefit.”
Javier was still rooted to the spot, but sporadic shaky breaths came in waves, and he desperately tried to suppress them with a clench of his jaw.
It wasn’t a complete shock to witness the defences he’d meticulously forged over the years give way at last. There had been plenty of warning signs, after all. Hairline cracks that had developed into critical weak spots over time, despite his instinct to paper over them and act like they didn’t exist.
He was pulled from his daze by the warmth of a wet dishcloth swiping over his doughy fingers. It was administered with the same care he remembered receiving at the age of five whilst chasing after a runaway calf and skinning his hands and knees. He had been inconsolable until his mother cleaned him up, distracting him with lullabies her own Mamá had sung to her.
“Come here, Mijo. It’s alright.”
And Javier went, moving into his father’s arms, feeling childlike yet world-weary at the same time. But the longer he allowed himself to be held and the more the tears fell into Chucho’s shoulder, the easier it was for Javier to breathe.
He was so often caught between two worlds in his life, whether it was who he chose to share a bed with, his dual heritage, or the precarious tightrope he walked in his job. He’d never fitted neatly into any boxes and didn’t want to most of the time, but he couldn’t deny it left him unsure where he belonged. If anywhere. For once, though, those feelings were abated.
Chucho gently pulled away, his soft smile focused somewhere behind Javier’s head. “Ah good, another pair of hands! How are you at making tamales?”
Horacio stood in the doorway, almost certain of what he had walked in on, half-wishing he hadn’t intruded and half-relieved by Chucho’s easy demeanour towards him. He had an overwhelming urge to throw his arms around Javier and never let him go, but that would have to wait until later.
For now, Horacio settled for catching Javier's eye to ask a wordless question, which was answered with a firm nod. Now that his fears were allayed, he crossed over the threshold into the kitchen. A simple action on the surface, but one that signified so much more. "A bit rusty, but my sister and I used to make them using our Abuela’s recipe.”
Chucho turned back to Javier, a hand still resting on his shoulder. “Definitely a keeper, Mijo,” he said with a conspiratorial wink and squeeze of Javier’s arm.
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The rest of the day passed swiftly in a flurry of food preparations. Javier and Horacio were trusted with finishing off the tamales, whilst Steve and Connie were given a shopping list of fresh groceries and desserts to pick up. Meanwhile, Chucho attended to the array of barbecued meats he seemed to think he was cooking for an entire army.
Soon darkness fell over the ranch, except for the garden, which was saturated in a candescent glow from a crackling fire pit. Wooden seating surrounded it with cushions and blankets borrowed from the guesthouses to keep the winter chill at bay now the sun had gone down.
An old portable radio had been dug out and was lowly playing in the background whilst the dogs sniffed the air, hoping some leftovers would come their way. Although, the tamales were a triumph – which only endeared Horacio to Chucho even more – and were snapped up in record time.
It was the perfect setting to tuck into their loaded plates of food, as Chucho played host and did his best to embarrass Javier with as many childhood anecdotes as he could remember. A particular highlight being Javier’s brief stint at line dancing when he was too young to protest. Or so he claimed now, anyway.
In a quiet lull in conversation whilst they ate, lyrics from a country ballad playing on the radio drifted through the garden.
Look at us, after all these years together
Look at us, after all that we’ve been through
Still leaning on each other
If you wanna see how true love should be
Then just look at us
Instinctively, Javier looked over at Horacio in the chair opposite his own to find Horacio staring right back at him. There was a subtle exchange of arched brows and coy smirks that were in danger of breaking into laughter if they weren’t careful, and then they’d be forced to share their private joke. So, instead, they concentrated aggressively on their food.
Once their plates were cleared and Steve and Connie were helping Chucho in the kitchen, Javier all but dragged Horacio away.
Horacio thought they would be heading for the guesthouse, but Javier had other ideas. He took Horacio's hand and steered him in the opposite direction towards one of the hay barns.
They were far too full of food for anything energetic, but it would have been a wasted opportunity in Javier’s eyes.
They lay with their heads resting on a bale of hay in the aftermath, spent and out of breath. And cold, but they weren’t ready to move yet.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“You’re telling me you grew up on a ranch, and you never brought anyone in here before?”
“Nope. You’re the first.”
“Lucky me.”
Both truer sentiments than either man were letting on, and they seemed to realise it as the easy banter from seconds ago was no more.
Javier captured Horacio’s gaze with such intensity that he was sure Horacio could read his thoughts. Or rather, he wished he would. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier if he could. A familiar enduring heat swelled in his chest, one that in the past he’d wanted to squash down and bury because he wasn’t sure he trusted it or himself. But now, he was content to sit with it, to allow it to simmer under the surface.
He pressed his lips to Horacio’s, pouring everything that was running through his mind into each kiss and hoping it wasn’t lost in translation.
Horacio got the message loud and clear, his mouth eager to convey how much he understood. That actions spoke louder than words. That he would still be here when he was ready.
“We better be getting back,” Javier whispered when they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna be giving Pops any more new material.”
They hadn’t spoken much about Chucho with everything else going on. Javier had been quiet afterwards and Horacio hadn’t wanted to press too much. When the tamales were busy steaming, he had encouraged Javier back to the guesthouse for a while, where Horacio silently held and soothed him.
But now they were here, he felt the need to check in again. “No regrets?”
Javier pulled him in by the collar of his shirt for one last searing kiss against the barn door on their way out. “Never.” Never about him. Never about them.
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Back at the farmhouse, Javier joined his Pops and Steve in the kitchen, where they were sampling a selection of whiskeys courtesy of Chucho.
Meanwhile, Connie was in the garden, skewering a plate of marshmallows ready to be roasted on the fire pit. And trying to keep Luna, Sol and Leo at bay.
“Oh hey, there you are. Good timing as I’m being attacked from all angles.” She lifted the plate higher and stored it on a table out of reach as Leo’s nose came dangerously close to nudging one of the marshmallows to the floor.
As soon as Horacio sat down, Luna abandoned her quest for sugary treats in favour of lying at his feet.
He wasn’t naturally a dog person. Or a pet person at all, as his family never kept any when he was growing up. Although he and his sister did unofficially adopt a stray cat who came and went as she pleased. But Luna had taken a shine to the ranch’s current guests. And if Horacio was honest, the feeling was mutual.
He reached down to stroke his fingers through her thick coat and rubbed his thumb along her ears as she grumbled in contentment. “That’s one down, at least.”
“She’s smitten with you.”
“You think?”
“Hmm well, Chucho said she’s usually very independent and prefers to be by herself in the fields. But she’s fiercely protective of those she trusts, and she hasn’t left your side since you got here. So, I’d say you must be doing something right.”
Horacio caught the mischief in Connie’s eye as his lips twitched into a knowing smile. “Point taken.”
Connie couldn’t help but snigger as Leo and Sol settled beneath her chair, having given up on their scavenging for the time being. “How’s the shoulder been today?”
“Good, thanks.” He decided not to mention the slight twinge that had come on since the hay barn. “Better since I started the exercises.”
“That’s good. Just make sure you continue with them after I’m gone. You need to keep moving as much as possible.”
“Of course. I will, thanks. And thank you for everything, by the way. And I don’t just mean whilst we’ve been here.” Horacio looked back at the farmhouse to ensure no one was in earshot. “He acts like he doesn’t need friends, but I’m glad he has you and Steve.”
“That’s the trouble with you independent types. Isn’t that right, Luna?” She ducked down in her chair to attract Luna’s attention. Luna lifted her head and wagged her tail in reply. “He was great with Steve, though. When you were in Madrid and I was in Miami. It’s so hard being that far away and feeling so helpless.”
For some reason, Horacio had never thought of the parallels between their circumstances. A fact that now made him ashamed given how much Connie had done for him when they didn’t know each other all that well. “How did you deal with it?”
“Some days and nights, I didn’t, to be honest. Although, having Olivia helped me stay busy and distracted. And I guess…just trusting that they’ll get through it, one way or another and come out the other side. Because they have to, right?”
Technically, it was a rhetorical question. But Horacio felt obliged for both of their sake not to leave it ominously hanging between them, and he did something he wasn’t expecting.
He leaned across and lightly squeezed Connie’s shoulder. “Of course. And they will.” An assertion he needed to hear as much as Connie did.
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It was past midnight by the time their celebrations began to wind down. Javier had insisted his dad put his feet up and assured him they would handle tidying up. He and Connie washed the last few dishes whilst Horacio and Steve put the garden back in order.
Once his chores were done, Horacio made the most of the last few dying embers from the fire pit whilst waiting for Javier. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. Although he didn’t crave them as much these days, he needed to take the edge off tonight. He searched for his lighter in the opposite pocket but found it empty. Typical.
“Great minds think alike.”
Horacio nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, Murphy.”
“I think the words you’re lookin’ for are thank and you.” After sparking up his own cigarette, he held out his lighter and dropped into the chair next to Horacio.
Horacio fought back an eye roll as he accepted and lit up, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how big that mouth was at times. “Thanks.”
“Quitting’s going well, then.”
Horacio’s head darted round in confusion. “What?”
“These.” Steve shook his pack of cigarettes before depositing it back in his pocket. “Thought you were cutting back.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess I’m still working on it.”
“Tell me about it. Connie’s been trying to get me to quit for years. But,” he broke off for another hit and blew a long trail of vapour into the air, “it ain’t that easy.”
Horacio tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the recesses of the fire pit, his vision fixed trance-like on the smouldering remains as they hissed and fizzed at the intrusion. “No. It’s not.”
“Just so y’know, I’d never ask him to come back with me.”
Now that all pretences were dropped, Horacio’s attention was pulled away from the fire. He considered Murphy with a hint of a wry smile, a smile shared with Steve rather than aimed at him, though. “But we both know he will.”
Steve snorted. “Yup.” He made a popping sound with his lips as he spoke, highlighting the depths of his understanding of just how much of a stubborn fucker his partner could be. “Trujillo owes me a box of cigars.”
Horacio couldn’t help but let out a full-blown laugh. “Make sure you hold him to it.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I will. A bet’s a bet, and he knows it.”
An affectionate warmth spread through Horacio’s chest as he thought of his old unit, Trujillo in particular. It had been a matter of weeks since they were his men, but a lot could happen in that timeframe when a country was at war.
He drew deeply on his cigarette, the force of his exhale carrying the smoke away like dandelion seeds at the mercy of the wind. Blown off course multiple times, but their resilience and perseverance never wavering. “And don’t let your partner shut you out.”
The sudden tonal shift caught Steve off guard as he swivelled abruptly to meet Horacio’s eye.
“Because he’ll do it to protect you,” Horacio continued. “Even if it hurts him.”
On the surface, Horacio’s words held a severe air of foreboding. However, he not only knew Javier better than anyone, but he also lived with too many memories of how it could go awry with a partner. And he was aware Steve had his own tale to tell on that front as well.
The meaning wasn’t lost on Steve, though, as he dipped his head in a wordless acceptance of an agreement that was much greater than an endeavour but not quite a guarantee. 
Because there were no guarantees in their line of work, especially when it came to dealing with Javier Peña of all people.
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The week disappeared in a hazy blur once Steve and Connie returned to Miami, and before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve. Whilst they had enjoyed most of their festive celebrations prematurely this year, Chucho attended Midnight Mass at the same church the Peñas always had done. He was not a man to break traditions easily, and it was a family ritual that went back a lot further than Javier. One Chucho had stuck to regardless of Javier’s more recent avoidant tendencies.
For obvious reasons, Javier and Horacio had opted to stay behind. Not wishing to invite prying eyes and probing questions from a close-knit community who made it their business to know everyone else’s business.
Whilst most appeared pleasant on the surface, he’d attended enough judgemental sermons as a child and overheard his fair share of gossip as an adult to know they stuck rigidly to the idea of ‘traditional family values.’ It was bad enough when he had parted ways with Lorraine, which in their eyes was tantamount to marrying her one week and divorcing her the next. So, he dreaded to think what they would have to say about him and Horacio.
Instead, at Horacio’s request, they had gathered together every candle from every drawer or cupboard they could locate across the ranch and decorated the guesthouse with them. Some were planted in old jam jars, whilst others were nestled in glassware from the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly a light show to rival those Horacio had grown up entranced by along the streets of Medellín each Día de las Velitas. But it fitted perfectly with the rustic décor of the ranch.
Horacio lay on the sofa with Javier slotted between his legs and reclining against his chest. Both were careful not to squash their injuries, that although were healing nicely now, still needed to be treated with care.
The fire at their feet illuminated the room in a flickering halo. It transformed from dark burnt orange to a warm white glow and back again as the flames danced over a bed of charred mesquite wood. The smoke dispersed a sweet aroma that took Javier back to his Pop’s summer barbecues which he hosted for all of the farms in the local area.
Luna, Sol and Leo had been making themselves at home in their guesthouse a lot more since Steve’s and Connie’s departure. And since they were out in the open with Chucho. Javier no longer needed to give the illusion that he was sleeping in his old bedroom, so he had moved in properly with Horacio.
Sol and Leo were curled up asleep on the two rocking chairs opposite the sofa, whilst Luna lay on the rug by Javier and Horacio. She, too, dozed, enjoying the heat of the fire and occasionally raising her head; for attention or to check on them, they were never quite sure.
“The candles were a good shout, by the way,” Javier said as he lit up a cigarette, his admittedly feeble efforts to quit all but abandoned.
Horacio smiled against the muscle of Javier’s broad shoulder. His chin had made a home there for the last few minutes, but he sat up to take a drag. “Thanks. I know it’s a couple of weeks late for Día de las Velitas, but it’s just a little reminder of back home. My sister and I used to make our own lanterns. We’d spend hours on them with other kids from our neighbourhood. Everyone always came out for it, even my father. Christmas was one of the few times he was happy to leave his work at work.”
Javier had seen such displays in the years he’d lived in Colombia. He’d always admired the locals’ dedication, even throughout the disorder on their doorsteps. “We used to do similar for Las Posadas. One year I had to be Joseph, and I hated every second of it. Well, until we got to the piñatas, obviously. Then I stopped complaining.”
“Did they fill yours with cigarettes and whiskey or something?”
Javier’s shoulders shook despite himself. “Fuck you.” He punctuated his retort by deliberately exhaling a plume of smoke in Horacio’s direction. “You’re just as bad as me.”
“I blame you for the whiskey.”
“You should be thanking me for steering you away from aguardiente.”
Horacio rolled his eyes. “Gringos to the rescue, as usual.”
“I’m part-Mexican, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Guess I must be in love with the Mexican part of you, then.” The words tumbled from Horacio’s mouth before he could stop himself, and they hung awkwardly in the smoke-filled space between them. He hadn’t repeated the sentiment since he’d returned from Madrid, not wanting to make Javier feel obliged to echo it back.
Javier still had his back to Horacio and stayed quiet for a moment, only the rhythmic snoring of the dogs and gentle crackles from the fire filling the silence. “Can you believe it’s three years since Tolú?”
Horacio had no idea what he was expecting to hear, but for some reason, it wasn’t that. “You remembered.”
“No need to sound so surprised. I thought the candles were fitting for a double celebration.” He turned from the fireplace, their gaze meeting, and the flames and candlelight shimmering across their pupils like rosary beads made of glass. A stark contrast to the protective cover of darkness they had hidden under in Tolú three years ago. “Happy Anniversary.”
Horacio couldn’t control the smile he pressed into Javier’s lips as he bridged the gap between them. He cupped Javier’s face with both hands before stroking a thumb down his jaw, tracing it over his moustache and across the subtle pout of his bottom lip. “Happy Anniversary.”
Fervent kisses soon became exploring caresses, hands and mouths indulging in pleasure, reverence and worship. An acknowledgement of all that they had withstood together, and a celebration of how far they had come. A commitment to the future, no matter how uncertain it was in the short term, trusting that they would always be each other’s home regardless of where they ended up.
They were silent promises and unspoken vows, pledged to each other again and again. Over and over in countless ways, day in, day out. Undertakings they would need to cherish and cling to in the face of adversity.
Light at the end of the tunnel that they had to hold on to when Javier received the call they were expecting in the New Year. When for once, he wasn’t following Horacio, and Horacio couldn’t follow him.
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